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“This is bad,” Genna snapped. “Like, really bad.”
I shrugged as I stared up at the screen before me, a celebrity news station harping about how horribly I had treated my ex-girlfriend and supermodel, Artisa Collins. “I don’t get why it matters what she thinks. None of that shit is even true. She’s just trying to get clout.”
Genna, the head of my PR team, glared at me. “Yes, it does matter. She’s making big waves about how big of a prick you are, Jackson. You’re a rock star, and while you’d think it might go along with the attitude—to treat people like trash—we don’t support that.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t treat people like trash.”
She let out a sharp sigh, and my manager, Tim, groaned. My eyes bounced between the two of them, not remotely understanding what the hell was going on. I leaned back in the chair, sliding my phone off the table and into my lap. I lit up the screen, checking to see if there were any notifications…
Well, any that were actually interesting.
I scrolled through the hundreds of messages, seeing Tyson’s text pop up. I clicked it open, and then rolled my eyes.
This girl is INCREDIBLE.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard as Artisa’s voice came from the TV.
“He never put me first, and the way he treated others around us was just despicable. It was so embarrassing. I’m all about positive energy and giving more than taking. Jackson was just…the epitome of a spoiled brat.”
My eyes flickered up, my jaw dropping. “She’s the one who cussed out the server that cooked her steak a hair too long.”
“Ah, so now we have your attention,” Genna retorted, folding her thin arms across her chest. She came across like a hard-ass—and maybe she was. But her dark afro would make anyone jealous. “We have to straighten up this image. The band’s record sales have already dipped. We need a banger of an album, but even with that, your reputation is in shambles.”
“Nah, she’ll get off her high horse soon,” I said, pushing back from the table. “I really need to get moving for the day. I’m supposed to be writing with Tyson today.”
Oh yeah, and I should probably text him back.
“You’re not going anywhere, Jackson,” Tim warned me, his dark eyes boring into my skull in a way that made me pause. “We have to figure this out, Jack. This shit is all over the news. She’s also taken on multiple interviews with some of the best publishers in the business. This could really backfire. We have to get this under control before it gets out of hand.”
“Fuck,” I sighed, relaxing back into the chair. “What do you want me to do? Go work at a food pantry or something?”
“No, you’d never survive at a food pantry,” Genna mused, her dark hair bouncing against her shoulders. “In fact, I have no idea what the fuck to do with you anymore. You make scenes, and you need a place where you can be authentically you, while also serving in some way.”
“That’s gonna be impossible,” Tim uttered, rolling his eyes. “We all know Jackson is the one with the loosest—”
“Don’t even go there,” I warned my manager. “I don’t sleep around, and you know I treated Artisa well. The woman was just never happy.”
“News flash, most women aren’t happy with men that act like you.”
Now, I was offended, gritting my teeth at Genna. “What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
“Well, come on, Jackson. You’re twenty-five years old, and you act like an emo seventeen-year-old most of the time.”
“No, I don’t,” I argued, folding my arms across my chest like a child. “I just want to enjoy life while I can. My brothers are out settling down and shit…and I…I don’t know. That isn’t gonna happen to me.”
Because that just leads to fucking heartbreak.
Genna let out a sharp exhale, taking a seat in her chair with a plop. “Well, here’s the thing, Jack. We have to come up with something to overshadow the mass chaos that Artisa is causing. I don’t lean toward a fake romance—I think that would just lead to a lot of controversy. I think the best way to go about it is, like I said, finding something for you to do—that you might enjoy—and that paints you in a better light.”
“I don’t know what that would be,” I grunted. “I guess just set up an interview or something. I’ll just tell the other side of the story.”
“Absolutely not,” Tim and Genna said in unison.
“Okay, well, then…I don’t know. I guess schedule another commercial for some great nonprofit, and then I’ll be grand.”
“No,” Genna huffed. “That’s way too small-minded. We need something so genuine that people will fall in love with you all over again. We want something unique. What’re some things that you like, outside of just partying?” She asked the question like she wasn’t sure if there’d be an actual answer to it.
“I like to play music,” I answered with the most obvious answer.
