“You might want to stick to all charitable events from now on. It might be good for your image.”
“My image? I’m a saint. I was left at the altar eight weeks ago. Or did you forget that already?”
If she did, she’s fired…
She slid me a large manila envelope and sighed. “Us Weekly is releasing the photos tomorrow. They were nice and decided to give you one day’s notice.”
“Is this about me eating McDonald’s instead of Burger King? I already apologized to—” I pulled out the first picture and gasped.
I flipped through the entire packet. Everything was in chronological order and it was definitely me in the photos. They were all crystal clear.
“Like I was saying,” Katy shook her head, “you may want to go through with the charity event tonight. Then I need you to disappear for at least six weeks.”
“Six weeks? Are you kidding me?”
“No. You really f**ked up,” she suddenly looked angry. “I’ll do as much damage control as I can, but Selena Ross caught kissing her last director days before her wedding and at least once a week since? That’s going to be one hell of a fire to put out.”
Sure it is…
“What’s the big deal? I needed someone to comfort me.”
“A married man with three kids? A married high profile director with three kids?” her face started to turn red. “And of all high profile directors, you chose to have an affair with Phillip Hartford? You could have at least told me! We could’ve dealt with this a long time ago! I don’t know why you insist on making my job more difficult than it already is! I—”
I stopped listening.
I seriously doubted anyone would care about my so called “affair.” No one would honestly believe that I was capable of doing such a thing.
Sure, it looked bad, but there was much more to the story than some privacy-invading photos. Phillip and I were in an actual relationship and he’d told me he was in the middle of a lengthy divorce.
Katy was overreacting as usual. She always seemed to underestimate the power of me being “Selena Ross” and I was beyond tired of that.
She was always double checking my personal tweets, making my small interview slip-ups into huge ordeals, and diving into damage control mode over the most harmless incidents. She also refused to accept the indisputable fact that I was “America’s Sweetheart,” meaning that people would always believe the best news, not the worst news.
And she has the audacity to be in my presence while wearing a set of SpongeBob pajamas? Ugh! I think I need a new publicist…
“What do you want me to do for six weeks?” I decided to entertain her ridiculous rant. “Camp out here?”
“I want you to go home. I want you to be with your friends and family while I clean up this mess.”
“Home? As in Fayetteville, Arkansas?”
“I thought you were from Texas! Isn’t that what you told your biographer last week?”
“Texas? Arkansas? What’s the difference?”
“Three hundred miles!” she clutched her chest. “Do I know anything truthful about you?”
“I don’t want to go to this charity event tonight. That’s truthful.”
“You’re going. Get your assistant to charter a jet for this weekend. I’m sure your family will be more than happy to see you.”
I haven’t spoken to them in four years…
“What about New Jersey?” I took out a bottle of nail polish. “Or the UK? I won’t draw too much attention to myself. I swear.”
“Home, Selena. Since you’re not really from Texas, the paparazzi won’t know to go to Arkansas to look for you.”
“What about—”
“Home. Saturday. End of discussion.”
Yeah…That’s definitely not happening…
Chapter 2
Ethan
“And with that, ladies and gentlemen,” I lifted my champagne flute, “Autumn Wonder is officially on track to close this quarter with revenues of twelve billion!”
The room erupted into loud cheers and claps. The sound of clinking champagne glasses and laughter sifted through the air as I stepped into the crowd.
“Congratulations!” “Awesome!” “Take that, Starbucks!” my associates tugged me left and right.
I smiled and shook hands with every person in sight, anxiously awaiting an opportunity to slip away to my office. People were starting to ask me pointless questions and initiate meaningless conversations. I wasn’t a fan of “small-talk” and I’d made sure that every employee at my Boston-based headquarters knew that. Unfortunately, whenever I threw a party and provided alcohol, people seemed to forget.
I shook a few more hands, accepted a few more compliments, and bolted towards an open elevator. I unlocked the door to my office and hit the lights.
“Unbelievable year,” my best friend Barry shut the door and tossed me a ring box. “You sure about proposing tonight? Are you even in love?”
Here we go with this “love” nonsense again…