Page 68 of Songbird
“You will.” Pia hands over a thin stack of stapled documents. “I’ve got three recommendations here, all vetted and with excellent references. I’ll leave them with you, but…” Pia pauses, like she’s considering her words, then sighs. “I thought you might also want to know that I’ve heard from your previous assistant.”
“Lauren?” Rosie asks with surprise. “She contacted you too?”
I frown at this exchange of information. “What do you meantoo? Has she been in touch with you as well?”
“Only about a dozen times.” Rosie sighs and rolls her eyes. “Emails begging for my forgiveness. I deleted them all.”
I glance at Rosie’s laptop. “Mind if I take a look?”
She pushes the device across the table toward me. “Ugh. I can’t believe she had the nerve to contact my publicist. What did she want from you?”
“Her job back, apparently,” Pia says. “According to my sources, her affair with Chip is over and she’s only now realizing that being fired by you for undisclosed reasons essentially blacklists her in all other areas of the business. People talk. She can’t find employment and is desperate to repair her reputation. I told her absolutely not, of course, and she won’t bother you any further, but I did want you to be aware that she and Chip are no longer involved and she’s suffering for it… if that’s any consolation.”
I retrieve the deleted emails and scan their contents as Rosie shakes her head.
“What a mess. I wouldn’t wish Chip on anyone, even Lauren, and if she hadn’t been so deceitful and manipulative and willing to walk over my limp body to get her own recording deal, I might even feel sorry for her, but I just never want to hear her name again.”
I’m taken by a cold chill at the picture Rosie paints before she adds, “Does that make me a bad person?”
“No,” I say at the same time as Pia, and we share a brief look of agreement while Rosie sighs and leans into me for support.
Pia slides a printed piece of paper across the table toward us, followed by an unopened box containing a new smartphone, and I set aside my email analysis to read what she’s offering.
“This is yours,” Pia says to Rosie. “I’ve sent you electronic information for your diary, but here’s a hard copy too. I’ve packed a lot in to fast-track your return with the most important players. It includes getting you in front of your fans and reminding them why they love you plus catching up on the commitments you missed while you were away, including a dress fitting for your guest appearance onThe Night Shownext week. Marco is waiting for us at the house in Beverly Hills.”
“Marco?” I ask.
“A designer,” Rosie says distractedly. “I wear his dresses to lots of high-profile events.”
She narrows her eyes at the paper as she scans the first page then flips to the second, then the third, and I read over her shoulder. Sessions with stylists. A meeting with her recording label. Private performances. Public appearances. She doesn’t have a spare minute for the next fourteen days.
I glance at Rosie’s expression to gauge her reaction. Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, the only indication she might share my unease, otherwise she nods like it’s all to be expected, asking insightful questions about locations and logistics. She’s competent and in control. Smart and sophisticated. Gorgeous and capable and a force of nature, but a different version of the woman who spent the last three weeks on my ranch.
twenty-four
Rosalie
WhenwelandinLA, I step into the plane’s bedroom to change into the designer ensemble Pia brought with her. It’s a midday interpretation of the quintessential revenge dress. A mint green mini and matching spaghetti-strap tank. Melon-hued platform stilettos with six-inch heels. Creamy leather bag, oversized sunglasses, wide-brimmed hat. Fresh tube of coral lipstick and powder for my nose. All laid out like I’m a four-year-old.
I peel away Finn’s flannel shirt with a fleeting twinge of regret. Goodbye Rosie. Welcome back Rosalie.
Finn finds me in front of the mirror swiping on a second coat of lip color, sneaking up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist and cover my shoulder with slow, soft kisses that make shiver.
“You look incredible,” he says.
“Thank you.” I tilt my head to coax his mouth up my neck, then reluctantly turn away from his lips when they search for mine. “I’m sorry. I can’t mess up my makeup.”
Finn’s mouth ticks up, like he thinks I’m joking. I turn to look up at him, the apology in my eyes, and I wince as his face falls. He drops a final kiss on the top of my head and steps back.
“Guess we need to think about those kinds of things now,” he says before his attention lands on the faded flannel folded neatly at the end of the bed.
I scoop it up, tuck it into my expensive handbag. “I’ll be wearing that to bed tonight,” I tell him as I throw my arms around his neck. “And every night from now on.”
His smile is small but real and his eyes grow hot. “Will you wear this lipstick for me too?”
Finn’s eyes drop to my mouth, and I fantasize about all the places on his beautiful body I could leave my bright mouth-shaped marks. “If you want me to.”
His eyes sparkle as if to sayis there any question?and a hint of his hardness nudges my stomach, but what he says is, “Is there a reason you need to dress up for the drive home? We’re going straight from here to the house. Nobody’s going to be taking your picture, and even if they were, I say you’re even hotter in shorts and sneakers.”
