“No,” she cried.
It was too late. Mark’s hands connected with Pete’s throat. A crowd gathered—where had these people come from?—and several men grabbed both Mark and Pete, hauling them off each other. Mark flailed wildly, trying to escape his captors, his face twisted in rage.
Cell phones came out, held aloft for photos and video, and Haven watched it all, her thoughts a tangle at the wreckage of her work all around her.
All these people were seeing firsthand what it was like for her world to fall apart.
“Are they fighting over you?”
Trust Suellen to ask that question. The journalist’s tone recalled her to herself, like a slap in the face. This was her job. This was what she did. She answered tough questions. She cleaned up messes. No way would she lose control here. For Mark’s career and for her own, she would hold the pieces together.
“You know these guys have a long history. Lots of old tensions,” Haven said, and was proud of how cool she sounded. How unconcerned. As if her clients got in brawls all the time and it was just part of the long image-rehab process. As if it had absolutely nothing to do with her.
“Are you and Mark Webster together?”
“We’ll talk about all of this during the exclusive.” She took a deep breath. She could fix this. This is what she did. She could spin it. She could talk about how she and Mark were attracted to each other—“Who could resist such a hot guitarist?” she’d laugh—but had decided that dating wasn’t compatible with working together, so they’d put it off. That sounded fine. And then she’d say how Pete had a lot of envy issues with Mark, and had gotten the wrong idea.
She’d tell the world what had really happened between Pete and Mark when the band had broken up. This wasn’t a disaster. It was an opportunity.
And then she saw Mark’s face.
Dark. His expression, savage, aimed not at Pete but at her.
Regret choked her. And panic. She knew instantly that she’d been focused on the wrong priority. This wasn’t about fixing things with the public. What mattered was Mark. Her and Mark.
She knew what she needed to do, if she wanted him to ever look at her again the way he had in Nordstrom’s and in her apartment. She needed to answer Suellen’s question with the simple truth. Yes, we’re together.
Her mind raced through all her years of training, scanning the situation, looking for words, trying to foresee consequences. There would be so much sorting out for her to do, so much for Mark to do. They would lose things that mattered. She could do that, but for Mark—
Pete still hadn’t committed to the tour. Her handling of this moment would dictate how this scene played out in the press—and whether Pete saw the tour as a train wreck or his ticket to easy money. It could make or break Mark’s role, too—if Jimmy Jeffers decided that she and Mark were too much of a liability as a couple, he could trot that replacement out again.
Her next words might very well determine whether or not Mark would be able to take care of his father.
Could she make that decision for him?
She tried to catch his eye, to ask him without words—What do you want me to do?
He wouldn’t engage. That fury was written so deep on his face, and his eyes darted away from hers.