Page 43 of Fractured Frets

I closed the browser on my cell phone and called Slip...but it went straight to voicemail.

The guys were two months into the overseas leg of their tour. Taking out their official tour photographs and posts, the band was often in the news when they landed in a new city, snapped arriving and leaving their hotels, or for having drinks in some bar, or rocking up to venues for their shows. Slip knew anything to do with Harper would upset me. It was thoughtful of him to warn me. I didn’t want the scandal to ruin our few days together. But no doubt it would be a splinter in my side.

We had a party tonight, Mom’s physical therapy appointments tomorrow, and then a work function in the evening. Reporters would be all over us.

Not what I wanted. Not ever.

I flopped back on the pillow and glanced at the time. 5:07 a.m.

It was an hour earlier than I needed to be up, but I was awake. There was no chance of going back to sleep, so I hauled myself out of bed, showered, and packed.

I called Slip another couple of times, but his phone was still off. Damn flights.

At eight a.m., I was out the door, on a plane by nine-thirty, and on Slip’s doorstep by two. I let myself in with my security code. Slip was due there in an hour.

I dropped my cabin bag at the bottom of the staircase and walked into the huge kitchen with its natural dark timber cabinetry, marble-topped island, and black fixtures. Everything still smelled new after Slip had spent a small fortune gutting and renovating his entire house, turning it into a Balinese abode. It was a tropical paradise, tucked away high up in the hills of Hollywood. Everything was earthy and homey, from the lush indoor plants to the raw wooden bar stools, exposed ceiling beams, and handcrafted rustic, long dining table that overlooked the pool area. I’d never thought I liked this style of interior design, but I fell in love with this place the moment I walked through the door just over a year ago. It had been nothing but a stripped back, bare shell then. Kinda weird that this was...well...could be my home too.

I read the note on the corner of the kitchen counter:

Plants watered. Fridge stocked.

Enjoy your break.

Luv Mackenzie

I smiled. Slip’s housekeeper looked after all the guys’ homes, and did errands and odd jobs for them. Total angel. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and poured myself a large glass. After settling onto the massive black leather sofa, I checked my cell phone again. Slip had just landed. Butterflies dipped and dived in my stomach, just like they did every time we caught up.

But the photos of him with Harper kept filtering through my mind. I hated she was with him, and I wasn’t. My phone rang. It was Jodie, my publicist. I tapped the screen to answer it.

“Hey, Jodie. What’s up?”

“This shit with Slip and Harper is blowing up to be the size of the Hiroshima bomb. What do you want me to do? Say? Deny?”

I rubbed the tension thudding in my brow. “Nothing yet. He texted before his flight. He said they were with Cole and Charlotte.” Why hadn’t he been more careful? “He’ll be here soon. We’ve got a couple outings over the next few days. I’m sure we’ll be followed by photographers, and hopefully we’ll squash any of the bullshit rumors.”

“It’ll look like he’s rushed home for damage control.”

“Trust me, if I find out that it was more than just a friendly catchup there will be a lot of damage done. To him. Give me a couple more hours. I’ll talk to him, then I’ll get back to you.”

“Hilary isn’t happy with the negative publicity you’re causing for the show. You’re one of the major stars, caught up in this scandal. She doesn’t want it to impact the show’s ratings.”

Hilary, my show’s producer, had the entire cast on good behavior contracts. She was brilliant to work for as long as you didn’t put a foot out of line. I’d had a clean slate for four years...then I’d met Slip. At the root of not wanting a serious relationship was my deep fear he’d cheat, leave, and hurt me. But also, I was afraid I’d lose my job at every season renewal. Five cast members hadn’t been re-signed thanks to their drunken and disorderly behavior. Some had crashed cars under the influence of alcohol, while others had turned diva-ish, rocking up to work late, even missing full days of filming.

I’d raised a few concerns with the studio since I’d met Slip and had been issued a warning after we’d gotten married. With the gossip flying around us, I didn’t want to be next on the chopping block.

I just wanted to live a happy married life, with my husband, and avoid the headlines. But with him on tour, we attracted more and more attention. Every day I wanted to give Slip more of my heart and trust him.

I prayed the online stories weren’t true.

“Jodie, viewers won’t hate the show because of my relationship with Slip.” Any press is good press, right? Hopefully. “Hilary just wants our up-and-coming publicity tour and interviews to be about the new season and the clever storyline, not our personal lives. It will be fine. I’ll sort it out.” Maybe.

“Okay.” Fatigue drifted through Jodie’s level tone. “Slip needs to be more careful. He can’t do this crap while you’re apart.”

“No shit.”

“Innocent or not, that kiss is all over the news and not good publicity for anyone.”

A chill shot down my spine. Kiss? What the fuck? What kiss?

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