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Don’t these people have bigger fish to fry?
There are reporters waiting outside the airport, and as soon as I exit through the door, I'm blinded by flashes from phones and cameras, and bombarded with questions.
My phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I landed. My agent, publicist, and even coach, all called me about reporters who want information regarding the so-calledscandalthat unfolded at Mrs. Kendall's house.
I’m used to all this, and yet I’m getting overwhelmed and frustrated. I can imagine the stress that Samantha is going through. I clench my jaw as I swipe away another unwanted message.
The driver who picks me up from the airport takes me to my agent’s office. I have to meet with Richard for talks on damage control. He knows I don't want Sam’s name dragged into the papers, so the approach has to be different than usual.
At his office, his secretary tries to steer me toward the conference room, but I dismiss her and walk into his office unannounced. I give him a curt nod and sit in one of the plush, ostentatious velvet chairs he has at his desk.
He fans his assistant out of the office as he tries to wrap up a call, rolling his eyes at me. His conversation goes on for another minute and I patiently wait while listening to the one-sided conversation.
Hanging up, Richard wastes no time delving into my situation. “Asher, this is spiraling out of control. The press is swarming, and they want the juice. Who the hell did you piss off to get this kind of coverage? This never happened with all the other girls. What makes this one so special?”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I say, truly at a loss as I shake my head tiredly.
“Stoll, if you want to protect the girl, we need to give them something, or they will go looking for it. We can’t just play it off like we usually would.”
“Let them look, she's like a fucking girl scout. I don't think she even has a parking ticket. She is so much better than I deserve.” I run a hand through my hair at the mounting pressure. “Richard, just tell them no comment for now. I'll speak to them when I'm ready.”
Richard sighs. He understands my stubborn resolve, but also senses the urgency of the situation. “All right, but the longer you wait, the worse it may get. We have your shoe line to think about, and this could affect sales.”
“What the hell does my love life have to do with sales?” I shout, knowing full well that he’s right.
“Come on, you know the deal. It only takes one of your many conquests to turn tail and set the populous against you. I mean, with a nickname like Carousel, it doesn't look great. ‘Everybody gets a ride’ Asher—I mean, really?” He sneers at the nickname my team members gave me.
“But they all signed NDAs.” My argument sounds dumb even to my own ears. If any one of them got enough money, they would throw caution to the wind and write a damn tell-all.
I leave the office much like I arrived, in a whirlwind of emotions. I know the importance of handling the situation right, but I'm not ready to expose my personal life to those heartless assholes.
As I make my way home, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that has been eating at me since I left Willowcreek this morning. I tried calling Samantha repeatedly, but no answer. Her lack of communication has me worried. I need to hear her voice, to explain, to apologize, to make things right.
Fucking moron! I never should have left.
“Damn it!” I curse, punching the passenger seat in front of me and frightening the driver. I apologize and settle back for the rest of the ride home.
As I pull up to my penthouse apartment building, I spot some of the paparazzi outside waiting, so I tell the driver to pull into the parking garage. Entering the elevator, I thank God for small mercies when none of them are there waiting for me.
As a security precaution, the elevator stops in the apartment lobby and has me switch to a private elevator that takes me up to the penthouse.
While waiting, I’m surprised to see Valerie Hendrix approaching me from the waiting area. I give the front desk guy a ‘what the fuck?’ look, and he just shrugs in return as if to say, ‘What was I supposed to do?’
She saunters over to me with a self-assured smile. “Asher, I heard about everything from the gossip columns. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Valerie, it's not like this hasn’t happened before. Why are you at my apartment?” I’ve never brought her here before. How the hell does she know where I live?
“When I saw everything happening, I asked Dad’s secretary for your address,” she explains, touching my chest, but I step back.
I don’t need another unwanted coverage blowing out of control. “Valerie, I don't know what it is you want from me. Your father is an investor in my new line. That's all we have in common.”
She smiles uncomfortably and looks around the lobby. I follow her eye, seeing no one paying us any mind. “I just wanted to give you some advice. With all this going on, I think it's a terrible idea to get back together with the woman who broke your heart.”
At first, I shrug, ready to brush off her comments, but then I remember I saw her outside the door of the launch party when Sam and I were at the elevator. “Valerie, what does this have to do with you? How do you know so much about this?”
She hesitates for a moment, her gaze shifting away before finally shrugging. “I sent the photo of you and her to the press.”
I narrow my eyes at the admission. I saw her with her phone out that night, but I never thought that she would do this. Her actions probably caused irreparable damage to my relationship with Samantha.
