Page 36 of August Lane

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C harlotte blamed her publicity team for her statement. “I didn’t see it before they sent it out. They had this elaborate plan for announcing our amicable divorce. The photos made them panic.”

Luke believed her. It was easy to outsource your life when you were famous.

Charlotte’s pristine reputation was worth billions.

No one trusted her, a mere human with flaws, to make decisions about her personal life.

“I’ll do an interview to clear things up,” she said. “One of the big morning shows.”

Luke pulled his truck into the Arcadia Inn parking lot and cut the engine. “Ken won’t let you do that.”

“I’m firing him. He’s a shitty publicist anyway.”

“He was doing his job. Trying to protect you.”

“That’s everyone’s excuse. It was your excuse, too. We should have ended this years ago.”

Luke didn’t respond to that. He remembered those conversations differently—with her posing it as a question and ignoring his tentative agreement. The cowardice was mutual. “When were the divorce papers filed?”

There was silence on the other line. Luke closed his eyes. “Come on, Charlie.”

“This morning. Daphne held off to avoid all the Jojo drama. She thought people would assume I was divorcing you for performing with her. But God, you sleeping with her daughter is so much worse.”

“I’m not sleeping with her.”

She laughed. “Okay, Luke. Pictures don’t lie. I don’t blame you. She’s gorgeous.”

He knew what she was talking about. Those pictures told a whole story, one he’d been hiding for years.

They started with August standing at the microphone with windswept curls and midnight eyes, looking like a sea siren in need of rescue.

Then his arms were around her, his mouth at her temple, in a pose so intimate he could barely look at it.

Thanks to the protest coverage, every local news outlet in the region had captured it on camera.

The Delta Festival hashtag had been flooded with amateur photos and eyewitness accounts the minute they’d left the stage.

The timing was terrible. He’d just poured his heart out to August, confessed what he’d been afraid to admit to himself, that his career had stalled because he wanted it to.

Moving on from his one hit would have meant moving on from her, something he could never do.

There was no chance to talk to her about it once David walked in.

Luke had been ordered to leave the fairgrounds and not show his face until he was summoned.

August slipped out while he and David were arguing and was ignoring his texts and calls.

“I’ve known her a long time,” Luke told Charlotte. “She’s a songwriter.” He paused, remembering how she’d frozen onstage. “A singer -songwriter. We reconnected, and it’s been… intense. This didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was helping by waiting to file. Jojo’s furious, right?”

Luke had no idea. David wouldn’t return his calls, either. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m about to find out.”

Luke knocked on room 105A three times before hearing movement inside. David opened the door and grimaced. “Right. Saw you left a voice message like a goddamn psychopath. Didn’t listen. What do you want?”

Luke was expecting the insult but figured it would be paired with a swift firing. But David stared at him like a pizza guy at the wrong address. “An update would be nice.”

“Oh, those are all over the internet,” David said. There was a sheen to his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time they spoke. He’d been drinking. “You two already have a nickname. LukeLane. Could get dicey since her mother has the same last name.”

“Have you heard from Jojo?”

David rubbed his face. “It’s hot. Come in and have a drink. Water, of course.”

Luke followed him inside, surveying the room for signs of a bender. It was aggressively tidy. The only evidence of occupation was a black suitcase near the bathroom and an open laptop on the bed. David grabbed a glass and removed the plastic covering. “Tap okay?”

“Not thirsty,” Luke said. “Just impatient.”

David snorted. “Want information, do you? That’s ironic. You’ve been keeping a lot from me.”

“August and I aren’t together,” Luke said. “We have history, but it’s not an affair like everyone’s saying.”

“Cry that river, Lucas. Get snotty with it. Still won’t change what’s in those pictures.”

“I’m not married anymore.”

“Mmmmm.” David went to his computer and typed in silence. He scanned his screen and then looked at Luke. “Not according to Google.”

“So fire me,” Luke snapped. “Then we can end this bullshit conversation.”

David sat on the bed with his computer in his lap. “You were not invited here. You were told to find a deep hole and hide in it until someone came looking for you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Luke said. “I don’t give a fuck who you work for. You talk down to me again, and we’ll have a different problem.”

They eyed each other silently. David broke eye contact to bring up another website. “Jojo seems to think this is all August’s fault. Her daughter is angry with her for something she refuses to share and is lashing out by seducing, and I quote ‘the prettiest dark meat in my lineup.’”

Luke waited for more. The recriminations. The firing. David picked up his glass and took a drink. “That’s it?” Luke asked. “That’s all she said?”

“Yes. Your job is safe because of familial strife. And also because a lot of people hate your ex-wife. I mean, a lot . Black X/Twitter thinks Jojo rescued you from the sunken place.” He showed Luke an online marketplace people used to resell concert tickets.

“General admission is going for a grand online.”

What David was saying shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Everyone knew that bad press could have a weird bounce that became a net positive for brand awareness.

The messy tangle of Luke, Charlotte, and Jojo had ensnared August, too, only not as a burgeoning songwriter the way she’d planned.

Instead, she’d been cast as the other woman again, only this time, in front of the entire world.

“I don’t want to sing that song.”

David rolled his eyes. “This again?”

“August and I are working on something new. Something Jojo will love.” Once August pushed past her writer’s block, whatever she wrote would blow everyone away. “She should sing it with her daughter. That’s the story everyone needs to hear.”

“August wants to sing now?” David flung a hand at Luke. “And what do you plan to do? Play backup?”

“If they want,” Luke said. “I could…” He trailed, thinking about his recent shows.

The thought of recycling the same old covers made him nauseous.

He’d been working on a new setlist with Silas, something he’d planned to try out at Delta Blue.

But he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. “I could do something else.”

David leaned forward. “Listen to me. Some singers are artists. Others, like you, are entertainers. Entertainers give people what they want, and right now, that’s you onstage with Jojo, singing a song they forgot they knew all the words to.

” He steepled his hands together. “These are thousand-dollar tickets, son. We owe them their expectations.”

Luke had heard this pitch before, and it always felt like being offered riches from the devil. “Cut off your wings, and I’ll hand you the world” was only tempting if your soul was worthless. Maybe his was. But he’d only sell it again for August.

“Ask Jojo what she thinks. She might disagree.”

“She won’t,” David said. “The woman’s ruthless about her career. She’s worked hard for this award and won’t risk it for anything. Singing with you is the safe choice.”

“Not even if it helps her daughter?”

David slowly shook his head. “Not even for August.”

August was the most famous home-wrecker in the world.

She could feel it in the air when she arrived for her shift at King’s Kitchen.

The cooks barely made eye contact with her when she put in orders.

Gemma, who usually insisted on splitting her tips, claimed she couldn’t afford it tonight and accidentally called her Charlotte three times.

The few customers in her section whispered to each other behind their hands and typed rapidly on their phones while food congealed on their plates.

Being judged at church was one thing. Those people put odds on each other’s damnation like they were placing bets in Vegas. But hostile strangers were dangerous. One woman wrote Bitch instead of a tip on her receipt.

August had nearly finished the dinner shift when two white men carrying bulky cameras sat at one of her tables. The older one read her name tag out loud and asked, “Did Jojo tell you to fuck Luke Randall?”

The question paralyzed her. But then, just like with Shirley’s slap, she had the urge to lash out, smash their equipment to the floor. Instead, she opened the camera on her phone and aimed it at them. “What did you just ask me?”

The younger one recoiled. The older one, who’d probably chased OJ’s Bronco in the nineties, smirked and said, “You trying to get us canceled? Make us the villains of the week?”

“I’m not making you anything,” she said, switching to landscape to capture both of them. “You’re doing fine by yourselves.”

His smirk curdled. “Can we at least get a quote?”

“Order something or leave.” August saw the door open in the corner of her eye. Bill Parnell walked inside and immediately focused on the men. He was behind them, so they didn’t notice.

The older one tsked his disapproval. “You’re not a very nice girl, August.”

“Leave, or deal with Bill.”

He frowned. “Who’s Bill?”

“I’m Bill.” He puffed his chest to show off his badge. Then he tipped his hat to August. “Go on to the back. I’ll take it from here.”