Page 64 of One More Made Up Love Song
“I know Jeff,” Kat says. “I can definitely let him know what we need.” She looks over her list one more time. “Okay. The rest is pretty straightforward. We can coordinate on some social media posts that drop a few more hints, but after your appearances together, those will feel like gravy.”
“Are we concerned about Margot at all?” I ask. “I know we’ve got the edge here, but she might still talk. She always does.”
“Margot is a nonissue,” Sloane says. “I’ve been in communication with her people. Our story is airtight. You were at her house to pick up your girlfriend’s sister. Everything online corroborates that story.”
“This might havestartedbecause of Margot,” Kat says, “but we’re keeping it up because it’s generating a lot of really positive press. You’re all over the news. Streaming is up. Downloads are up. Radio play is up. Those are all good things.”
“I talked to Voltage this morning,” Sloane adds, “andthey had nothing but positive things to say. They didn’t mention your missed album deadline once.”
Ivy reaches over and puts a hand on my arm. “Maybe the lack of pressure will make it easier to write.”
“Let’s hope,” Kat says. “All right, then. So we’re all in agreement?”
“Sounds good,” I say, and Ivy nods.
“Yep. I think so.”
“Excellent. Then just leave things in my very capable hands.”
I don’t doubt Kat’s competence.
Or Sloane’s.
But this isn’t just about my career anymore.
It’s about me and Ivy. And every minute I spend with her makes it more and more clear: that’s what I’m worried about the most.
Not my career.
Not public opinion.
Just her.Us.And the possibility of there being anuslong after all of this is behind us.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ivy
When we pullinto Freddie’s driveway after we land at the airport in Nashville, I expect it to be dark and quiet, as it’s been almost entirely unoccupied during our months-long absence. A housekeeper has stopped by every day to check the mail and water Freddie’s plants and keep an eye on things, and the lawn service Freddie uses has continued its maintenance of the outside, but that’s it.
I’msurethat’s it, because I’m the one who made all the arrangements.
But Freddie’s house is lit up like there’s a party going on, with several cars parked in the driveway.
“Should I know who’s at your house?” I say to Freddie, who is sitting in the front seat next to Wayne.
“Just the guys,” Freddie says. “I gave Adam the code to the front door.”
My shoulders tense as I start scrolling through my mental checklist, trying to remember if I asked thehousekeeper to get the guestrooms ready for Freddie’s former bandmates. I’m sure I didn’t, so…does that mean I dropped the ball somehow? Forgot to make the arrangements?
“Relax,” Freddie says as if sensing my unease. “They asked if they could come early, so I reached out to the housekeeper and asked her to prep the rooms. It’s taken care of.”
I sink back into my chair, relieved that I didn’t actually forget but all too aware that before all of this happened, Freddie would never have reached out to the housekeeper himself. He would have asked me to do it.
I can’t decide how it makes me feel that he didn’t. But maybe it’s better this way. Right now, my brain is so full of Freddie, it’s a wonder I’m able to accomplish anything at all. It was all I could do just to make it through the conversation with Sloane and Kat, pretending like I was, one, in complete control of myself, making mental notes of all the details they were giving us, and two, perfectly chill and motivated to tackle a fake relationship with Freddie with professionalism and efficiency.
If they could have seen what the inside of my brain looked like, they probably would have been searching for my replacement on craigslist. Putting out ads for women of medium height with stupidly curly hair and at least two brain cells, seeing as how that’s two more than I’m currently operating with.
“Um, the guys?” Carina whispers from beside me. “Does he mean the other members of Midnight Rush?”
