Page 53 of You Rock My World

JOSIE

I watch as Dorian rips out his microphone and stands.

He says something to Lilo that the discarded mic doesn’t pick up.

But I don’t need to hear it. The disgust on his face is plain.

His hand hovers in mid-air as if he’s about to knock the cameras over.

He’s done with the show. Dorian turns and stalks off the set, disappearing out of the frame as Lilo pivots smoothly back to the camera, slipping into her role like nothing happened.

“Well.” The host flashes a quick, broadcast-ready smile.

“That was more eventful than any of us expected this morning. Our thoughts are with Billie Rae, of course, and we sincerely hope she’s okay.

We’ll keep you updated.” Lilo presses her fingers together in a composed gesture, her expression solemn.

“In the meantime, how about we all take five? We’ll be right back after a short break. ”

As the screen cuts to commercials, someone behind me says something, a chair scrapes against the floor, but I don’t register it. Words filter in as background noise, distant and unimportant.

I’m still processing everything that happened—Billie, the scene she made, her accident, the chaos she left in her wake. It’s shocking. But that’s not what has my pulse hammering in my ears and my stomach clenching like a fist.

It’s what Dorian said before any of that.

I’m in love with her.

The words play back in my mind on a loop. The way he said them. Steady. Sure. His eyes locked onto the camera like he was talking directly to me. Only to me.

I had sensed his feelings, of course I had.

But we’ve never said I love you outright.

And hearing him do it—for the entire world to hear, with no hesitation, no second-guessing—it landed in my chest like a punch and the gentlest caress at once.

Because it’s real now. And if I lose him, I’m losing something that finally has a name.

I let out a breath I’ve been holding since Dorian started speaking, only then noticing the muted attention fixed on me.

The entire celebrity PR department is still gathered around the TV screen, standing behind desks and along the glass-walled meeting room. Staring. At me.

Nadine is the first to speak, her voice slicing through the dazed silence.

“Alright, people, back to work.” She claps twice, jolting everyone into motion.

“Rian Phoenix hasn’t fired us yet. That means we’re still covering this, so we need to get ahead of it.

” She flicks a look my way, assessing. “And since he announced to the entire country that he’s in love with you, we can spin this. ”

I don’t reply.

She turns to me, tilting her head. “Josie, start putting together a?—”

“You fired me half an hour ago,” I cut in, my voice surprisingly steady.

Nadine waves a dismissive hand, unbothered. “You’re rehired.”

Her offer lands flat, like a joke with no punchline—empty, meaningless.

Does she expect me to be relieved? To jump at her barked orders like a grateful puppy?

Should I?

I don’t have another job lined up. Publishing is great, but even if it works out, it won’t be a steady paycheck for a long time.

I should be relieved she’s giving me my job back. But instead of relief, all I feel is revulsion.

The idea of staying in this office, working for this woman, acting as if she didn’t tear me down thirty minutes ago or reduce me to nothing more than a story to spin, makes my stomach curdle.

Maybe Dorian was right, and my heart isn’t in PR. I’d rather wait tables than this. I did it in college, I can do it again. It’ll be enough to pay my student loans. And if I can’t make rent, I’ll move back in with my mom until I find a new job.

I glance around the open space, at the people I’ve spent years working alongside. Some of them look at me with curiosity, others with thinly veiled opportunism, as if I’m another messy celebrity scandal they get to work on.

I lift my chin. “I think not.”

Irritation flickers in Nadine’s gaze, but I couldn’t care less. I turn on my heel and leave, heading straight for my old desk.

I grab the empty cardboard box I find there—clearly set out for my departure—and start packing my things.

A few picture frames. My favorite pens. A crumpled sweater I always forget to bring home.

I lift the box and enter the waiting elevator, pushing the LL button.

As the floor count begins to drop, a thought wedges itself between the chaos of the morning—this is where I met Dorian.

Where everything started. And now’s the last time I’ll ever be in here.

Shifting the box onto my hip, I brush my fingers against the metal wall.

“Thank you,” I whisper, saying another goodbye.

The doors ding and open directly onto the parking garage, where a cooler draft greets me, sending a small shudder through my body.

The parts of the world buried in snow and having a literal white Christmas this December would laugh at this SoCal girl shivering in sixty-five-degree weather.

But I still drop my belongings to the floor and tug on my spare sweater just as my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Lily

Dinner at my place tonight

There’s no question mark—it’s a statement. An order?

A small, tired smile tugs at my lips. I tap the thumbs-up emoji and slide my phone back into my pocket.

I’ll need to be with family tonight. My sister is going to roast me for everything I didn’t tell her, but she’s my steady place.

I crave the comfort more than I want to avoid the interrogation that’s coming.

At home, I don’t know what to do with myself. I change into my comfy sweats and my leggings with a hole in the butt. Then stare around the apartment, a little lost. I have the whole day ahead of me, and nothing to fill it with.

I should be worried about money. About quitting a stable career without a back-up plan. But my mind is consumed by Dorian. By what he did. I wonder where he is now. Is he with Billie? But above all, I think about what he said. And where that leaves us.

I don’t know.

Should I call him? To tell him what? My feelings and fears are too complicated to dissect right now, but the media’s response to his interview won’t be difficult to analyze. So, I do what I do best and slip into PR mode. I pull out my laptop and start tracking the press coverage.

Nadine may be a harpy, but she’s good at her job. I recognize her fingerprints all over the steady stream of articles reframing the story, emphasizing Dorian’s honesty, crafting a narrative that keeps public sympathy where she— we ?—want it.

And even in the outlets Nadine can’t control, the flood of support in Dorian’s favor is overwhelming. His social media are filled with love. People standing by him. Believing him.

But that’s only half of the coin. Dorian’s truth is finally out there, but that doesn’t mean Billie’s most devoted fans will accept it. They could dig their heels in deeper, his admission that he is in love with someone else sending them on a crusade. They could call his appeal an excuse.

I switch to Billie’s accounts, expecting to see the usual backlash. People screaming that Dorian is a liar, a cheater, a fraud. But they’re not.

After Billie’s meltdown, her intoxicated rant, and the accident, even the most skeptical, angry voices quiet down. No one is tearing Dorian down.

The comments— all of them —are for Billie.

Billie, please get help.

We love you. We want you to be okay.

Rehab isn’t a bad word. It’s a way out. Take it.

Everywhere, across platforms, it’s the same. No one is defending her behavior or buying into her version of events. They only want her to get better. I could cry with relief.

It worked. The fans are on our side.

Despite what Billie did—the threats to me, to my family—her public implosion doesn’t make me happy. It makes me sad. Because for all the fire and rage Billie threw at the world, this is all that’s left. A mess of bad choices, of pain, of a woman who never figured out how to stop sinking.

I close my laptop and rub my eyes.

I’ve no idea what will happen next.

With Billie. With Dorian. With me.

Everything is a dumpster fire, but I feel finally free of all the secrets and the lies. I think of Dorian’s phoenix tattoo and hope that our love, too, can rise out of the ashes of this mess. But it’s not just me who has to make the decision. I need to speak with my family first.

* * *

When I arrive at Lily’s house, I can tell that my sister has a few choice words for me. I’m positive they have to do with the interview. But I’ve no idea what her angle will be. Is she going to berate me for putting her and Penny at risk? Call me irresponsible? Demand I leave Dorian?

She circles around the topic as we cut vegetables for soup in the kitchen while Penny does her homework in her room.

Lily slices through a bell pepper, then lifts her gaze to me. “Guess what the nurses at the hospital couldn’t stop talking about today?”

I freeze mid-chop. “What?”

She levels me with a look. “Rian Phoenix’s interview about his mystery woman.” A pause—pointed, loaded. “And the trainwreck of his ex-wife. Oh, and how this mystery woman can’t be with him because said ex-wife threatened her family.”

“Lily…” My eyes sting, and I set the knife down, pressing the heels of my hands against the counter. “I didn’t know about the threats. The moment I found out, I told him that if I had to choose between him and my family, I would always pick you.”

“Well, you’ll have to call him back and tell him you choose him instead.”

My head jerks up. “What?”

“You heard me.” She tosses a handful of peppers into the pot like it’s nothing and we’re debating what spices to add to the soup instead of making life-changing decisions.

“I can’t.”

“Sure can.”

“No. If Billie goes public, the press will hound you and Penny. This doesn’t affect only me.”

Lily lets out a short, unimpressed breath and waves the knife.

“California has strict laws protecting minors from press harassment, I’ve looked it up.

” She gives me the same objection as Dorian.

“If they so much as point a camera our way, I can sue them for enough money to retire early. And I bet your boyfriend has an entire team of lawyers on retainer just for that.”

“They could still harass you, and mom, and Moira.”

Lily scoffs. “Please, if they go anywhere near Aunt Moira, they’ll be the ones running for their lives. And I’m really photogenic.”

I gape at her. “You’re serious?”

“Like a grandma at bingo night.” My sister puts the knife down and wipes her hands on a dish towel. “I won’t be the reason you’re miserable, Josie.”

I stare at her, struggling to process this shift, this opening where I thought the door was locked and bolted.

“I watched the interview.” Lily’s features soften.

“The way he looked into that camera when he said he’s in love with you…

” She swallows, blinking quickly, her thoughts must’ve inevitably drifted to Daniel.

To the love she lost. “A love like that? It doesn’t come around often.

Once in a lifetime if you’re lucky. And when you find it, you don’t throw it away. ”

I’m ready to argue that I refuse to make her or Penny’s lives harder. But before I can, the unmistakable sound of an electric guitar echoes through the courtyard.

I turn my head to the front door. “What is that?”

Lily smirks. “Why don’t you go check.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “What did you do?”

My sister shrugs, still smiling. “I only texted him, saying you’d be here tonight and?—”

I don’t wait to hear the end—I’m already running.