“June, meet Chaz. Chaz, June,” Devon said, laughter in his voice. I was glad someone thought this was funny. I wanted to die.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, June,” Chaz said, and now I remembered his voice from the uncomfortable phone conversation I’d heard on the way back to Dallas from Hawaii.
“Likewise,” I mumbled, my face still buried under the pillow.
“Devon, may I please speak with you downstairs?” Chaz asked.
“Why, certainly, Chaz,” Devon said, aping the polite tone his agent had adopted. “We’ll try and keep it down, June. Snooze it.”
There was no way I was snoozing through this. No sleep for the mortified.
The moment chatter resumed downstairs—at a much lower volume—I scrambled out of bed and into Devon’s T-shirt and boxers, the first items of clothing I found on the floor. Stealing across the thick carpet of the bedroom, I crept cautiously to the landing. I couldn’t see the kitchen from my vantage point, but I could hear what was going on down there.
“If you’re going to bring someone new into the mix, you have to at least give me a head’s up so I can do some damage control,” Chaz was in the middle of saying.
“There’s no need for damage control here,” Devon cut in.
“Look at this and tell me there isn’t.” There was some faint clicking, like someone was working a phone or laptop.
“That’s not a great picture of her,” Devon said after a long pause. I frowned. Not a good picture of who? I sat on the first stair and bent forward, my torso pressed against my lap, trying to see what they were looking at. No dice.
“You’re not kidding, that’s not a great picture of her,” Chaz said. “Did you even read the headline? I like it even less. ‘Who’s the Rando Holding Hands with Devon Ray?’”
“It could’ve been worse.”
“It is worse,” Chaz shot back. “This is implying that you’ll hook up with anyone. It harms your brand. You’re supposed to be unattainable—every woman’s idea of the perfect guy, the one they can never have because you’re above them.”
“Is that seriously my brand?”
“You’re a perfect specimen of man, Devon,” Chaz said. “Of course that’s your brand. If you were going to drag some souvenir back from your little vacation, you should’ve warned me. I would’ve arranged to have you fly into San Diego. Sacramento. Tijuana. Wherever the fuck other than LA. You landed right in a nest of paparazzi. Hell, if you enjoy slumming it so goddamn much, I could’ve popped you all on a Greyhound bus from Dallas to Malibu.”
It had become very, very clear that the item under discussion was me. Slowly, and as quietly as I could, I inched back up the stairs, standing on the landing even though I felt dizzy. What had I gotten myself into, and how could I get myself back out? I wanted no part of this life, analyzing every facet of appearances. It made me sick.
I slunk back into bed and retrieved my phone. I knew it would be a mistake, but I had to do it. I had to know exactly what they were talking about. I searched the headline that Chaz had read aloud. My heart sunk immediately.
Chaz was right—the photo was awful. It had been taken in the terminal at the airport. One of my eyes was halfway closed, the other bulging open, dazzled by the flashes. My mouth was agape—no poker face for me—at the spectacle, my dark hair limp beneath the hat that didn’t quite hide enough of my face. And I was clutching Devon’s hand like I was terrified. Of course, I had been terrified, but I wish it hadn’t been so effectively captured in the photo.
I looked like an idiot. Worse yet, the whole world saw it.
“Don’t look at that garbage.”
I hurriedly shut my phone’s display off, but it wasn’t before Devon had seen what I’d been ogling.
“Seriously, June,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting his hand on my knee. “That shit will only make you feel bad.”
“Well, I do feel bad,” I said, my voice shaking. “I wish I’d had sunglasses, like you.”
“This is my fault,” he said. “Chaz is right—I shouldn’t have dragged you through the airport like that. I know better. I know what it’s like. It’s just…I’m used to it. It’s an ugly thing to be accustomed to, but that’s just my life. It’s not yours, and it was a shit introduction to LA.”
I shrugged. “Well it’s over now.”
Devon hesitated. “That’s the thing, though. It’s not over. Especially not now. It’s kind of just getting started.”