“Hello,” I say, looking over at the clock to see what time it is. It’s just after eight—early for a Saturday morning—so that could only mean one thing. Shit is going down somewhere.
“Becca, it’s Adrian.” I stop moving in my kitchen when I hear the voice of Adrian Kirkpatrick, publicist to five of my clients. He sounds out of breath. I can tell he’s either walking somewhere or running. It’s only six where he is, so he was definitely woken up.
“This better be a fucking wellness check,” I say, but my stomach tells me otherwise. I turn on SportsCenter right away to see if I missed something.
“I’m on my way to bail out Andrei,” he says, and I close my eyes as I hear his car starting.
“What happened now?” I ask. I know I’m not going to like how this conversation ends.
“He was caught speeding on the I-9. When they searched him, he had cocaine on him, and when they tried to detain him, he assaulted the officer.”
“For the love of fucking Christ,” I say, putting my head down. The towel falls off my head, and I put the call on speaker. “I’m done.”
“Oh, come on, Becca,” Adrian huffs out, and I can almost see his face. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal?” I repeat, my voice staying calmer than the rage coursing through my body. “Not that big of a deal would be him being cited for jaywalking. Possession and assault are totally a huge fucking deal.” I raise my hands in the air and shake them.
“I admit, it isn’t going to look good,” Adrian concedes, and I roll my eyes, “but I think we can put a spin on it.”
“Spin it?” I ask, but I’m really not asking. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. This can be him starting over. People will relate to him.” I don’t think this will ever happen. I don’t tell him that the only thing anyone will wonder is how many times we can give this guy a chance.
“You can do whatever you like,” I say. “My office is going to be issuing a statement that we are parting ways and wishing him well.” I grab my phone and text my brothers that we have a problem.
“How is that going to look on your side?” he says, and I chuckle.
“It’s going to look like we don’t stand for this shit. We aren’t going to condone this behavior. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you bring in. Our company has a name to uphold and an image to protect, and having this isn’t something I want—”
“Just like that?” Adrian cuts me off.
“Just like fucking that,” I say. “I stood by his side when he crashed not one but two cars and entered rehab. I stood by his side when he beat the shit out of his girlfriend, and I had two of his three sponsors pulling their contracts. This is strike three.” I shake my head. “I warned him the last time, and you were there. I will not be here to clean up his mess. That is what he pays you to do.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says. “I’ll tell Andrei when I see him.”
I disconnect the call and then call my brother Trevor, knowing that Francis is probably still sleeping. “How is it that you have drama at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning?”
“I’m dropping Andrei as a client,” I say, and he listens as I fill him in. “I’ll call Amanda now so she can issue a press release.” I mention our public relations director.
“Yeah, I would do the same,” he says. “You tried and stuck by him when no one else did.”
“I’m going to wish him well and move on,” I say. “Now I have to go eat my breakfast and try not to dwell on it.” I tie my wet hair on top of my head again. “I’ll send you a copy of the letter once I’m finished with it.”
My morning flies by as well as the afternoon, dealing with the aftermath of Andrei. His arrest is front and center at noon, the same time we release our statement. I rub my hands over my face and look down to see that I’m still in my robe and my breakfast is still sitting there but cold. I throw it out and grab one of the pre-made foods I have delivered. I pop it in the microwave to heat it faster and eat standing up this time, not bothering to move from the kitchen when my phone pings. I groan when I see it’s a reminder for tonight.
Candace’s birthday party
Putting my head back, I can sense a headache coming on. I finish my food and make my way to my bedroom. My bed calls my name, and I finally listen to it and crawl into my bed naked. It takes me no time to fall asleep, and when the alarm rings two hours later, I almost send Ralph a message that I’m going to bail, but I know I have to make an appearance.
Dragging my ass out of bed, I head into my walk-in closet to get dressed. It’s the size of a bedroom with clothes on all four walls sorted by color and then by designer. I pick out tight black pants that fit me like a glove and a black lace halter top with a tight black jacket cut down in the front to show the lace under it. I set the clothes down on the bed and go into the bathroom and curl my hair. I have my hair and makeup done in thirty minutes, and I get a text telling me the car will be here in ten minutes.
I slip on my clothes and then walk over to my shoes, grabbing a pair of gold Louboutins. My feet scream at me for putting them through this torture. “It hurts to be beautiful.” Grabbing my black Hermes purse, I walk out of the penthouse and make my way down to the waiting car.
The driver opens the door as soon as he sees me. I usually drive, but I figured that I could have a couple of drinks. “Thank you,” I say, getting into the car. I spend the drive over scrolling through Instagram and see a couple of pictures from my clients that I like.
When we pull up to the restaurant, I put the phone back in my purse, and the driver comes over and opens the door. “I’ll be waiting right here when you are ready.”
“Thank you,” I say and walk into the restaurant. The whole place is shut down just for us. People are lingering everywhere, and I look around, spotting Candace and Ralph talking to Miller and Layla. I make my way over and see balloons scattered around the room. “Happy Birthday,” I say when I get close enough to them. Candace looks up and smiles at me. She is a sought-after social media specialist. I met Ralph three years ago when he first got traded to Dallas, and he had no agent. I signed him after meeting with him for five minutes. He was genuine and down to earth, and then his whole life turned upside down.
“Becca,” Candace says, coming over to me, “I got your bracelet.” She shows me the Cartier one I bought her. “It’s stunning and so thoughtful.”
“It was my pleasure,” I say, and I show her the same one on my wrist next to my gold Rolex. “I saw you looking at it the last time we were together.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Ralph says. “Made the bracelet I got her look lame.”
I laugh. “Oh, please.” I walk to Ralph and kiss his cheek and then do the same to Miller and Layla. Miller is another one of my clients. He’s the it boy on the ice, Mr. GQ they call him, and was the most eligible bachelor before Layla got her hooks into him. Now they could parade a whole harem of women in front of him, and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. “Where is Manning?” I ask of the third person in their trio.