I shake my head. It’s not worth it. Actually, this visit has quickly put things into perspective for me. This—Simone, Marcus, and protecting their baby—is real life. Everything that’s going on with River and Bailey just seems like a joke compared to this. Just ridiculous fluff.
“Nothing to worry about,” I say.
“I’m not worried,” she says. “I wouldn’t have given my clients to anyone but you, Claire.”
I feel my eyes sting a little at her words, and I blink back the moisture. “Well, thank you, but you didn’t have much of a choice,” I say, and it comes out like a laugh but doesn’t feel like one.
She shakes her head. “There’s always a choice. But I knew you could handle it.”
I’m not handling it, though. The situation with Bailey is a mess, and I have no idea how to fix it. Simone’s faith in me feels misplaced.
After saying my goodbyes, I climb into my car and rest my forehead against the hot steering wheel.
That’s it, then. I’ve got to figure this out on my own. None of the partners can help, the associates don’t have enough experience, and Tessa is a great sounding board, but her job is to assist me, not help me manage celebrities’ reputations.
But . . . I’m not alone, exactly.
I let out a groan as I pick up the phone I threw onto the passenger seat as I got in the car and do the thing I didn’t want to do earlier: I send a text to Luke.
“Look at us, Arch, working together again,” Luke says, sitting across from me at a small round table in the back of Common Ground.
I have so many regrets right now.
Especially with him sitting there like this is no big deal—jacket on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up—smiling at me.
How can he be so calm right now when we’ve been here for nearly an hour and are no closer to a solution than when we sat down?
We can’t do a joint statement—we already did one after the gala. Plus, the stranger danger hug would make that look hollow now. Luke suggested a photo op—something low stakes, River and Bailey seen out and about. But that also wouldn’t work for the same reason.
A social media post from Bailey won’t help. No one would believe it. We talked about getting Declan or Zara to vouch for them, but that falls apart because they don’t start preproduction until next week. There’s always the “go silent and hope it dies” option, but in this case, that’s unlikely.
It all comes back to the freaking hug. I wish I could go back in time and yellNo!at River when he went in for it, thinking it would solve everything. He clearly didn’t think through the repercussions.
“What if River posted something that indirectly addresses the hug?” I offer. “Something lighthearted, maybe self-deprecating.”
Luke shakes his head. “River’s already done too much.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I say.
“I just keep thinking we need to push a reconciliation between the two of them. It could be as simple as Bailey liking something River posts,” Luke says.
I let out a breath. “I don’t think Bailey will do that. It’s inauthentic.”
“Now is probably not the time to take the high road.”
“I could ask her, but I’m telling you she’s probably not going to budge on this.”
Luke rubs his jaw with his fingers, the smile gone now. “We got through worse with Ella,” he says.
Ah yes, Ella Abbott. The client he took with him when he left Harrow & Finch.
Ella’s public feud with another country artist is how I brought her to the firm in the first place, after she pulled me aside at an awards ceremony after-party and told me she was in trouble. It was a big deal that I was able to land such a high-level client and an even bigger deal that Luke and I were able to get people back on her side, which was no small feat. Ella is well known for being hard to deal with, but somehow the fans still love her.
By all definitions, it was worse than this, especially with two combative parties going after each other. But River and Bailey feels harder somehow. Probably because there was no underlying romantic tension between Ella and her rival—no fandom rooting for them to work it out.
“We nailed that,” I say.
“We did,” he agrees, giving me a soft smile. It’s not his usual smirk, and it makes me feel . . . weird.
