Page 44 of Faking the Pass
Presumablywithhis mistress and their child.
Neither of whom I was allowed to mention—ever.
If I agreed to all of it, Randy said he would pay off the rest of my debt, and more importantly,notblackball me in the industry.
If I didn’t, he vowed to bury me.
When he finished reading, Presley looked up at me, clearly stunned.
“You’re not going todoit,” he said as if it was obvious.
“What choice do I have?”
I was powerless. I didn’thavea choice.
But I honestly didn’t know how I’d manage to live with Randy and hisrealfamily, a constant reminder of what I wanted for myself, for a whole year and retain my sanity.
Not to mention the humiliation aspect—which would be overwhelming.
And then it all fell apart. All my self-control, all my strength, gone.
The stress of the last couple of days combined with Randy’s threats was simply too much. I covered my face as the tears started falling too fast to stop.
To my utter shame, sobs broke free of my throat’s tight constriction.
Within seconds, I felt Presley’s hand on my back. Then it slid beneath my arm, urging me to stand.
He guided me to the couch and sat beside me, wrapping his good arm around my shoulders and urging my head to his chest. He was saying soothing things, and the rumble of his voice under my cheek was pleasurable and comforting.
As I cried, I burrowed even closer. I couldn’t help it.
The warmth of his chest and strength of his arm around me were unspeakably good, and I was too upset to even care how pathetic I must have seemed to him, clinging to a virtual stranger like that.
Tightening his hold on me, Presley spoke into my hair, his hot breath sinking to my scalp and raising goosebumps all over my body.
“Fuck him. Fuck the NDA. I think you should go in there tomorrow and tell everyone the truth.”
I shook my head, no doubt soaking his shirt with my tears even more than I already had.
“I can’t. I can’t afford the fine,” I said. “I can’t even afford a lawyer. And if Randy makes it so I can’t work, I won’t be able to afford to live.”
Sobs overtook any further attempts to speak, so I stopped trying. I wasn’t sure how long we sat there like that, me blubbering and him stroking my hair and back, whispering words of reassurance that sounded nice but didn’t really fix anything.
Don’t get me wrong—I appreciated him more than I could express. He’d given me a place to stay and now this?
He’dreallygone above and beyond for a girl he hadn’t seen since high school (and didn’t even really like all that much back then.)
But Presley couldn’t fix this. No one could.
Which was why I was going to show up at that press conference tomorrow and why I was going to follow Randy’s odious script, and why—no matter how much it might kill me—Iwouldput on that draconian wedding dress and walk down the aisle in front of all those cameras.
And act my broken heart out, convincing the world thatmyworld didn’t feel like it was ending.
Chapter 11
Trust Me
Presley
