Page 20 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

“What do you mean by one more made-up love song?” I say. “You’ve written a lot of love songs. They all feel real enough.”

He runs a hand over his face, and for once, I can’t tell what Freddie is feeling. I’ve gotten good at reading his emotions, but now, he’s wearing a mask of indifference I can’t interpret.

“You didn’t come here to talk about my music,” Freddie says. He breathes out a sigh, then sits up a little taller, sliding his legs toward his chest so he can rest his arms on top of his knees.

Silence settles between us, not quite awkward, just heavy with all the things we aren’t saying. I’m normally one to jump right in, fill the silence, say the hard thing when no one else will. But for once, I hope Freddie will steer our conversation.

Finally, he says, “Ivy, I’m really sorry about what happened.” He winces, tilting his head to the side, then says, “Not what happened. What I did by insisting to go with you today. I put you in an impossible situation.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I drop my gaze to the bed.

I shouldn’t feel embarrassed for asking him to kiss me.

I really was just thinking about his career.

And he already admitted it was a smart move.

But I can’t help feeling like he can see my emotions through my skin.

Read the color flushing my cheeks and intuitively know how much I loved the feel of his lips against mine.

“I also really appreciate what you did—and your willingness to help,” Freddie says.

“The kiss was a perfect way to thwart whatever Margot might have done. But I hate that I’ve pulled you into the spotlight.

I think you were acting with my best interest in mind, but I’m not sure I was doing the same for you. And I’m sorry for that.”

I quickly shake my head. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I hadn’t known what I was getting into,” I say. “I’ve worked for you a long time. I know how these things work.”

He stands and picks up his guitar, carrying it across the room to the dresser where the case is lying open.

He sets it inside, then turns to face me, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I gotta be honest. After this afternoon, I’ve been worried you might not be working for me anymore.

That this might finally push you into quitting. ”

“I asked you to kiss me, Freddie. I’m not blaming you for anything here.”

“Maybe you should,” he says. “You do too much for me, Ivy. And I’m not sure I’ve been as aware or as appreciative as I should be.”

“It’s really not a big?—”

“It is a big deal,” he says, cutting me off. “So I’m just saying. Anything I can do for you in return, please tell me. Anything.”

I hate that we’re talking about this like it’s a business transaction instead of something that involves actual feelings, but if I turn on the practical side of my brain, maybe I can play this to my advantage.

“How about a better job title?” I ask.

Freddie’s eyebrows lift. “Really?”

“I’m more than your assistant, Freddie. And if I’m ever going to get a job at a record label, it would be nice to have a better title on my resume.”

He frowns. “You’re going to work for a record label?”

I bite my lip. “You’ve always known that was my goal.”

“Right. I know. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair. “Are you not happy working for me?”

“Of course I’m happy. But I can’t do this forever.”

He swallows. “Right. I guess not. Whatever you want, then. You are definitely more than an assistant, and I’m sorry I haven’t acknowledged that before now. Let’s just call you my manager from now on. ”

“Thank you,” I say, buoyed both by the acknowledgement and by how well he seemed to read what I needed to hear.

I know Freddie feels this way about me. The man is generous with his praise and very self-aware when it comes to how little he can accomplish without me.

But it still feels good to have him say it—and not just when he’s trying to convince me to shop for his favorite candy at two in the morning.

“Is Carina okay?” Freddie asks.

“I assume so,” I say. “She’s sleeping and wasn’t really sober enough to have a conversation before she crashed.”

“I’m sure she’ll be better in the morning,” he says.

I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat. “Yeah, I’m sure she will.”

We’re quiet for another beat before Freddie asks, “I assume you’ve talked to Kat? Gotten her take on the situation?”

I huff out a little laugh. “Yeah. She was very thorough.”

Kat Michaels has been Freddie’s publicist for years, and since she helped him weather his last PR crisis, it’s easy to trust her. Though it feels a little different this time, since my name is on the line now too.

As far as Kat sees it, kissing me was the smartest thing Freddie could have done. He both distanced himself from Margot and gave the internet something to be excited about. It’s only been a few hours, but Freddie is already trending in ways that are making his record label very happy.

“Just think of what would have happened otherwise,” she said. “Honestly, Ivy, this is the kind of love story the public eats up. Famous rock star falls in love with a normal girl from Kansas. It’s the plot of every romance novel.”

“I’m not from Kansas,” I argued, which, in retrospect, seems like a stupid thing to say. I should have led with, “But we aren’t in love.”

“That’s not the point,” Kat said. “The point is, you aren’t famous, and you still captured Freddie’s heart. Or everyone thinks you did, and that’s what matters most.”

It took everything in me to swallow how much I wished her words were true.

Kat proceeded to walk me through her three-point plan.

Number one: Acknowledge the relationship but ask for privacy and respect.

Number two: orchestrate two or more public sightings as the release date of Freddie’s new album approaches.

Number three: leak anonymous rumors that one or more songs on the new album are about me.

A few months after the album releases, we can hint at trouble in paradise, then issue a press release about our amicable breakup.

She made it seem simple. And I know the industry well enough to understand that things like this happen all the time.

Actors in leading roles will hold hands on the red carpet just long enough to fuel rumors and create the kind of speculation that keeps people talking.

Music artists collaborating on a song will stare into each other’s eyes like they were only ever meant to sing to each other because listeners want to believe in love.

So much of entertainment is about telling stories. What’s this but one more story? What does it truly hurt?

When I asked Freddie to kiss me, I didn’t think it would hurt anything. I saw a problem, and I figured out a way to solve it.

But I couldn’t have guessed how that kiss would feel. And if we do this, if I agree to go through with Kat’s plan, I’ll be leaning into feelings I’m supposed to be fighting. The effort might kill me. At the very least, it will utterly wreck my heart.

“Ivy,” Freddie says, pulling me back to the present, “I know Kat thinks we should ride this, but I don’t expect that of you. It’s important to me that you know that.”

“Does it matter?” I ask. “We kissed, Freddie. Even if we deny it, people will still talk.”

He’s quiet for a beat before he says, “You only have to ask, and I’ll release a statement owning everything. Explaining why we were there, admitting that I acted in haste to protect my reputation and we are not, and never have been, in a relationship.”

“It wasn’t your idea though,” I say.

“But nobody else knows that,” he says. “Not even Sloane or Kat. As far as they know, I made the decision to kiss you. It was my idea. My plan. And I’ll own all of it if that’s what you want me to do.”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished his sentence. “You can’t do that.”

“I can do that. Or we can do nothing. Let the speculation die. Tell Kat we aren’t going to deny anything, but we also don’t want to push the narrative.”

I breathe out a sigh. “Kat’s plan is good. If it’s going to keep you trending, it can only help your relationship with your label. You need them to be patient with you right now, and positive press that keeps your name in headlines will give them more incentive to extend your deadline.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But that’s not really your problem to solve. If you don’t want to fake a relationship with me, then we don’t do it. I can figure out things with my label.”

I appreciate his willingness to prioritize my needs first, but at this point, we might be too far in for anything we do to make a difference.

The kiss already happened, so people aren’t going to stop speculating.

Even if Freddie denied any romantic connection between us, people would still talk.

Are we together and just trying to hide it?

Trying to throw them off our trail so we can have a little privacy?

And what would people say about Margot? How would she respond to the news?

Would she start spinning new lies about why we were at her beach house?

As long as we’re together and very publicly in love, whatever Margot claims about Freddie won’t hold any water.

As terrible as she’s been to Freddie over the years, she doesn’t deserve a single headline that includes his name.

I’m not thrilled about what it will do to my reputation as a “very serious” businesswoman in the music industry, but I’m not sure one look is better than the other.

Do I want to be the woman Freddie Ridgefield used in a cover-up to fend off Margot Valemont’s claws, or the woman who dated Freddie Ridgefield for a few months before parting ways with no bad feelings?

Honestly, maybe I’m overthinking, and it doesn’t matter either way. I do have connections. If I truly wanted to get a job somewhere else, Freddie would only have to make one phone call, and I’d probably have three different offers on the table. That’s the kind of sway he has in this industry.

And he’d definitely do that for me.

Even if he didn’t want to let me go. If I asked him, he’d call any music executive I wanted him to.

It’s more a question of whether I’ll have the courage to actually leave him. I’m so completely enmeshed in Freddie’s life, I’m not even sure what mine would look like without him .

But how long can I keep that up?

How long should I keep it up?

Telling him I want to move out as soon as we’re back in Nashville was a minor miracle. And asking for a new job title was another step in the right direction.

But getting myself fully and completely out of his grasp? I might need to gamify things—give myself a guaranteed exit strategy.

“I’ll do it,” I blurt out, startling us both.

I take a steadying breath. “I’ll do whatever Kat thinks is best. Fake a relationship.

Make public appearances. All of it.” It suddenly occurs to me that might mean kissing him again, and my skin flushes with the thought.

I lick my lips. “But only on one condition.”

Freddie nods. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

I swallow against the anxiety clawing its way up my throat. “As soon as your album releases, you call your record label and get them to hire me. I want to work for Voltage Records.”