“And you think it gives you the right to invade someone’s privacy?” I ask her the simple question, my one foot starting to move up and down, and her eyes fly right to it. “You think because I do this job, it gives you the right to dissect my life and everything that goes on in it?” I shake my head. “It’s no one’s fucking business if I go home and play bongos naked.”
Her eyebrows shoot up when I say that. “You play the bongos naked?”
“That is beside the point and off the record,” I say, unsnapping my seat belt now. “I’m open to answering questions, but what I’m not open to is giving everything that I am to the vultures.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Do you even care about the other people who you involve in whatever salacious gossip you spread?” I ask her honestly, and then the buildup that’s been brewing since I heard she was going on this tour overtakes me. I lose my temper, knowing I should just shut up and go. “You tried to run a fucking story about me fucking my best friend’s girl.”
She sits up straighter now. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to blame me because you can’t keep your dick in your pants and know when a woman is off-limits?” Her voice is low, so I know only the two of us can hear the conversation, and even if it was louder, the others are still trying to get whatever big story that just came out. “Incredible. I’m a vulture because you got caught with your dick out.” She shakes her head, and I see she’s pissed when she starts bouncing her own foot.
“You didn’t even ask.” I point out. “Didn’t even try to contact me for a statement. You were just going to run the story, not even caring whose life you were playing with.”
“Again, I’m not the bad guy,” she points out. “If I don’t do it, someone else will. You were with her on a yacht hugging her while your face was buried in her neck.”
“Not that it matters now,” I tell her, “but I wasn’t sleeping with her. She had just found out that he was going into rehab, and I was consoling her.” Her eyes go big, and her mouth opens. “We had just spent the night talking him off the fucking ledge and watching him try to go cold turkey. And why that’s any of the fucking world’s business is beyond me. You just made shit up to sell a few rags and get a few clicks. I get it; selling your soul to the devil comes with a hefty price tag.” I’m beyond ready to explode right now, but in the back of my mind, I know that will only cause more tongues to wag in this confined space, so I tamper down my anger.
“I didn’t know,” she says softly. When I stand, she moves her feet so I can pass and I leave her there, her mouth hanging open. I shouldn’t have fucking told her that. I shouldn’t have given her the fucking satisfaction of knowing why we were hugging or what was going on in my life, but she fucking pushed me. When I enter the dining area and see that Cassie is sitting down at a table eating, I sit across from her, and she looks up from her phone. She takes one look at me and knows.
“What happened to you?” she asks with a grin, knowing full well what happened to me. “What did the bitch do this time?” And although I’ve called her a bitch many times before, it bothers me that Cassie is calling her one now. “We should just get her kicked off the tour. If you give me the word, I will make it happen.”
I don’t bother answering her. Instead, I look down at my grilled chicken and cut into it. “What time do we land in South Korea?” I try to get her out of my mind.
“We land at five p.m. local time,” she says, looking at me after checking something in her phone. “It’s going to be four a.m. for us.”
“What’s the plan?” I ask her, wondering how much downtime I will have before I have to be “on” again.
“Nothing until the next day. Nine a.m. is press photos. The journalists on this plane will be there as well. Ryan sent a video crew to document all the backstage things. He will also meet us there.”
I chew the chicken, thinking this whole thing is a fucking circus. “What is the purpose of the journalists coming with us if we have a video crew following us?” She just shrugs her shoulders, not really answering. I finish my meal and sit back in the seat. Looking out the window, I see the clouds and the blue skies trying to come through. “I want my parents to come to the Paris screening.”
She nods her head. “I’ll take care of it.” I don’t have to think twice about it or remind her because I know she will have everything set up for them. “I know your father hates wearing suits, but I’ll have a couple sent to him to try on.”
“Get the glam stuff for my mother,” I tell her, thinking back to when she went as my date to the Oscars this year. She was all into being “queen” for the day. Watching her eyes light up when I had Harry Winston bring her the diamond necklace that she was wearing for the event had her feeling like she was a girl going to prom. She walked that red carpet and owned it. Luckily, there were no cameras on her face when I told her that the necklace’s worth was between five and seven million dollars and that the guy sitting next to her in the car was accompanying us to make sure she didn’t lose said necklace.
“Ryan wants to give each journalist a day where they spend it one-on-one with you.” I cock my head to the side, waiting for her to explain this shit to me. “So it’s basically each journalist on this trip walks the red carpet with you, taking notes and asking you questions. You get ready together, or you get dressed and they meet you in the lobby, and you start the day.”
I roll my eyes again. “What are the chances I get out of that bullshit?” I ask her honestly.
“I say this isn’t something you should fight him for, especially if your goal is to get a certain journalist tossed from this tour. Also, I already told him you won’t be giving her, her own day either.”
I should be happy she has my back, and I should be happy she took my side, knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with it. I nod my head at her, though, and don’t say anything. When I finally get up and walk back to my seat to face the woman I just reamed out, I see that Jessica isn’t in her seat and her purse and computer are gone also. I look around to see if maybe she moved seats, but I can’t find her.
I can’t look too hard for her without drawing the eyes of the others. I’m literally standing in a lion’s den with the reporters surrounding me. When I walk out of the second room, I see one of the pod’s curtains pulled, so I know someone is in there. I walk past, and I see a glimpse of Jessica on her side with a blanket covering her and tucked under her chin. Her eyes are closed as the movie she had been watching continues to play. Whatever. One day down, twenty-nine more to go. I head to the back of the plane and enter my private oasis; the only place that apparently these fucking reporters won’t be allowed to invade. A full queen bed and private bathroom all to myself. I kick off my shoes and throw myself onto the bed, turning the television on and starting a movie. Feeling unsettled, and pissed off, and irritated really annoys me because I have no idea why I’m feeling any of these things. It has to be the length of this tour, and the requirements of it, and the lack of privacy that have me in a funk. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but that has to be it. Shutting my mind off, I focus on the mindless movie, and it doesn’t take any time before my eyes close, and I fall asleep also.