Page 12 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)

CHAPTER TEN

wilder

I follow Frank to the front of the restaurant, where he pauses near the host station to chat with the woman there. I stop as well but don’t pay attention to their conversation, distracted by all the notifications on my phone that weren’t there an hour ago.

There are texts from pretty much everyone I know, but what spikes my blood pressure are the missed calls and voicemails.

Two are from Night Theory’s manager—concerning because Mack is currently in Barbados with his longtime girlfriend and his last words to me were, “Have a nice break and don’t fucking call me unless someone dies. ”

But far worse are the six missed calls and three voicemails from our publicist.

Shelley isn’t known to overreact .

My heart racing, I unlock my phone and open my text messages, bypassing my sisters and mom in favor of Jax.

His most recent message reads,

Anything you want to share with the class? Did she actually talk to u??

Attached is a link to an online article from a big gossip magazine.

The preview shows side by side images of Evangeline and me from the BBMAs, along with a headline that makes my eyebrows jump.

A flare of satisfaction warms my chest, smothered almost immediately by alarm when I think about Clay reacting to this .

Has he seen it? Has she seen it?

Given the calls from Shelley, my guess is yes and yes.

Fuck.

Before I can click on the link, a voice asks, “Mr. Ashburn?”

I look up at Frank and the woman, who wears a gold pin on her black button-down that says manager . Frank’s lips are folded inward, his eyes laughing. The woman, conversely, looks like she’s ten seconds from a mental breakdown.

“Yes?”

Before she can answer, the heavy front door opens and a familiar man slips inside.

Sam is my usual driver- slash-security when I’m in the city.

He’s ex-military, mid-forties, with biceps as big as my head.

His normally placid expression is intact, whereas mine has no doubt shifted to horror after what I just glimpsed outside.

Hell in the form of a swarm of hungry, buzzing paps.

Double fuck.

“Good timing,” Sam drawls at me. “I was just coming in to discuss the situation. Car’s out front already, but there’s fifteen feet of exposure between the door and the curb.”

He doesn’t have to tell me they’re here for me. I can hear them shouting my name now. Someone must have seen me when the door opened.

The woman steps toward us, wringing her hands nervously.

“On behalf of the entire Rhubarb family, I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Ashburn.

Rest assured, we’re already investigating to make sure no one on our staff is responsible.

If you’d be willing to wait a few more minutes, more security is on the way to assist you to your vehicle. ”

Frank pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Belinda, he’s not going to blame you. Ain’t that right, Wilder?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say, then look away, uncomfortable with the acute relief on her face. It was probably one of the teenagers inside posting to their socials, anyway. “Is there another exit? ”

Sam answers for her. “They’ve got that covered, too.”

I sigh. “All right. Let me make a quick call, then we’re out of here whether or not we have backup. I can make it fifteen feet.”

He nods and shifts so he’s blocking the front door. Technically, as members of the public paparazzo have the right to enter a restaurant, though they rarely do because of harassment and privacy laws. I’m still glad Sam is in the way. I’ll have to deal with the vultures soon enough.

Frank claps me on the shoulder. “My bike’s parked around back, so Belinda’s gonna show me out. Call me, okay?”

“Will do. Thanks, Frank.”

“Good luck, champ.”

When he’s gone, I skirt around the host station into a short hallway and dial Shelley. She picks up on the first ring, not bothering with hello.

“Happy New Year, right? Good news and bad news. The bad is that I’m hungover and my phone won’t stop ringing, so thanks for that. The good news is the article is flattering. Well, maybe not flattering since it implies Eva cheated on Clay Eaton with you last night. But as I see it?—”

“Hold up,” I bark. “Cheated? We barely spoke for five minutes. Who the fuck said this? ”

There’s a minuscule pause and an equally short exhale. “You haven’t read the article. Okay. In summary, unnamed people saw you and Eva sneak off to a bedroom last night. There are no photos, which is good. Also good, streaming numbers for both Night Theory and Glow have skyrocketed?—”

“Nothing about this is good , Shelley,” I say through my teeth. “You know there’s a double standard for this shit. Even a rumor of Eva cheating will follow her in the press for years.”

Her tone softens. “I know. I have more news on that front. I spoke to Glow’s publicist, Anita Allman. Super weird convo, to be honest, but the moral of the story is she wants our help redirecting the narrative. I have a feeling you won’t like the ask, though.”

“What is it?”

“She wants you to have lunch with Eva and Clay tomorrow at Café Doux in Beverly Hills. The spin is that last night was childhood friends running into each other and catching up. Vibe for lunch is smiles and laughs all around—documented, of course. Voilà, heat’s off and cheating rumors are dead in the water. ”

As her words sink in, my skin starts crawling. The mere thought of having to sit across from Clay and pretend like I don’t want to murder him has me slumping against a wall. What if he touches her? Kisses her in front of me?

I don’t think I can do it. I’m not that good of an actor.

When I’m silent too long, Shelley says softly, “From a PR standpoint, I have no problem with you declining. We can mitigate the backlash another way. Release a statement of our own, accept a few interview requests. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

I press a thumb to the spiking tension in my forehead. “Are you sure Eva’s on board with this? With lunch?”

Shelley’s voice lowers again. “That’s the weird part. With the history between you guys, I was surprised she agreed. No offense.”

I grunt. “None taken. Why is it weird?”

“Well, since I was so surprised, I fished a bit. Anita was cagey at first but cracked. She didn’t speak to Eva at all. This is coming from?—”

“Clay,” I finish, his name a bitter burst in my mouth. “He’s definitely orchestrating this. Dude hates me. He’s probably hoping I say no so he can blame me for any fallout.”

“Huh. I didn’t realize you had history with him, too.”

I almost smile at the poorly veiled curiosity in her voice. Knowing the details won’t leave our phone call, I offer, “I dated his stepsister years ago. Around the same time, she stopped sleeping with him. He blames me for her change of heart.”

Shelley chokes on air and coughs for a good ten seconds, then finally gasps out, “What in the daytime drama?”

“Less soap opera, more Dateline .” I bite my cheek before I tell her the whole truth. “Trust me, he’s not a good person.”

“He sounds like a nightmare,” she says seriously. “My call with Anita suddenly makes a lot more sense. She definitely doesn’t like him. Is this one of those toxic-boyfriend-becomes-manager situations?”

I wince, regretting opening my mouth. “Maybe. I honestly don’t know. Can we move on?”

“Of course,” she says gently. “What are your thoughts about tomorrow?”

Movement down the hall turns my gaze to Sam, who jerks his thumb toward the front door. “I have to go,” I tell Shelley. “Leaving a restaurant surrounded by paps.”

“Ah, how delightful. Not that you need the reminder, but?—”

“Neutral expression and keep my mouth shut,” I say dryly.

“Exactly. Call me in ten?”

I move toward Sam. “My brain doesn’t work at your speed, Shelley. Give me an hour to think it over. ”

“You got it. Oh, and don’t worry about calling Mack. That was my mistake. I forgot he was on vacation when I was trying to track you down. Talk soon.”

She hangs up just as I reach Sam and two nervous, rent-a-cop-looking guys, presumably from the restaurant’s security company.

The noise from outside has definitely increased in volume.

I wince when a woman’s scream confirms that the crowd now includes fans—rabid ones who will drop everything and risk speeding tickets to get wherever I’ve been spotted.

Belinda hovers before the archway leading to the dining room, a forced smile on her face. Standing beyond her is a family clearly waiting to leave. The kids gape at me while their parents give me double stink-eye.

“Sorry about this,” I tell Belinda. “I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.”

She rejects my apology with another one of her own, but she’s clearly frazzled and wants me gone.

The security guys introduce themselves to me as the four of us approach the door. I forget their names as soon as they’re spoken, a hundred percent of my mental effort focused on preparing myself for extreme sensory overload.

Inhale . Hold. Exhale.

When Sam looks back at me, I nod. He opens the door and pandemonium erupts.

Shouts and screams and bodies rushing, pressing, shoving.

Every step toward the black car at the curb feels like a mile-long sprint.

My breath is shallow, muscles tight, heart racing, but my face reflects none of my inner turmoil.

“Wilder! Wilder, over here!”

“Are you in L.A. to see Eva?”

“Look this way!”

“What happened in the bedroom last night, Wilder?”

“MARRY ME, PLEASE!”

“Wilder! Is Eva leaving Clay Eaton for you?”

When the car’s back door opens, I manage to slip inside calmly instead of diving. Sam forces his way around the hood while a crying woman yanks on the handle of my locked door and people jostle each other to get a good camera angle through the windshield.

Sam makes it inside, cursing as someone tries to crawl in with him. When he finally gets his door closed sans interloper, his eyes meet mine in the rearview.

“We’ll have to take the long way home.”

Meaning, he’ll have to lose however many cars are already waiting to tail us or risk leading them to my rental.

I want to tell him to take me straight to the private airport in Van Nuys.

Every instinct is screaming for me to go home.

But I can’t. If I bail now, it means abandoning Evangeline to deal with the mess I unintentionally made in her life last night.

Poisoning her mind further against me. Leaving her at the mercy of Clay and the rumor mill.

So instead of taking the easy way out, I smile faintly. “Figured. Thanks, man.”

“You got it.”

The security guys clear the crowd enough for us to pull away from the curb.

It’s slow going for a block, the main road congested by people slowing to gawk.

As soon as traffic opens up, Sam’s takes advantage and does what he does best, taking our followers on a merry chase until, close to an hour later, we’re in the clear.

By the time he pulls through the gate at my rental, I’ve read the article several times and cycled through an emotional spectrum ranging from joy to despair. I also texted with Jax and Rye and called my mom, who I shamelessly tasked with updating Evangeline’s parents.

When I walk inside the house, I finally call Shelley back with an answer about tomorrow. She isn’t thrilled but neither is she surprised.

No part of me is looking forward to sitting under the scrutiny of cameras while pretending I’m happy to share a meal with the woman I love and her abuser.

But for Evangeline, I’ll do it.

I’d do much worse for her.

A few minutes after I hang up with Shelley, she emails me two documents bearing the logo of her PR firm. Smalltalk Prompts and Socializing Tips for Introverts , and Body Language in the Public Eye .

The attached email is brief and almost makes me laugh.

No, these weren’t written with you in mind. Okay that’s a lie. They’re totally about you.

You’ll do great. Just be yourself.

Being myself tomorrow will mean leaving the restaurant in handcuffs. Since I’m not down to spend a night in jail—or more likely, the rest of my life—I guess that means I’ll have to be someone else.

I’ll have to lie. Again.

And hope someday Evangeline will understand why.