Page 73 of The Deviation
She ponders the information for a moment. “Close enough for our purposes.”
I shake my head. “He’s not some weak-willed puppet. He won’t give permission to release such personal information before he’s ready.”
“Who needs permission?” Arthur asks, snorting a laugh. “These things have a way of coming out.”
My jaw drops and I swing my gaze back to the woman in charge. “You can’t be serious.”
Sitting up straighter, Genevieve steeples her hands on the desk in front of her. “Calum, dear, you say Johnny Durant is in love with you. Correct?”
Suspicious of the change in topic, I nod. “Yes.”
“Well then, surely he intends to share his love with the world eventually.” Her smile is all warmth and sunshine this time. “All I’m suggesting is you nudge him in the right direction.”
“Me?” My eyebrows lift. “You want me to convince him?”
“As you say, it’s better than having the news come out through any of the underhanded tactics Arthur might choose to employ. This way you and Johnny will be able to control the narrative.” When I don’t answer immediately, she adds, “Rush would be there to support your budding romance. You should be pleased.”
My stomach pitches as her plan tightens, like a noose, around my neck. “That’s not support, it’s manipulation.”
“A rose by any other name.” She tilts her head to one side. “You do want to keep working here, don’t you? You want to keep managing Fifth Circle?” Arthur starts to object but another lift of her hand renders him silent.
“Let me put it to you this way, Calum,” she says in a pleasant tone. “I want Fifth Circle to be the next big thing in Australian Rock. You can help make that happen. Now, I’m willing to overlook your indiscretion, and allow you to be a part of yourboyfriend’s rise to fame. But I need to know, when everything else is stripped away, your loyalty lies with me.”
My loyalty lies with Hannah. It always has.
Which means doing whatever I have to in order to keep this job.
Except…
Hannah’s not a little girl anymore, as she keeps reminding me. She’s an adult now. We’re a team.
In those first years after our parents left, all I could think about was making sure Hannah’s physical needs were met. I kept her housed, fed, and educated. I took any job I could to make that happen. But when I chose this job, when I worked so hard to learn all I could and get the promotion and start building my career, it wasn’t about meeting those basic needs anymore. I wanted to make sure Hannah would have a safe place to grow as an artist, if she ever found it in herself to take that step.
That’s the kind of manager I’ve spent the last few years aspiring to be. I want the artists in my care to know I will protect them, that I’ll support their choices, and I’ll never, ever abandon them.
To do what Genevieve is asking of me wouldn’t just be a betrayal of Johnny’s trust. It would betray every promise I ever made to myself about the kind of manager—the kind of man—I want to be.
If I was to commit such a sin in Hannah’s name… she would never forgive me.
Taking a deep breath, I pick up my bag from beside the chair and rise to stand.
Genevieve also rises, with a triumphant smile. “We have a deal?”
I look down at the hand she’s offering across the desk, then back up to her face. “No. There’s no deal,” I say, shaking myhead. “I won’t work against my client’s best interests. Not even for you.”
Her mouth tightens in displeasure as she narrows her gaze at me. “It’s a pity,” she says, stepping out from behind her desk. “You were so desperately keen when you arrived here, I’d hoped to make a great manager out of you. Alas, not everyone has the stomach for this business.” She opens the door and addresses her assistant. “Please have security escort Mr Ellis out. He no longer works here.” She turns her head to look back at me, her disappointment clear. “If you’ll excuse us, Calum. Arthur and I have work to do.”
THIRTY
______
JOHNNY
“A little more to the left,” Mum says, eyeballing the centre of the bookcase she and Dad had delivered earlier today. “That’s it. Right there.” Smiling happily, she takes a step back to admire the new piece of furniture. “Perfect.”
Dad and I release our hold on either end of the bookcase. He lowers himself into a nearby armchair with a dramatic groan. “It better be perfect, because I’m not moving it again,” he grumbles, rubbing his lower back.
Laughing softly, I begin cleaning up the cardboard and foam packaging that protected the wood during transport. When my parents called earlier in the day to see if I could pop over after work and help them unpack and move their new purchase, I’d been happy to oblige. Lately, I haven’t spoken to them as often as I usually do. Between keeping up my hours at the pharmacy, rehearsing, going to the festival, and spending time with Cal, I’ve barely had a minute to breathe. Somehow, I’ve still managed to find time to feel guilty about neglecting them.