It takes me a second to realize he means me.
I don’t even flinch. “They already do. That’s their job.” I put my hand on top of Nolan’s and brush my thumb along the scar on his wrist. “I’m fine. As long as I have my pack, I can handle a few thousand haters with too much time on their hands.”
Kellen’s lips quirk. “Not sure I’d call the national press ‘a few thousand haters.’”
“Well, they’re not very imaginative,” I shoot back. “Recycled headlines. Low effort memes. I expect better from the fourth estate.”
“You’re insane,” says Elliot, but he says it like it’s an endearment.
Nolan, to my immense satisfaction, just pulls me closer, tucking my body under his until my nose is in the clean line of his throat. I inhale his scent and feel very, very safe.
And for the next twenty minutes, it’s nothing but lazy kisses and easy conversation. Eventually, though, Kellen’s phone starts vibrating across the nightstand and does not stop.
“Don’t answer,” Elliot says, threatening violence with only his tone. “Whoever it is can wait.”
Kellen reaches for it anyway. “It’s my mother,” he announces, reading the screen.
Okay, maybe the one person who can’t wait.
Kellen apologizes and then hops out of bed to take what turns out to be a rather mundane call.
I extract myself from the nest and grab the only clean tee in reach: Kellen’s, which is oversized and smells like sugar and ocean pine. Only then do I brave the onslaught that are my own phone notifications. There are missed calls and texts. A “wherethe fuck are you” from Raelynn at 2:31 a.m., and several emails flagged “URGENT” in all caps.
I stall for only a minute before hitting the call button.
“Piper Sumner, you are absolutely feral,” Raelynn barks before the line even connects. I hold the phone away from my ear. “Where have you been?”
“Good morning to you, too.” There’s a chorus of alpha snickers behind me. “I’ve been working. Like you asked.”
“You have not. If you had, you’d have sent something.” There’s a sound like furious typing in the background. “The new love song is tanking. You’ve been meme’d to death. TMZ is running a story about you blowing off the prince for an afterparty in Ibiza which did not happen.” Raelynn makes a sound like a dying cat. “You’re so fucking lucky you’re a musical genius, you know that?”
I bite my cheek to keep from smiling. “I take it the ‘pairing’ isn’t going over as planned?”
She sighs, and for the first time I hear actual exhaustion in it. “It’s going. But there’s a lot of people—important people—who think this PR thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”
Ouch.
“They want you to keep a lower profile for a bit. Maybe let the Kellen rumors simmer down, focus on the album?—”
“It’s not a rumor.” There’s no stopping the edge in my voice. “Kellen and I?—”
“Are a good story,” Raelynn cuts in, and then softer, “I know, Piper. But the press is looking for blood and you’re giving them a feast. For the love of God, can you just behave until the Grammys?”
“Behave how?”
“Don’t get caught in bed with three men at once, for starters.”
I choke, because I do not remember posting any evidence of that particular detail. “It was a couch, and it was platonic.”
Raelynn scoffs loudly. “Look, I don’t care what you do as long as it sells records and stops pissing off the queen. But for now, we need something positive, something vulnerable and sweet. Can you do that?”
I look over at my pack, the absolute disaster of a bed, and the way all three of them are holding their breath to see if I’m okay. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Raelynn clicks her tongue. “Good, send me your new stuff. Early. No more missing for forty-eight hours at a stretch. Or I’m getting in my car.”
I’m about to hang up, but something makes me ask, “Do you actually believe any of the stuff people write about me online?”
Raelynn is quiet for a second. “Of course not. But you know how it works. Their version of you is what matters, until we can sell them the real thing.”
