Page 40 of Rumor Has It

“Now that you mention it, I havesomehowworked up an appetite.”

“I’ll warm the desserts from lunch and bring those, too.”

“Are you planning to parade around with no clothes on?” I ask because she’s still in bed, making no effort to move. I’ll wait around to see that.

“I’m finding my sea legs. Then I’ll get dressed.”

“There you go again, chou, stroking my ego.” I laugh, holding onto fresh clothes. I don’t know why I need them. Both of us back in her bed is my ultimate goal.

“How about I stroke your—eek!” She squeals as I rush the mattress.

I tickle her and we collapse into a puddle of hard bites, soft kisses, and laughter.

Everything about being with Cassidy feels right. Particularly when she’s looking out for me, and even when we—I—make a disaster out of it.

A warm spot grows in my chest. There’s something special about leaving to wash up and knowing she’ll be here when I return.

I turn the water on and enjoy the daytime view of the vineyard while it heats. On the way into the shower, I notice the bruising on my back that Cassidy was worried about.

I’d say that’s gonna leave a mark, butobviously.

The worst parts are purple with some red scratches. Nothing I’m overly concerned about. Except once the water hits the broken skin, it’ll sting like a motherfucker.

My mind hits rewind from the split-second I felt the floor fall out from under me. Air whooshed up my pant leg and I remember thinking if I went down straight as a board, I risked breaking my legs the way they say happens when someone jumps off a bridge. I tucked my knees on instinct. Although I hardly remember the bump at all, I must’ve banged my back into a two by six as I crashed through the ceiling. My next thought was actually about my own stupidity. Then I was falling. And the final thing that crossed my mind was that my stupidity was ruining the amazing thing I have going with a sexy blonde I don’t fucking deserve… And how I’d be an idiotnotrisking everything for her.

Cassidy’s suggestion to have the bruising checked out is on-target. The last thing I need to do is ignore it and risk a complication. If I lose my balance when I’m on stage during the upcoming tour, and tumble into the pit while taking a selfie with a fan’s camera, the crowd will tear my shirt off. The view underneath I’m currently saving for a pretty blonde baker.

I tap a message to Vespa about finding a private local physician. My cell rings almost as soon as I hit send and I answer my assistant’s request for a video chat.

“Are you sick?” Vespa gets straight to the point.

“I took a tumble.” I shrug, holding the camera up to hide the indecent rest of me.

“I assume you don’t mean in the sheets with someone.” Her face pinches. “Nice bathroom, by the way.”

Between the dinner reservations, the suit, and having her pack and send a suitcase with enough clothes to tide me through for a week, my assistant is sharp enough to see the writing on the wall. I’m involved with someone.

Vespa’s also not the type to coddle anyone, so she’s equally as pissed I haven’t messaged to get the plane ready.

Not that getting on her bad side is anything new. I’ve been at it since I made her coordinate Kylie’s funeral.

“I’ll give the owner your stamp of approval on their restroom decor… I don’t think I mentioned sleeping with anyone… And through the ceiling.” I tick off the responses on my fingers, hoping to communicate the information she needs quickly and get into the shower.

My irritation with Vespa has been on a slow simmer since she mentioned I should think twice about staying in Texas to meet with Cris and Jake. This is a call I’d rather not have. Hence, why I texted.

“Jesus Christ! Are you kidding me? Are you even thinking? Can you make my job any more difficult, Isaiah?” Vespa reprimands. Her expressions are a wild mix of disbelief, but her sharp black bob remains an unmoving helmet on her head. “What’s gotten into you?”

I could make a shithead comment to rile her up by saying what I’m getting into is Cassidy’s pants, but that’s disrespectful to both women.

The tactic I use instead is restarting the fight my assistant and I began last summer.

“If you don’t want to do the job anymore, Vespa, just say so.”

I once thought being on top of the world meant I had it all. But my rising star was the start of a lie I’ve been perpetuating. The growing list of falsehoods I keep from my fans and Kylie’s bind at my wrists. Not that my marriage was any of their business. I often circle back to the guilt I have about how I treated my wife on the day she died and what I’d do differently. Sometimes I want to slap myself and say “snap out of it!”

My therapist said I’m not the only one with reasons to make amends. I’m just the only one who can. Because I’m still alive, I’m stuck fixing a situation that’s not necessarily mine to fix.

But Vespa? I hired her to manage my affairs.

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