Page 24 of Perfectly Wrong

My phone rang, interrupting me. It was a call from the office in Toronto, so I answered.

“What’s up?” I said. “Yeah, why?” Sam started packing his suitcase. I grabbed his arm, silently asking him to wait. He looked at my hand like my touch burned. “Got it. And when did this get decided? How long? Six months? Seriously?” Sam’s attention shifted as soon as he heard the timeline. “No, it’s fine. I’ll handle it. Let’s see if we can move the venue around. Just keep me updated, okay? Thanks.” I hung up and took a deep breath. “When were you planning to tell me that you’re going to California on Tuesday?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Why does that matter to you? Do you even care?”

I shut my eyes and counted to ten.

“I had a photoshoot scheduled for you on Wednesday. So yes, it does matter. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I’m sure you can reschedule,” he muttered, zipping up his bag.

“It’s not just about the date, Sam! I need new photos; the ones we have are old.” He either wasn’t listening or was pretending not to. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll handle it. I’ve managed bigger stars; I won’t let a spoiled kid get in the way. Victoria can go to California and take some shots of your precious self.”

“What? You’re not coming?” He sounded surprised.

“What difference does it make?” I snapped back. “Do you even care?”

He glared at me. “And stop calling me a kid!”

“Then stop acting like one!” I shouted.

We stood there, glaring at each other, both breathing hard. Without another word, he grabbed his suitcase and stormed out, muttering about finding another room. His plan fell apart when he learned the hotel was fully booked, and he returned, asking if he could sleep on the couch.

“It’s more than you deserve,” I muttered.

After calling Vicky to set up her trip to California, I turned in early, counting down the hours until I could head back home and stay the hell away from that stubborn man-to-be.

Sam and I hadn’t been on speaking terms since I left the hotel that Saturday. Now, three months after he flew to California, I wished I’d at least said goodbye. Vicky had gone to L.A. as planned and returned with some incredible photos. In the end, his “stupid ass” wasn’t that bad after all.

During those months, I realized how lonely it felt to be without him. There was no one I could talk to, no one I could admit that I missed him to. We’d had our ups and downs, but we were mostly good together. We liked the same music, and we both loved omelettes. He even made one once, and I had to admit, it was the best I’d ever had. He’d talk endlessly about his sister, Amelia, a brilliant teenage girl I hadn’t met yet. The way his brown eyes lit up when he mentioned her was heartwarming.

I knew Sam had come back to Canada a couple of times during those months, but pride kept us apart and silent. A knock on my door brought me back to reality.

“Sorry to bother you, Lena.” Morgana poked her head in, and I gestured for her to come in. “The design team wanted me to let you know they’re about to send over the edited photos and the colour palette they’ve chosen for the new material. There’s also a list of TV shows and journalists Vicky and I think would be good for Martin to connect with. We can schedule an appearance on one of the shows or an interview before the album release.”

She handed me a stack of papers, and I started to skim through them. “This looks great, Morgs,” I said. “But I think we should hold off on some of the interviews until after the first single drops. Keep his name out there, but build a bit of anticipation.”

“I’m good with that,” she replied with a smile. “We’ve highlighted the most important ones. Now we just need to narrow it down and figure out the timing.”

“Perfect! I’ll go over these and check in with his assistant to see if there’s anyone specific they want to include.”

Just as Morgana was about to respond, my phone rang. It was Jeremy, calling me to his office. I rolled my eyes at his demanding tone and apologized to Morgana. If Jeremy was calling with such urgency, it probably meant there was a crisis brewing.

“Come in,” Jeremy called as I knocked on his door.

I froze the moment I stepped inside. Rento was sitting in one of the chairs, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Elena, my dear,” he said, crossing the room in an instant and grabbing my hands, kissing each one in turn. Ew. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again.”

“Right,” I muttered, yanking my hands back and moving closer to Jeremy’s desk.

“Sorry for calling you in, Elena. I know how busy you are.” Jeremy’s tone was unusually apologetic, which set off alarm bells. “But it seems our new client was eager to discuss what we can offer for their band here in Canada. They’ve specifically requested you to create a marketing plan.”

“An initial draft, of course,” Rento interjected.

“What?” I practically barked, looking from one to the other. “Jer, you know I’m fully committed to the Sam Martin project. I was in a meeting earlier, planning TV spots and interviews for his new album. I can’t take on another project right now.”

“I know, Elena,” Jeremy said with a resigned sigh. “I explained that, but Mr. Yamamoto was quite insistent.”

“We agreed to sign with Icon Records to work with the best, Miss Vaughan,” Rento added, his voice taking on an unsettling tone as he said my name. “From what I’ve heard, this company only assigns you and your team when they need top-tier work. You’re the best, and we want your expertise to launch our band in Canada.”

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