Page 29 of Snared

“Fuck.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Charlie. Really.”

“My phone is blowing up. Everyone knows.” Frustration took over. “Youshouldbe fucking sorry! You had one thing to do, keep your damn mouth shut. What were you even thinking last night, Josh? All I did was fucking dance with Connor and you had to turn it into this epic disaster. Do you know what people’ll say about me? Of course you do. They were already saying it. But now it’ll be even worse. Even more. Because I married the fucking band manager in fucking Vegas.Vegas, Josh. Nothing could be worse for my career, Josh. Do you even get that?Nothing.”

I started to panic, my voice getting pitchy, but I refused to cry.

Refused.

I’d worked my ass off to get this job and be part of this band I’d loved for years. And now, because of too many drinks and this asshole’s big fucking mouth, it was all shot to hell. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t stand by and watch everything implode around me.

I bit back a scream as I started to pace.

“Charlie, Charlie, stop,” he said, grabbing my hands. “Calm down.”

“Don’t you dare fucking tell me to calm down, asshole,” I said, trying to pull free from his grasp. I was panicking, but the last thing I needed was Josh’s condescension.

This was so epically bad, I didn’t even have the words to explain how bad.

“I’m going to fix this,” he said.

“Really? Because that’s what you keep saying and it’s only getting worse. The entire world knows that we’re married, Josh. Theworld. And now when we get a quickie annulment, no one will ever take me seriously again. And, oh my god, the guys. They don’t need this scandal right now.”

“I have a solution.” He put his hand on the back of the chair in the room and pulled it toward me. “But you might want to sit down.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

He gave me a small smile, and I resisted the urge to punch him. “Is this a joke to you?”

He shook his head. “What? No, absolutely not. There is nothing more important to me than this band and every member in it.”

“Fine.”

“Which is why we’re going to stay married,” he said matter-of-factly.

I’d started to sit but spun on him at his words. “Are you insane?”

“No, hear me out. Right now, it’s everywhere. And if we get a quickie annulment or divorce, it will stay everywhere. But what if we hold off? Act like this wasn’t a drunken mistake. How boring is that? Not a whiff of scandal anywhere. Then, after the tour, we get divorced quietly. No big deal. We say it didn’t work out. Follow it up with a new album and no one is going to care that we were married. Hell, the band could even throw in a few breakup songs on the album, people will love that.”

I tamped down my scream. “I’m going to murder you. That’s the only option you figured out? Stay married? You cannot be serious.”

His reasoning seemed slightly sound, but I was clearly not in full possession of my faculties and really shouldn’t have been the one judging it, so I focused on being pissed.

“Or we put out a statement that we got drunk in Vegas and got married and it was a joke and then no one will take you seriously,” he said.

“It’s too early in the morning to deal with you being a heartless dick.”

“I know that’s harsh, but the reality is that this is out there and we have to find a way to get in front of it, spin it to our—your—benefit,” he said.

“Believe me, there is nothing beneficial for me in being married to you,” I snarled.

I needed coffee. Or a time machine. Maybe both.

Fuck.

“So we play the long game, wait for the sensationalism to die down. And it will. There’s always some other drama popping up. By the time we get divorced, it’ll be boring, old news.”

“This is a bad idea. Everyone will see through our ruse,” I said.

“Not if we play the part of a happy, loving couple,” he said.

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