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I roll my eyes and try to think of a rebuttal, but nothing comes to mind. She’s not saying anything that Darian and I hadn’t already discussed. “Listen, Laura, Reverend Sister was mine long before Van Phillips walked into my garage. I’m not the one who cheated, he was. I didn’t violate the trust of the band. He did. And until I figure out what I’m going to do, band business happens as usual. As of right now, Van can stay, but not in my house.”
“Zara—”
“No, you listen, Laura. If you want to stay on as our publicist, you will remember who you work for. You know, you’re starting to make me think you’re sleeping with my husband too.”
There’s a long silence that falls between us, making my stomach drop to the floor. “That’s fucking wonderful,” I say as I hang up. Fuck her and Van, and every other bitch he’s slept with. I’m tempted to break my phone, but I can’t bring myself to let it fly out of my hand although the crunching sound it would make as it hits the wall would be somewhat soothing, but then I’d be pissed that I broke my phone and have to buy a new one.
“Darian,” I yell as I turn my phone off and put it in the drawer.
“What’s up?” he asks, running into the kitchen.
“Can you call Mom? I just can’t look at my phone anymore.” Tears fall quickly, and I find myself being pressed against Darian’s chest.
“I’m going to beat his ass,” he says. This time I don’t tell him no because maybe that is what Van needs. I don’t think I can bring myself to tell Darian that Van has slept with our publicist. The thought makes me ill and hits me like a ton of bricks. I have to get myself to the doctors to be tested for whatever disease he could’ve given me. As much as I don’t want to think about catching him yesterday, I don’t remember seeing a condom.
I close my eyes and continue to cry while my brother holds me. In the blink of an eye, everything that I knew my life to be has been nothing but a lie. I have devoted my life to that man since I was seventeen and this is how he shows me what I mean to him, by destroying my trust in him.
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do now. How do I proceed knowing I can’t trust my publicist? Her betrayal is just as bad as Van’s. We pay her to work for us and if she’s sleeping with Van that makes her a whore.
It all makes sense now, her pushing me to just brush this all under the rug. If Van isn’t married, the likelihood that they continue their affair is out the window. That’s my logic at least. If he were single, why would he choose to be with someone like her? He wouldn’t. He’ll have so many women falling at his feet that Laura and her assistant will be nothing but a blip on his radar.
I’m tempted to tell Darian about Laura, but hold back. I need to tell the group as a whole and save myself from having to repeat the same story over and over. Darian lets me go but keeps his hands on my shoulders.
“What do you need, Z?”
“Food and for Hayden and Freddie to come over. We need to have a meeting.”
He nods. “I’m on it.”
I head back upstairs and look through my blinds again. Not only has the media sustained its presence outside my home, but also it seems that fans are starting to gather. Unfortunately, a press release is going to have to be issued, or I can let the speculation grow. It won’t take long to confirm what they already know, especially once I file divorce papers.
Speaking of divorce, if I wasn’t certain before, I am now. One incident I might be able to forgive, but not two, and not one with a woman that works for us. With one last look outside I head back downstairs to find Darian sitting at the island and chatting on his phone. He smiles at me as I pass by and pull out the drawer where I thought I could keep my phone hidden. Powering it back on, I scroll through the contacts until I find the one for my agent and press his number.
“TMZ says that you and Van have separated?”
“Doesn’t anyone say hello anymore?” I ask Asher Greene, the man who secured our first record deal.
“Hello, Zara. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need a lawyer. The best.”
“So the rumors are true?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but if it’s that my husband can’t keep it in his pants, then yes.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
“Yeah.”
“Hang tight, and I’ll send one to your house.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I go there?” I ask.
“It would be, or you can have her come to you. This would save you from having to make a public statement later. I’m going to send the best celebrity divorce attorney. This will be easy.”
But not painless. “Send her,” I say before hanging up. At this point, I don’t even care about the damage done to Van’s reputation because he clearly didn’t care about any of my feelings when he was sticking his dick in whatever pussy he could find. If he didn’t have any respect for me, why should I for him?
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