Page 44 of One More Made Up Love Song
“What do you mean by one more made-up love song?” I say. “You’ve written a lot of love songs. They all feel real enough.”
He runs a hand over his face, and for once, I can’t tell what Freddie is feeling. I’ve gotten good at reading hisemotions, but now, he’s wearing a mask of indifference I can’t interpret.
“You didn’t come here to talk about my music,” Freddie says. He breathes out a sigh, then sits up a little taller, sliding his legs toward his chest so he can rest his arms on top of his knees.
Silence settles between us, not quite awkward, just heavy with all the things we aren’t saying. I’m normally one to jump right in, fill the silence, say the hard thing when no one else will. But for once, I hope Freddie will steer our conversation.
Finally, he says, “Ivy, I’m really sorry about what happened.” He winces, tilting his head to the side, then says, “Not what happened. What Ididby insisting to go with you today.I put you in an impossible situation.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I drop my gaze to the bed. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed for asking him to kiss me. I reallywasjust thinking about his career. And he already admitted it was a smart move. But I can’t help feeling like he can see my emotions through my skin. Read the color flushing my cheeks and intuitively know how much I loved the feel of his lips against mine.
“I also really appreciate what you did—and your willingness to help,” Freddie says. “The kiss was a perfect way to thwart whatever Margot might have done. But I hate that I’ve pulled you into the spotlight. I think you were acting with my best interest in mind, but I’m not sure I was doing the same for you. And I’m sorry for that.”
I quickly shake my head. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I hadn’t known what I was getting into,” I say. “I’ve worked for you a long time. I know how these things work.”
He stands and picks up his guitar, carrying it across theroom to the dresser where the case is lying open. He sets it inside, then turns to face me, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I gotta be honest. After this afternoon, I’ve been worried you might not be working for me anymore. That this might finally push you into quitting.”
“Iaskedyou to kiss me, Freddie. I’m not blaming you for anything here.”
“Maybe you should,” he says. “You do too much for me, Ivy. And I’m not sure I’ve been as aware or as appreciative as I should be.”
“It’s really not a big?—”
“It is a big deal,” he says, cutting me off. “So I’m just saying. Anything I can do for you in return, please tell me. Anything.”
I hate that we’re talking about this like it’s a business transaction instead of something that involves actual feelings, but if I turn on the practical side of my brain, maybe I can play this to my advantage.
“How about a better job title?” I ask.
Freddie’s eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“I’m more than your assistant, Freddie. And if I’m ever going to get a job at a record label, it would be nice to have a better title on my resume.”
He frowns. “You’re going to work for a record label?”
I bite my lip. “You’ve always known that was my goal.”
“Right. I know. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair. “Are you not happy working for me?”
“Of course I’m happy. But I can’t do this forever.”
He swallows. “Right. I guess not. Whatever you want, then. You are definitely more than an assistant, and I’m sorry I haven’t acknowledged that before now. Let’s just call you my manager from now on.”
“Thank you,” I say, buoyed both by the acknowledgement and by how well he seemed to read what I needed to hear. I know Freddie feels this way about me. The man is generous with his praise and very self-aware when it comes to how little he can accomplish without me. But it still feels good to have him say it—and not just when he’s trying to convince me to shop for his favorite candy at two in the morning.
“Is Carina okay?” Freddie asks.
“I assume so,” I say. “She’s sleeping and wasn’t really sober enough to have a conversation before she crashed.”
“I’m sure she’ll be better in the morning,” he says.
I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat. “Yeah, I’m sure she will.”
We’re quiet for another beat before Freddie asks, “I assume you’ve talked to Kat? Gotten her take on the situation?”
I huff out a little laugh. “Yeah. She was very thorough.”
Kat Michaels has been Freddie’s publicist for years, and since she helped him weather his last PR crisis, it’s easy to trust her. Though it feels a little different this time, since my name is on the line now too.
