Wright that Got Away, page 23
It was one thing to be his new flame from home. It was another thing entirely for my entire life to be out there for the world to digest as they saw fit.
And now, I could barely breathe. I had no right answer. No way to get this past my teeth.
This was not our carefully controlled situation. This was chaos incarnate. This was being mobbed again. A group of angry Campbell Soup girls and a flood of paps, trying to get the latest gossip, trying to break me. The small-town girl from the middle of nowhere, Texas, who couldn’t hack it in LA.
No amount of minor celebrity status could have prepared me for this. Not even the mob feeling on the Fourth of July. That had been nothing compared to this.
Everything felt like it was closing in on me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I was panicking. All that preparation was out the window with this unexpected setback. My phone was buzzing noisily. I was sure that the news must have broken already. That Campbell or English or Honey or any of my friends were checking in on me. And I was just standing here, paralyzed, as questions were fired at me.
No one was going to help me. No one was going to let me out of this. And it wasn’t like Lubbock, where I knew the city like the back of my hand. I was on Hollywood Boulevard and had no idea how the fuck to get away from here.
My eyes scanned the area directly around us. I was only five feet tall on a good day, and it was hard to see over the crowd of people. One of the Campbell Soup girls grabbed at me again. That was the moment that I’d had enough.
“I said, let me go,” I shrieked at her.
Then, I lowered my shoulder and rammed through the crowd. I needed out, and I needed out any way that I could get out of there. I didn’t have to stay and be polite. If they wanted to paint me as unstable because I didn’t want to be mobbed in public, then I just couldn’t care anymore. I couldn’t care when this was unacceptable. I didn’t deserve this.
We’d had a plan.
A plan.
And it was all falling apart.
My chest hurt, and I managed to hold back my tears by sheer force of will. I was glad that I’d dressed in an athletic kit and tennis shoes because I moved a lot faster than anyone else. I’d always been small and fast. It was to my advantage today.
As soon as I cleared the crowd, which had grown with people stopping to find out what was going on and what celebrity they could see, I took off at a dead sprint. All those hours of soccer practice had sure helped me in this regard. It wasn’t until I found a convenience store and stumbled into the restroom, bolting the lock behind me, that I finally was able to catalog how I felt.
Which was terrible.
My body was trembling. The claustrophobic feeling had ebbed, now replaced with shock. Tears finally cascaded freely down my cheeks. I’d lost my tripod somewhere in the melee. Luckily, I’d held on to my phone, which was still vibrating. But I didn’t answer.
I just sank onto the toilet seat and let tears rack my body. The danger was gone, but the fear and misery remained. I needed a minute before the rest of the world could be let back in. Before I was going to be okay again.
34
Campbell
“Come on. Come on. Come on,” I argued with my phone as I dialed Blaire for what felt like the millionth time.
Still fucking nothing.
I nearly threw it against the wall with irritation.
“Hey, you’ll get ahold of her,” Viv said. “It will be fine.”
Santi nodded. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“Blaire is strong,” West added. He was slumped into a seat nearby, looking solemn.
Only Yorke said nothing.
“She was fucking mobbed the last time we were photographed together. I don’t have high hopes for the rest of humanity,” I growled.
A half hour ago, Micky had stalled recording when he got a call from Bobby. A minute after that, we were all in front of the computer screen, staring at breaking celebrity news on TMZ about Campbell Abbey’s new girlfriend. The picture featured was us standing together in Lubbock after she finished shooting with Nate. We weren’t even touching, but just the way I looked at her…fuck, it was so obvious that I was in love with her.
That all might have been okay, but the headline read, “At Last, We Meet the ‘I See the Real You’ Girl.” I’d slammed my fist into the wall when I read it. My knuckles were bleeding, which was the only damage done.
But my anger, once ignited, was an inferno. I was snapping at everyone. Getting progressively more irritated and terrified that I couldn’t get ahold of Blaire. English had called and was already running interference on the whole thing. It was a disaster. We had a matter of days before we were going to go public, and now, this bullshit.
Controlling the narrative was important. I knew that. And now, we were fucked.
English kept saying it would be fine, but it didn’t feel fine. I wouldn’t feel fine until Blaire was safely tucked into my arms again. Until then, I was going to fucking freak out.
I dialed the number again, holding the phone to my ear and pacing relentlessly. Finally, the line clicked over.
I gave a relieved sigh. “Blaire?”
“Hey,” she said, her voice all shaky and full of tears.
My heart contracted at that sound. “Oh, thank God. Are you okay?”
She was slow to respond. “I…I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“The news about our relationship broke.”
“I know,” I said on a sigh. “I saw the article on TMZ.”
“Apparently, I’m the ‘I See the Real You’ girl now,” she said, “and your fans don’t like that.”
“What did they do?” I asked, low and dangerous. I didn’t have much interaction with the Campbell Soup girls, but if they hurt Blaire, I would burn the world down.
“Some paparazzi found me based off the videos in my Stories, I guess. And the Campbell Soup girls found me the same way. I was kind of bombarded. I ran away, and I’m hiding in a bathroom.”
“Fuck.” She was hiding in a bathroom. “I’m so fucking sorry, Blaire. I should have been there. I should have handled all of this for you.”
She swallowed back more tears. “Yeah. I mean, yeah, I don’t know.”
“Where are you? Can you send me your location? I’ll come pick you up.”
Santi shook his head in front of me. “Send someone. It’ll be worse if you’re seen.”
“I am picking her up,” I spat at him.
“Campbell,” West said with a sigh, “think about who you are.”
Viv crossed her arms. “He’s right.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“What’s going on?” Blaire asked on the phone.
“Nothing. Santi thinks I should send a car to retrieve you. I was going to drive out there.”
“Your car is recognizable,” Viv argued.
“She’s right,” Blaire said after clearly hearing Viv that time. “Just send someone. I’ll meet you at the studio.”
I hated this. I hated it so fucking much. I couldn’t even safely pick up my girlfriend when she was in distress.
“If that’s what you want,” I told her.
“Please,” she whispered. So small. Not at all the fierce, wonderful woman I was in love with.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said the words for her sake.
“Yeah. I’ll send the location.”
We said good-bye, and then a second later, I had a location. Viv was already on the phone with a car service. I showed her the address, and she had them send over a car to pick her up.
“Thank you.”
Viv touched my shoulder. “I know this feels like terrible, but it’s going to be okay. Blaire knew that this was always a possibility when she came out with us.”
“I just fucking hate it.”
“Price of fame,” Santi said. “Unfortunately.”
“You’ll feel a lot better when she’s here,” West said.
Yorke nodded.
They were right. Yet I wanted someone to channel my anger into. I needed something to make me not want to punch the wall again. I was a caged animal on the prowl. I’d had girlfriends before I got back together with Blaire, but they had all been in the spotlight. They’d all known how to deal with this. We hadn’t even bothered hiding it because it didn’t matter. None of it had mattered.
This mattered.
She mattered.
And waiting for her to get here in one piece was like slowly dying.
When she appeared a full hour later—fuck you, LA traffic—she’d composed herself. The tears were gone. Her eyes were only lined in red. She took one look at me, and a half-smile hit her lips. Something cracked in my chest at that look. Fuck, I loved her.
“I lost my tripod,” she muttered.
She threw herself into my arms, and I squeezed her tight to me. “Oh, Blaire.”
“I had it with me, and when I got to that bathroom, it was gone.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll replace it.”
“Okay,” she said, so soft and pliant.
“Are you okay though?”
She nodded. “All in one piece. My claustrophobia really doesn’t like that this keeps happening to me.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Glad you made it, Blaire,” West said with a head nod.
She swallowed and shot him a smile. “Me too. That was a nightmare.”
“We’ve been there,” Viv said. “Remember that time in Brazil?”
Santi groaned. “How could I forget? We were chased down the street, and we had security.”
“Campbell was accosted that one time in a restaurant in Shanghai. I thought the girls were going to strip him naked in the place,” Viv reminded us.
“Or when a Peppermint Patty group snuck backstage. Where were we for that?” Santi asked.
Yorke smirked. “Edinburgh.”
“That’s right! It was nuts.”
Blaire nodded. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to make this seem normal.”
“No. There’s no normal about it, babe,” Viv said. “It’s why we remember the worst offenders. It’s never fun. Crazed fans and paparazzi are part of the life, but it’s what we try to avoid as much as we can.”
“It’s half the reason I liked being back in Lubbock,” I admitted. Though I had never said that out loud. People for the most part left me alone there. I could come and go in LA, but I had to live in the Hills, behind a gate. There was a reason Lubbock was more enjoyable.
“And the other half?” Blaire asked.
“All you, love.” I kissed her palm. “All you.”
That was the minute English stormed into the room. “Jesus fucking Christ, the 10 is a goddamn nightmare today. It makes the 405 look like a walk in the park.” She swished her long blonde hair off her shoulders. “But I am here now, and we will fix this.” She took one look at Blaire and frowned. “Campbell filled me in. How are you?”
Blaire shrugged. “Not my best day.”
“I imagine not. I’ve seen some of the footage. You look like a deer in headlights. I think it works for us because you’re so endearing on camera. And you’re clearly scared. Sympathy points are helpful.”
The rest of the band nodded at English as they headed back out to the studio. West frowned like he wanted to say something more, but he just touched Blaire’s shoulder and then disappeared.
“How did this even get leaked?” I demanded as Blaire sank into Yorke’s abandoned seat.
“I’m still not sure. The source was anonymous to TMZ. But I’d guess it was either someone who saw you in Lubbock, or you were followed out there. I’ve put pressure in the field to find out, but I’m not hopeful that they’ll give away their sources.”
“Sounds right,” I grumbled. I’d thought we were safe in Lubbock, but again, I had been proven wrong.
“What are we going to do about it?” Blaire asked. “There’s no reason to go to the gala now.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” English said. “I absolutely think you should make it. They control the narrative right now. Let’s flip it on them and prove that we don’t care what they’ve done.”
“But we do,” I said.
She shrugged. “They don’t have to see that from you again. We can still respond to select reporters. We can continue to practice what how you’re going to respond. You two will look so glamorous and stunning together that no one will even remember what happened today.”
Blaire bit her lip. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“The internet is forever, but media shifts so quickly. If we give them something else to focus on, it will pass. You have nothing to worry about.” She paused, glancing over at me and then back. “That is, if you still want to go through with it.”
“Do I have a choice?” Blaire demanded.
“Of course you have a choice.”
“They already know we’re together.”
“But we wanted that,” I said. “Not this way, but we were tired of hiding.”
Blaire sighed. “I mean, yes, but I didn’t want this either. And it’s scary, having people attack me like that. I don’t want it to happen again.”
“We’ll be more careful,” English cut in. “We have a plan. We’re running damage control. If you don’t want to appear because it leaked, then I understand. We can just post a picture of you two together on your account. Giving the middle finger to the press is also a perfectly acceptable way to handle this.”
She met my gaze. “What do you want to do?”
“Whatever makes you the happiest,” I told her. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “We don’t have to go to the gala. We don’t have to do anything. I just want you safe and happy.”
She breathed out slowly, lingering on my kiss. “Okay. I really want to wear my dress.”
I cracked up, and English arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to want to see this.”
“So, we’ll do it?”
A flicker of reluctance flashed across her face before she nodded. I just hoped we were doing the right thing.
35
Blaire
“All right, that’s it. You look like a masterpiece,” the makeup artist said. “Let’s get this girl into a dress.” He kissed his fingers. “Perfection.”
I laughed. “Thank you.”
I chanced a glance in the mirror and gaped at myself. I still looked like myself but somehow better. So much more dramatic and defined. My cheeks were plump and rosy. My blue eyes luminescent. My lips wide and fire-engine red. It was better than I ever could have imagined.
I turned away from the mirror and reached for the dress. English was there with a smile, holding it out for me. Finally, I stepped into the jeweled Jimmy Choos she had talked me into.
English zipped me up and then took a step back. “Damn, girl, I can’t wait to see Campbell’s reaction.”
I ran my hands down the silky material. “You think he’ll like it?”
“If he doesn’t fall on his knees in supplication, then return the whole man.”
I cackled at her. “You know just what to say.”
She dipped into a small curtsy with a wink.
Having English the last couple days had been a lifesaver. I wasn’t sure I would have survived without her. Not with the alarming amount of comments, emails, and shocking phone calls. People were psychopaths. We’d quickly scrubbed all of my information from the internet and limited all forms of contact.
I’d posted a photo of Campbell and me together, per English’s suggestion, and closed commenting on the post. It was confirmation the world had apparently wanted, but I’d signaled that I wasn’t interested in anyone’s comment on my relationship.
Nate had also posted his video. And though some people had commented hateful things, they were far nicer to Nate than to me. Wasn’t internalized misogyny delightful?
“Thanks for all you’ve done, English.”
She grinned at me. “Hey, this is what I live for. There isn’t a problem I can’t fix. You are going to have a great time tonight. Forget everything else and just enjoy the night.”
I nodded. That was the plan. A few questions and then a fun night. Felt worth it.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. Campbell had rented a room at The Beverly Hills Hotel for the evening. Both for us to get ready and to have a room nearby to crash in after the event. I hadn’t been looking forward to driving forty-five minutes back up to his place after a night out.
“Ready in there?” Court called.
English arched an eyebrow. “Are we ready?”
“Yep.”
I swallowed, and then English pulled the door open. Campbell waited for me when I crossed the threshold. He was dressed in a tuxedo, looking as dapper as I’d ever seen him. His artfully messy hair had been brushed off his face. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers. And my heart stopped as our eyes met.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
I thought he might actually fall onto his knees before me, as English had suggested. His eyes were wide and mouth gaped. We were long past prom, and I certainly hadn’t gone in a dress of this quality or this expensive. Nothing could compare to what I was wearing.
The dress was ruby-red silk that flowed around my hips like a waterfall. The straps were paper-thin strips of lace that fell off my shoulders. The neckline was purposely droopy, revealing the top crests of my breasts. I looked somehow taller and curvier and thinner and everything, all at once. It was a fucking miracle dress, and I felt like a queen in it.
“I am the luckiest fucking guy in the world,” he told me as he drew me into him and dropped his mouth onto mine.
I almost protested about my lipstick but fuck it. It was supposed to be smudge- and waterproof. If it wasn’t, I wanted my money back.
“All right, kids,” English joked. “Let’s get you into a limo. Have a great time.”
