Page 65 of Mayhem

We agree for me to go to the office tomorrow instead of the rehearsal space to go over things and plan our strategy. That works for me. I won’t have to face Brad. Or Charlie.

My heart clenches at the thought of her discovering I’m not there tomorrow. I wonder briefly if Brad is going to tell her that we’re no longer together, and how she’ll take it.

But before I let my heart run away with me, I stop it. I take a deep breath, ignoring the beautiful fragrance from all the flowers still scattered around my apartment, and steel myself to the task at hand. My job. If I throw myself into my work, this won’t hurt so much. If my defenses are strong enough, I won’t feel anything.

I won’t feel the crushing weight of the pain that’s pressing down on me. I won’t burst into tears like I want to so badly. I’ll stop shaking from somewhere deep in my bones.

I’ll survive.

I don’t have an office at the label headquarters, so I set up in a conference room while I wait for Eliza to come in. I’m early and haven’t slept a wink. All night, I went down the rabbit hole of posts related to Brad and his past relationships. Not just the ones with Sierra and Gina, and the current situation, but everyone he went public with. One thing stood out to me that was surprising – he never talked bad about any of them to the press. Regardless of what they did to him to end the relationships, he always had either decent things to say, or in the alternative, said absolutely nothing.

That says a lot about him as a person. Lord knows, if I were to put out a public comment after my break ups, I’d have a thing or two to say about how shitty some of my exes were. I’d shout it from the top of Tower Records, for God’s sake, just to warn other women. Not Brad. He’d rather say nothing at all than disparage someone.

Even last night, when he was explaining what happened with Sierra, he didn’t call her names, or curse her in any way. He just seemed lost as to why she would do what she did. I would probably strangle somebody that did that to me, but instead of acting out, he withdrew. From me.

Eliza comes into the conference room, her tall frame as graceful as ever. Her long platinum hair has green ends now, instead of her typical blue, and I wonder why the change in hue. A lot of women I know change their hair color when a major life event happens – Ivy is a prime example of that – dying her long locks when her mood shifts. I’m not that brave.

“You haven’t slept, have you?” she asks, her studious eyes examining me closely. I squirm a little under the scrutiny, not wanting to give too much away.

“No. I figured this was too major to put off until this morning and wanted to get ahead of things.” It’s the truth anyway. She doesn’t need to know the details of how derailed I got in the process.

“Okay,” she huffs with a nod, tossing a notebook and pen on the table, and sitting across from me. “Let’s hear it. What do we need to do?”

“Nothing,” I say, confidently.

She waits for a beat.

“Okay, go on.”

I love that she’s willing to hear me out on this. Eliza is a smart woman. She’s in her position with Blackmore because she has good instincts. Hiring me is hopefully another one of her good decisions.

“Blindsided made a mistake, releasing both stories in the same news cycle. They’ve oversaturated social media, and confused readers to the point that they don’t care.”

“Well, don’t we want people to care?” Eliza asks, resting her chin on her fists, giving me her full attention.

“We do. But not about this.” I lay my tablet on the table between us to show her a few posts from fans that highlight my point. “From the metrics I’ve been following, general sentiment is that fans don’t believe either story.”

She scrolls through the posts, reading comments as she goes, and even chuckles at a few of them. “Ha. ‘Blindsided, back on their bullshit again.’ Well done, sir.”

“The fans are doing our job for us on this,” I say, wanting to make sure she understands my reasoning. “If we make a statement, or rebuke the articles in any way, it gives them value. It shines a spotlight on them that isn’t even there.”

“So, why did it seem like such a big deal last night?” she asks, pushing the tablet back across the table.

“Well, for one thing, we’ve all got alerts for anything related to Chaos Fuel. We’re going to see things like this instantly. We’re too close to it to see the full picture.” I swallow hard, trying not to think about how close I am to it all.

She narrows her eyes at me, and I get the sense that she is seeing the full picture. Recent scars and all. “So, you stayed up all night, just to come in here and tell me to do nothing.” It’s not a question; more of a statement.

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” I force myself to stay professional, despite wanting to break down from the emotional exhaustion about to wash over me. Hours upon hours of seeing Brad’s pictures with his exes hardened me for a while. And even putting together the metrics to show Eliza buffered me from the oncoming onslaught. But I’m starting to bow under the pressure, and Eliza’s keen gaze only makes it harder to control.

“It is,” she finally says, gathering her things to leave. She gives me a decidedly approving nod. “Good work. Now go home and get some sleep. You’ve obviously earned it.”

When she’s gone from the room, my body almost gives in right then. She’s right. I do need sleep. There’s only so much a person can take in one day, and I’ve reached my limit.

My life is in total chaos, but at least this is now under control. The scandal that’s not even a scandal will blow over. From my years of professional experience in dealing with things like this, I know that it will.

My heartbreak? I think that one is going to be forever.

42

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