Page 47 of The Pursuit of Happiness (Satan’s Angels #2)

In a matter of moments, we’re guided onto the stage as our introduction is made and the crowd is cheering and applauding.

I hold Sly’s hand and force a mask on myself, playing the socialite part perfectly.

I slip into the mask of someone who is unbothered and confident.

I wave to the audience and don’t stop until Sly stops us in front of the white leather chairs placed next to the desk for us.

Sly seems like more of a natural than I am.

He has such a lightheartedness about him that makes it easy for him to open himself up to a crowd.

He’s more outgoing and sociable than I am and I know him well enough to know that while his act is convincing, he’d rather not be on this stage either. It seems we’re in the same boat.

“Welcome, Aria and Slater! It’s a pleasure to have you here on the show,” John greets in a voice feigning sincerity.

I take the opportunity to assess him from where he sits, not even four feet away.

I’ve seen pictures of the man, but I’ve never had the misfortune of meeting him in person. Not until now.

He wears a perfectly tailored, navy blue suit that looks like it was tailored to his body.

He pairs it with a red tie and a white button down underneath.

His snow-white hair is styled neatly with a hefty amount of product and the crow’s feet lines around his eyes give him a mature look, most likely from faking so many fucking smiles.

He has age lines on his forehead and around his mouth and I assume he must be in his mid to late fifties.

His eyes are a blue so bright, so unlike Sly’s, that they instill a deep sense of discomfort in me.

I feel goosebumps rising on my arms and the hair on my arms rises.

Sly nods appreciatively, playing the role of the polite guest, “Thank you so much for having us.”

“Yes, thank you,” I add, giving him a bright smile that doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

John reaches for something on his desk and produces two, small microphones that clip onto us. “Do you mind?” He asks Sly.

Sly grants him permission and he pins the microphone to Sly’s dress shirt. He smiles at me, an oily smile and walks around his desk to ask, “May I?”

I hesitate. He’s reaching out to fasten the microphone to the top of my dress which rests dangerously low on my chest. I don’t entirely feel comfortable with the idea of him being this close to me, let alone touching or grazing my breasts with his knuckles.

As he’s about to make contact with me, Sly intercepts his hand and takes possession of the microphone.

“I’ve got it,” he says calmly, but I can see the rage simmering below the surface.

I relax, a subtle breath escaping me as Sly takes over, fastening the microphone to the top of my dress, his knuckles grazing the smooth flesh beneath the neckline.

He gives me a quick look of encouragement as John nods, “Better off. I wouldn’t want to tear such a lovely dress.

You look ravishing, Aria. Absolutely stunning,” he compliments as he moves around the stage and retreats to his desk.

His energy is so high, as if he took five shots of espresso before the show started.

I know better though, and know it’s all for show.

I beam, batting my lashes, “Thank you, John.”

“So, I have to ask,” he changes the subject and I stop breathing.

Is he going to say it? Is he going to bring up the tape?

Panic floods my chest and Sly places a hand on my thigh to ground me.

His mind must’ve gone where mine has. “How does it feel to both be nominated for the same award? Are you in constant competition?” The audience hangs on to his every word.

I laugh and wave him off, “No of course not.”

Sly adds, “Honestly, we don’t even talk about the award.”

I look at Sly and give him a gentle look, “There’s no competition at all. I mean, I know I want to win and I know he wants to win, but honestly, it never really comes up.”

Sly nods, “It just slips both of our minds when we’re together.”

The audience coos and John pushes, “You really don’t feel even the slightest bit competitive? You wouldn’t be jealous if the other won?”

I want to shove my heel up his ass for being pushy over a question we’ve already answered, but I refrain, keeping my smile in place. “Not at all.”

Sly makes a show of lowering his voice, convincing the audience and John that they’re in on some secret, “The truth is that my bandmates want to win and I want them to win, but I want her,” he looks at me and the look in his eyes is so pure and so genuine that I forget why I was ever tense on this stage, “to win more. I think she and Satan’s Angels deserve that Muse Award. ”

The audience awws and oohs and John nods his approval, “That is very admirable of you, Sly.” He focuses on me, “Aria, he clearly is an amazing boyfriend.”

I blush, the first sign of sincerity I’ve had on this stage, “He is.” I place my hand on top of his and meet his eyes. We exchange a long, loving look.

John comments on our moment, “We can all see you’re very much in love.”

“We are,” Sly says, never taking his eyes off mine.

John raises a brow and lowers his voice, “So in love that we’re planning wedding bells or babies anytime soon?

” I notice how he uses “we” and not “you.” I strongly disapprove of him trying to relate and be friendly with us when I know it isn’t real.

It’s all for show and he could flip the script on us at any moment.

I shake my head, “Oh no. Not for a while.”

Sly shrugs, “It isn’t anything we’ve talked about.”

“Do you want children?” John asks, looking between us both.

This seems a little too personal for a live talk show interview, but since it isn’t about the tape, I allow it. “Eventually, sure.”

John nods, “Any specific sex? Boy or girl?”

I shrug and look at Sly, actually interested in his answer to this question. “I wouldn’t mind one of each.”

Sly laughs, “As long as they come out looking like her, I don’t care what they are. She’s got the better features.”

The audience laughs and I blush. John presses, “Seriously, Sly? The sex doesn’t matter?”

He shakes his head, “Nope. Not at all.”

John nods, making a “Mhm” sound. A moment later, his face lights up and he looks between us and the audience. “Speaking of sex,” my heart stops. “The tape.”

Two words. Two words that steal the air from my lungs.

My heart stops and time slows. I feel as though my mind is playing tricks on me, but then the audience ooooohs and I’m brought right back to this hellish reality that I was so afraid of.

Selene promised. She promised me multiple times that this wouldn’t happen and I believed her.

I never wanted to do this show because of the likelihood of this event occurring before my very eyes.

I hear a sharp intake of breath coming from beside me and know right away that it’s Sly. He’s completely thrown off the same way that I am.

“I have to know,” John grins, knowing he’s placed us on the spot. “We all want to know.” He winks at the audience and I catch sight of heads nodding in my peripheral, bodies leaning on the edges of their seats.

I feel frozen in place. Paralyzed with fear. I know Brody and Ivory are watching this live right now and I picture their horrified faces and how they must feel only a fraction of what I’m feeling.

I let that tape ruin my life for far too long.

I let Duncan use it as a weapon against me.

I allowed the media to use it against me.

I refuse to allow John fucking Sweet to use it against me.

I finally repossess the ability to move, my eyes immediately landing on Sly who’s about to open his mouth.

I take in the anger etched into his features and know that if I let him say what he’s about to say, chaos will ensue.

I make a quick decision and slip my mask back on, “What tape?” I cock my head at John, grinning from ear to ear.

If he wants to play this game with me, I can play it ten times harder because I come to win.

Sly gives me a shocked expression as though I just caught him, like everyone else in this room, completely off guard. I squeeze his hand that’s on my thigh in reassurance, as if to tell him I’ve got this.

John laughs, but I don’t fail to notice the twitch in his eye.

“What tape,” he whispers to himself, a breathless laugh.

He must know what game I’m playing and it must’ve set him off.

I can tell from the intensity in both of our gazes that he isn’t pleased.

He wanted to catch us off guard. To bully us into answering and giving him what he wants.

He tilts his head back at me and gives me the most phony expression, “Well, apparently there’s a tape out there, you know?

Just floating around the internet. I haven’t seen it,” he holds his hands up in defense and I can tell right away he’s lying.

My cheeks flame bright red as the realization that this man has seen me naked, drugged and vulnerable, and having sex with the man next to me, sinks in.

My stomach drops and I feel nausea churning in my gut.

Is there a garbage can for me to puke in anywhere on this stage?

“But everyone’s talking about it all over.

So many people are talking about it, especially men!

” John adds and I watch as Sly stiffens, his eyes glaring holes right through John.

I know that look and Sly is either about to fly completely off the handle the way he did at with the pap, or he’s going to say something really rude and really fucked up in my defense. “I wonder why that would be,” John thinks out loud, tapping his chin and the entire room laughs at my expense.

Sly’s voice darkens, “I don’t think I like where you’re taking this, John.”