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“Yeah, I don’t think you should ever try to change someone,” Rashida added to the conversation. She looked a little annoyed, and had the entire night.
Maybe I’m not the biggest party pooper.
I smiled at that and got my phone out again, hoping to see a message from Jackson—but there wasn’t anything. Maybe he’d decided that our conversation wasn’t going anywhere…or maybe he was too drunk to text back.
It was hard to say which was more likely.
However, just as I was about to close out of my phone and put it up for the night, an article flashed across the screen.
Jackson Whiss, the infamous rock star frontman of Bad Man’s Land, has been arrested in Los Angeles.
I ran my hand over my face as I clicked on the article. Looked like none of my guesses were the right one.
24
JACKSON
“Let’s go.” My lawyer, Sam, looked pissed as I stepped out of the jail, still holding my plastic baggie of shit. “I can’t believe you did this. Genna is going to rip us both a new one.”
“I don’t know why it took you all fucking night to come and get me,” I grunted, ignoring the splitting headache. “I don’t even remember what happened.”
Sam laughed without humor. “The same shit that always happens, Jackson.”
The driver of the Tahoe opened the back passenger seat door, and I ignored the flashing of cameras around me as I joined Sam inside. I couldn’t remember anything after we left the club. I pulled my phone out of the Ziplock bag and tried to power it on, to no avail.
Dead. Figures.
“Just when we thought you were cleaning up your act,” Sam began, shaking his head at me. He’d been my personal lawyer for a while now, my dad having found him—specifically for dealing with me when I got drunk. “The media is going to have a field day with this.”
I shrugged. “Not like it matters. Just the same shit, different day.”
“Yeah, but this is your life.” Sam turned to me, his face stone-cold. “You punched some guy out because he made some comment about your girlfriend.”
“My…what?” I muttered, completely confused.
“Yeah, the fake girlfriend, and I think that’s going to be the only way we salvage this mess. So, good on you for picking a topic.”
“What’d he say?” I asked, wondering what the hell would’ve gotten me that riled up over Lena. “I’ve never gotten in a fight before.”
“Nope, and you’re lucky you haven’t. We’ve convinced the guy not to press charges.”
“Oh fuck,” I groaned, my head falling to my hands. “What’d that cost?”
“Too much, Jackson. Too much.” Sam leaned forward and grabbed his coffee, the mere smell of it making my stomach churn. “Hopefully, you can keep your head on straight this weekend at the wedding. It’s a star-studded crowd.”
“I won’t drink at all.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” Sam didn’t look back over at me as we headed away from the jail.
I glanced out the window, watching as we headed toward the record label office. I knew they’d more than likely called a meeting about what happened. That was what they always did. Damage control. It was time for damage control.
And I’d be stuck giving some stupid statement about how sorry I was.
I wonder what Lena thinks of me…
My stomach knotted up at the thought, already knowing she had thought I was a mess from the beginning—and now she had proof that I was exactly what she’d assumed I was.
But why did that bother me?
