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Why talk about the hard stuff when I could put it off for a few more hours? I was a total wuss.
* * *
The next day, Rome and I were on our way to grab some coffee. It was supposed to be a casual thing. He was in his celebrity camo—sunglasses and a worn baseball cap—that wouldn’t fool anyone. Although he had this amped-up energy I’d never seen from him before. Or only once before. I guess his workout and shower hadn’t had a cathartic effect.
After a few minutes of strained silence, Rome cleared his throat. “I, uh, know that scene with Nix yesterday was…whatever. I want you to call me immediately if you see him at the house again.”
“I, um, don’t exactly have your number.”Awkward.
“You don’t?” Rome groaned. “We’ve done this whole thing backward. Get your phone out. It’s—”
I whipped out my phone and typed as he gave me his number. After I’d saved it in my contacts, I stared down at those glowing red notifications on my social media apps.
They mocked me.
Given Rome’s attitude this afternoon, it probably wasn’t the best time to even bring it up.
“Something going on with you?”
I jerked my head up. “What?”
“You just look like someone peed in your Wheaties. What’s going on?”
I groaned. “I guess I need some advice on social media. What should I—”
“Delete it.”
I boggled. He didn’t even have to think about it. “Really?”
“There’s no winning. One camp will love you, the other will threaten to end you. Reporters will use it to find out information on you or post photos from back in the day to embarrass you. It’s not worth it. Delete whatever apps you’ve got.”
“But you have social media.”
“I don’t show my real self to the public, remember? The PR dragon is in charge of my Roman Grier image. It’s not who I am. The Dragon Lady carefully curates my social media presence—most of it is contractual. Occasionally Jeff posts too. I don’t put anything myself out there. I don’t read the comments. I don’t make comments. It’s a time suck and a mindfuck and isn’t worth the hassle.”
Wow.
That was adamant, clear, and decisive.
And yet, I hesitated. I was so isolated right now—my own mother and my best friend weren’t talking to me. And I kinda felt like social media was my only connection to my real life—even if I hardly looked at it. But I could look at photos of my new nephew or my high school friend’s new puppy. Or look to see what Molly was up to since I was too chicken to talk to her since our last conversation.
Rome sighed. “Who’s after you?”
“What?” I hadn’t even said anything.
“What camp of followers or whatever is attacking you?”
I really didn’t want to say. The whole situation was all just so weird and complicated. For the umpteenth time that day, I wondered just what exactly I was doing here. Were industry contacts really worth all this craziness?
“Are they my fans?”
I snorted. “Definitely not.”
It slipped out before I had a chance to think.
“Ah damn. Are the Jaybirds after you?”
I hummed my agreement.
