Page 75 of The Pucking Grump

“No.”

He does not bother to hide his disappointment. “I know that breakups are hard and all, but your career . . .”

“I want to do what’s right for my career.” My ideas are filling me with a new surge of energy, a new hope. I stand up and start to pace, too jumbled to just sit in one spot. “I left my wedding wanting to give my fans my all, but you know what I did?”

“Lie?” Kevin takes a sausage from my plate and bites it, looking sour.

“Yeah.” I turn to him. My eyes are wide, and I can tell Kevin can probably see a bit of crazy in them. Still, I haven’t felt this alive in . . . ever. “I told myself I needed Blake to get through the PR mess of my fans hating me. That the only way to salvage my reputation was for them to see that I found love again, and then they would accept me. But you know what was missing?”

Kevin takes another bite. He looks confused.

I plow on. “Me. I was missing.”

“You look pretty found to me.”

I ignore his sarcasm. “I could have come to them and told them the truth. That life sucks. That life can be messy. That I’m not perfect. And yes, that I left my wedding and made out with a stranger barely a week afterward, but that I had not fallen in love with him at that point. And that now, after a fake relationship, I have fallen in love with him and that he doesn’t want me back.”

Kevin’s eyes are lit up with alarm. “I don’t think?—”

“And then I can tell them that there’s more to life than a perfect relationship. Or the perfect man. Even if the person doesn’t love you, you still feel love. That sometimes, life plays out that shitty. And that somehow, we find a way to move on.” I’m still torn over Blake. Maybe a part of me always will be. But I’m not going to wait around for Prince Charming to save me like he did the last time.

I’m going to save myself.

Kevin stands up, the sausage slipping from his limp grasp to the floor. “You can’t do that, Faye. Your career will implode. That’s two lies in the space of three months.”

I take a deep breath to calm the emotions raging inside me. “I understand you, really. But I want to tell the truth with my music. I’m not going to keep lying, not even to save my career.”

“Fuck,” Kevin sighs. He stays silent for a few moments, looking at the sausage on his otherwise spotless floor. And then, he mutters, “As your manager, I’d like to say this is a terrible idea. But as your friend, I’m hopeful. This is the only way to get your dad off your back, for one. And who knows? Maybe your fans are deluded enough to fall in love with you for being a total dork.”

“Or maybe,” I don’t feel as confident as I want to, but I say it anyway, “I’ll get new fans. Women who can relate deeply with what I have to say.”

“Fine.” Picking up the sausage, Kevin swings into action. He slips back into his seat and fetches a pen and paper. “First, you go back on social media and apologize. Say you’re working on something that’ll see the light of day soon. I don’t know how fast you can get an album ready, but I would start thinking of a title. Maybe Truth? Very symbolic.”

“I don’t want to release an album yet,” I say, walking up to him. “All I’ve got to do is apologize on social media, like you said. Then I’ll organize a single show, sing a few songs, and tell everyone the truth. And not just by singing, either. I could take an intermission. I don’t want it to be a large performance. A small event space would do. The videos will circulate the internet in seconds.”

Kevin’s pen is poised over the paper, and he has a pensive look on his face. “Your whole plan is nuts, first of all. Second, where on Earth do you think you can get a venue that tiny? You know, without your fans screaming at the door so damn loudly the whole building collapses and no one can hear you?”

I open my mouth, flummoxed.

And then it hits me.

24

CRACKING THE CODE

“Is it just me, or does it look like this house is mocking us?”

I look up. It’s less of a house and more of a damn mansion, sprawling for thousands of feet to both sides in front of us. The stately white pillars and multiple floors look like The White House. It’s hard to believe that regular people live here.

“I guess,” I mutter. I might have had that thought myself, if I had the ability to think of anything other than Faye nowadays.

Alex stops the car in the driveway where five other cars, Lamborghinis and Range Rovers, are packed side by side.

“Looks like he didn’t mind spending her money too much,” Britney mumbles at the sight.

My fingers fold into fists. I’m mad at Brit, but more at the whole situation. It took a lot of convincing from my sister for me to even consider coming here, and now, everything I’ve seen so far makes me resent him more.

We stroll up the gigantic driveway, walk past the stately pillars, and Alex bangs the knocker against the door, an artisanal wooden piece that looks like it belongs in a museum.

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