Page 121 of How Good It Was (Excess All Areas 3)

We owe her shit. I’m so disappointed in her.

Her? What about him? He took money to look after his own kid. He’s the loser.

I think they look happy.

Yeah. I could fake a smile for a million bucks.

I wouldn’t have to fake anything to be with him ;-)

And in amongst the emails were messages from her sponsors. They’d all be wanting answers. Answers she couldn’t give, because ... how did they find out? Had one of the band members mentioned it to someone they shouldn’t have?

Shit, she knew better than to trust people. She should never had let Luke convince her it was okay to tell them. People let her down all the goddamn time. Why had she allowed herself to be swayed? If only the two of them had known, it wouldn’t be out in the press.

Oh my God, what if they’d done it deliberately to raise the profile for the band?

No, they wouldn’t do that.

Tears of frustration and panic slid down her face. She was alone, in a foreign country, pregnant, and her career had just detonated.

And maybe this would be her life if she stayed.

Luke off playing his music while she stayed home and took care of real life.

She gasped and reached for a tissue.

No, this was just fear talking. What they had was good. Was real. But how could she ever convince anyone of that now? People would always wonder. How could she show that, in coming here, she’d found her peace with Luke? He’d not let her down, and until she knew different, she had to assume that this wasn’t his fault.

She dialled Luke’s number, but he didn’t answer. He slept like the dead. Plus, it was four in the morning in Paris. She tried again, but it clicked through to voicemail.

He’d mentioned the hotel he was staying at. Maybe she should call it.

Her phone flashed, but it was a number from the States she didn’t recognise.

And, hell, there were seventy-eight voicemails.

Willow threw back the covers and got out of bed. Damage control. That’s what she needed to do. She needed to think through a strategy, so when she got hold of Luke, they would know what to do.

Unless the press had hers and Luke’s bank statements, they could never prove money had been transferred. And the only people who had seen her contract was Sasha, Luke, and herself.

They could lie.

They could spin this.

She could say someone was out to get her by making stupid stories. A part of her wanted to blame her father, but he didn’t know.

And then, she’d record a statement. Put it out on her platforms. Control the narrative.

You don’t need to do this alone.

She didn’t.

The small voice in her head caught her off guard.

Quickly, she turned off the kettle, scrolled through her contacts, and dialled a number.

“Hello?” Izabel’s voice was thick with sleep.

“Can I come up?” Willow asked.

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