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“Upload the article.”
“What? I was going to do it on the fifteenth.”
“I know, but if you upload it now, people will mostly forget about the wedding and it’ll bring the focus back to me.”
“You don’t need that kind of negative attention,” Aunt Meg said to him, putting a gentle hand on his arm.
He shrugged. “I’m used to it. And my addiction isn’t a secret. The things you’re going to publish are my exact words, so there’s nothing to hide. I’m fine with it. If I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have said them.”
“Carter.” Zeke gave him a look. “You don’t have to throw yourself under any fucking bus for me. We didn’t do anything wrong. We got married. Big deal. We don’t owe anyone explanations about timing or anything else, beyond soothing my mother’s ruffled feathers. She’ll be a little hurt, but if we let her do some of the wedding planning, she’ll get over it.”
“Yeah, but the timing is right to give the band some attention,” Carter said. “Once our name is front and center again—and a Vegas wedding won’t provide that—everyone will start asking about the new album. It’s the perfect time to start promoting it.”
“It’s not coming out for months,” Zeke protested.
“So we move up the timeline. Who’s in charge here, us or them?”
“Who’s them?” Aunt Meg asked.
“The corporate machine that runs our organization,” Carter replied glibly. “The man. The band’s equivalent of the government. And Aurora, I guess.”
“Fuck Aurora,” Zeke muttered.
“No thanks.” Carter made a face.
“It’s going to put Presley’s life into a tailspin,” Zeke said after a moment. “That’s why we were waiting until later in the month. To give her time to prepare.”
“No time like the present,” Aunt Meg said thoughtfully. “You weren’t planning on going on a honeymoon, so what else does she have to do?” She was mostly joking, but she had a point and I nodded.
“If this is what you want, Carter, I can certainly ride the momentum. Meg talked to Lexi Rousseau the other day and she’s going to be my next story, talking about the difficulties she’s faced as a woman in the music business.”
“Is your business model going to be one big story a month?” Carter asked.
I nodded. “That’s the plan. One big story a month, along with some album reviews for new music and small, fluff pieces about rockstar birthdays and such.”
“Oh, so for the June issue you’ll find guys who have birthdays in June?”
“Or ladies,” Aunt Meg said, nudging him.
“Zeke said he’ll help me reach out to a few people who have birthdays each month, if they’re willing to tell me their plans. That leaves me with relatively small amounts of content to curate, but hopefully all with big impact.”
“This is cool,” Carter said with a grin. “Can I help you curate content?”
“Sure.”
“You guys want to have dinner in our room?” Zeke asked, lifting his phone. “I’ll call ahead, see if I can have room service delivered.”
“You two should have a little privacy,” Aunt Meg said. “Carter can take me to dinner in the hotel.”
“The press will have a field day with you two,” I told her, laughing.
She laughed. “Come on, when was the last time I had any excitement in my almost sixty-one-year-old life? Maybe a little adventure will keep me younger. God knows, between my heart and MS I’m not getting any healthier.”
“It’ll be okay, Meg.” Carter patted her hand. “I’ll keep you young. We’ll raise some hell tonight.”
“Not too much hell,” Zeke said to him pointedly.
Carter just grinned. “I’m good, man.”
