Page 52 of One More Made Up Love Song
“Um, that sounds like a terrible idea,” Carina says. “What will you be enduring, and what do you meanstart fresh? You’re going to stop working for Freddie?”
I breathe out a sigh. “Let’s get food,” I say. “Then I’ll explain everything.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Freddie
Six months.
That’s how long I have left with Ivy. Long enough for the album to come out and for her to train her replacement.
I won’t lie and pretend like our conversation last night wasn’t a complete and total gut punch. It was bad enough knowing she wants to move out as soon as we get back to Nashville. But when she said she wanted to work for my label instead of me, a hollowness settled into my chest, and I’m not sure anything is going to fill it.
It doesn’t even matter that I know she’d be great working for Voltage, helping an entire roster of artists rather than giving all her attention to me. That logic only gets me so far. I still feel like I’m losing her—like she’s slipping out of my grasp for good.
But maybe she won’t find her own place after all. At least for the time being. Not sure how we’d spin that to the press ifshe’s seen moving out when we’re supposed to be in a happy relationship.
“What do you think?” Kat says. “All sound agreeable?”
I’ve been so preoccupied thinking about Ivy, I actually have no idea what my publicist has been saying for the past five minutes, but I’m not about to tell her that, so I just nod. “Good,” I say. “Great.”
She purses her lips, leaning forward so her face fills up the entirety of my phone screen. Kat Michaels lives in New York, but she’s surprisingly effective at working over FaceTime and Zoom, and our current phone call is no exception. I’ve only met her in person a handful of times, but her work speaks for itself. She’s as relentless as Sloane, with the same sense of uncompromising integrity that makes me like working with her. She’s not above faking a relationship for a little bit of PR—that’s just spin, her words, not mine—but she made it clear she will not move forward with the plan if Ivy isn’t on board.
“And you’re sure Ivy isn’t going to change her mind?”
“I can’t promise that,” I say. “We’re asking a lot of her, Kat. If she wants to end things at any moment, I won’t stop her or try to convince her not to.”
Kat smiles tightly. “Generous of you,” she says. “But please don’t stop thinking about how much harder you’ll make my job if this gets messy.”
“It’s already messy, isn’t it?” I say. “The relationship isn’t real, and we’re pretending it is.”
“We aren’t going to say anything that isn’t true,” she argues. “Ivy means a lot to you. You’d consider her a close friend, wouldn’t you? All we’re doing is presenting a relationship to the public and letting them decide what to think.That relationship could be something romantic, but it could also be something more like friendship.”
“I thought you said we’re doing a press release acknowledging the relationship,” I say.
“We are, but it will be artfully vague. No lies, just the very intentional power of suggestion. As long as you and Ivy know where you both stand, I think you’ll come through all right in the end.”
A valid point, except Ivy and Idon’tknow where we stand. I haven’t told Ivy that when I kissed her, I felt a glimmer of something real. More than a glimmer—if I’m being honest. Or that when I think about her moving on, working for someone else, I’m overwhelmed with a sort of desperate, preemptive loneliness.
So Ivy and I are pretending, letting the world think we’re in love, but I’m pretending with Ivy too. And I guess I’m also pretending with Kat, since I’m not being honest with her either. But I can’t be honest withanyoneif I have no idea how to make sense of my own feelings, and so far, the only thing I know for sure is how confused I am.
“Artfully vague, huh?”
“It’s my specialty,” Kat says. “Just trust me to handle this.”
Across the room, Wayne stands and motions toward the door. “Time to go,” he mouths.
I sigh and stand so I can follow Wayne to the open hotel room door. “Fine. I get it. Just let us read the press release first, all right?”
“I already sent it to Ivy,” she says. “Review it together, then let me know when you’re ready to launch.”
“I gotta go,” I say. “We’re headed to the arena.”
“Break a leg,” Kat says. “Oh, and Freddie, if you wantedto hold your assistant’s hand on your way into the concert, I wouldn’t be mad about it.”
I wouldn’t be mad about holding Ivy’s hand, but a part of me still bristles at the thought of doing it just because Kat suggested it.
Ivy is already in the car when Wayne and I reach the black SUV that will drive us two blocks to the concert venue. I climb into the seat beside her, and a sudden yearning fills my chest, a desire to be close to her that takes me by surprise. It takes all my willpower to resist the impulse to shift across the bench seat so we’re side by side.
