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“You’ve got this,” Blair says, squeezing my arms as we linger out of view of the big open windows of the conference room. I peek around the corner and can just barely make out Egon gesturing wildly at the presentation screen and Ansell Drake himself, sitting very still and frowning at the far end of the table, looking like he’s about to rip poor Egon to shreds.
Ansell is a big man. He’s handsome, almost obscenely good looking, tall, broad, scarred, and covered in tattoos. He’s not the sort of man I expect to see in a business conference room, but he runs one of the hottest entertainment conglomerates on the East Coast. His main headquarters is here in Philadelphia at the top of a glass-wrapped tower in the heart of the city, but Ansell looks like he belongs in South Philly cracking skulls with all the other wise guys. He’s attractive, yes, definitely handsome, model-handsome if I’m being honest with myself, with full lips and a square jaw and thick salt-and-pepper hair that makes him look older than thirty-five, but there’s an edge to him. Maybe it’s those husky-blue eyes or the coldness that feels like it’s wrapped around him like a second skin. It’s definitely the tattoos and the scars. He looks like he’s been through a lot and left a wake of destruction in his path.
“Focus, focus,” Blair says, grabbing my attention. “Ansell’s just a guy, okay? Your pitch is fantastic and Pride is an amazing band. He’s going to love them.”
“I hope so.” I shift from foot to foot and as Blair looks away toward the meeting, my phone buzzes. I turn it over and frown at another email with the subject lineDid you look closely or do you need more?Heart thudding, I turn my back on Blair as she goes to spy on Egon, open it up, and tap another link.
This time, the image is clearer and taken from street level but with a telephoto lens. I know that hair, that back. I definitely know those shoes, but the girl is totally unfamiliar. Dark skin, pretty face, mouth open like she’s moaning.
It’s my fiancé, William, and he’s got his hand between a stranger’s legs.
I nearly scream. I manage to hold it back, and only a strange, choking gag escapes my throat.
“Are you okay?”
I quickly lock my phone and blink rapidly. I’m hyperventilating and my legs feel like they’re about to give out.
That was a picture of William kissing another woman and fingering her, which means that first picture was also William, and my god, that’s my fiancé, cheating on me.
This can’t be real.
This can’t be happening.
“Marie. Hello? Egon’s leaving, it’s time.”
I look up and sure enough, Egon’s hurrying away from the conference room, his face bright red and I’m pretty sure he’s struggling not to start sobbing right here in the halls. He glares at me as he passes. “He’s a fucking prick,” he hisses as he disappears around the corner.
“You’ll be fine,” Blair says, not looking convinced, and shoves me forward. “Good luck!”
I walk on wobbling legs into the conference room.
My mind’s a whirling mess. William is cheating on me. Someone’s got pictures of him cheating on me. God, this is insane, this is horrible. Why did they send them to me now, of all times? I want to scream, but the most powerful people in Drake Entertainment are sitting in silence and staring at me as I start to get set up.
Ansell’s sitting at the far end of the table. His right-hand man, a tall and dark guy named Baptist Tomkins, smiles kindly at me. He’s the opposite of Ansell in every way. Where Ansell’s cold almost to the point of being frigid, Baptist is the office’s favorite higher-up. Beside him is my boss, Emma Cobalt, the head of the talent division, with straight black hair and piercing green eyes. A few other high-level executives sit around watching me with expressions ranging from pity to boredom.
Nobody speaks as I fumble with my laptop. My hands are shaking and I think I’m cracking up. William is cheating on me. He’s cheating on me with strange girls in alleyways. He’s fingering them, kissing them. He’s doing it inpublicwhile engaged tome. I feel like my world’s ripping in half and my heart races and my head spins, and I don’t know what to do. I want to cry, but when I finally get everything ready and stand to face the group, I realize Ansell’s watching me with a hawkish frown like he’s about to slam a knife into my heart and let me bleed out on the table.
“Uh,” I say, glancing at Emma. “Should I get started?”
But Ansell answers for her. His eyebrows raise. “Ms. Pearce. Whenever you’re ready.”
I nod, clear my throat, and open up my presentation. “For the past two months, I’ve been watching, listening, and meeting with the hottest band in Philly, a group called Pride.” I have this presentation memorized backwards and forwards. I’ve been practicing for two weeks, day and night, and I know exactly what I should say.
Except as soon as I click onto the first slide and start playing a clip of Pride’s show from last month, I suddenly forget everything.
The image of William’s hand between that girl’s legs and her mouth hanging open like she’s moaning into his ear keeps playing over and over.
My hands shake. My knees tremble. I think I might be sick.
But Ansell Drake is staring at me with those terrifying eyes and a strange, handsome frown on his lips, and I have to keep going.
I struggle on. I give them social media stats, from how many followers the band has to how many plays their songs get on Spotify. I give them attendance numbers from their last dozen shows. I mention glowing reviews in multiple indie magazines, including a short but favorable write-up fromPitchfork. I talk about Facebook groups, Twitter buzz, Instagram success. My mouth moves, I click through the slides, I play the clips, but my head isn’t in it. My heart isn’t in it.
William’s cheating on me and someone’s sending me the proof.
How can this be happening?
I finish my presentation. I have no clue how long it took, but everyone’s staring at me as I reach the final slide. I stand there, numb, stupid, blinking back at them, feeling like a total reject and a failure. I hate myself and hate the world. I’m a worthless loser and I deserve to be cheated on. I can’t even pitch a band like Pride without screwing it up and they practically sell themselves.
