Page 51 of Noah
Of course she’d left. She wasn’t going to risk her job for me, because I wasn’t a good prospect.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself, dropping into a chair.
Whiskey sat directly on my feet and whined, as if he agreed.
“God, buddy, do you need to go outside?” I asked, jumping up. I was terrible at this dad thing. I needed to think of the puppy before I sat around moping about the girl I wanted and couldn’t seem to catch. I hustled over to the sliding door to the patio and opened it, ushering the puppy out. I didn’t know this hotel’s policy on pets—Molly and I hadn’t exactly been asking permission—but I’d clean up after him so they didn’t have anything to complain about.
While the puppy was outside sniffing the air like someone had been murdered and he was solving the crime, my phone started ringing. I turned and went back into the room, wondering what time it was and who the hell called this early inthe morning. No one with good news. Nothing good happened before the sun was even fully up.
Unless Molly was in my bed.
I looked at the screen and groaned out loud. Taylor. Now I knew it was bad news.
“Taylor, I haven’t had coffee yet,” I warned. “You’re not getting the best version of me.”
“I don’t need any version of you, idiot,” she snapped. “You’ve already made enough trouble.”
Typical Taylor. Sometimes I wondered why we kept this woman around. She was like dealing with a pit bull who dressed up in heels and pretended to be sweet.
“What did I do this time? Tell me what it was and how to fix it so I can go back to my morning.”
“Stop joking, Noah, this times it’s real. You’re in trouble. Someone was in the bar last night taking pictures of you drunk off your ass. Nothing new there. If that was all, I wouldn’t be worried. The entire world knows you’re a drunk and it hasn’t killed you yet. The problem is, you weren’t the only one there. They sold those pictures and they’re everywhere.”
I fought to remember what she was talking about. Pictures of me in a bar? When had I been in a bar with anyone else? I mean, there were almost always other people, but they never mattered. The only time I’d done anything?—
Oh God. Two nights ago I’d been in the bar after the meeting with the band. Matt had been there, and he’d called for reinforcements. And when the backup got there…
Molly.
I’d kissed her. I remembered it distinctly. She’d laughed and said it was the middle of the night and no one would be there to see.
“Molly,” I breathed.
“Oh, you are awake enough to remember,” Taylor snapped. “This is bad, Noah. Molly’s your little sister, practically, and your roadie. What the fuck were you thinking?”
That didn’t matter, and I didn’t think she expected an answer, so I didn’t bother. “How bad is it?”
“Bad. Worse than you can imagine. She’s in trouble with her magazine for reasons I don’t know and your reputation is getting trashed all over the press right now. No one is surprised. Everyone is horrified. Your roadie, for fuck’s sake! What the fuck were you thinking?”
Another question that didn’t need an answer. I also needed time to come up with a story that they might believe. God, I wished Molly was here. She was so much better at that stuff than I was, and it would be best if our stories matched.
But she wasn’t. Because I’d pushed things far enough in public that she was about to be fired. I wondered if she was even still in town or if she’d already flown back to LA to try to fix things.
“Is she still here?” I asked.
“God, Noah, are you that stupid?” Taylor hissed. “Who cares if she’s still here? You’ve got to manage yourself, not her! The labels have all been bailing because of your reputation, and now it’s even worse. You’re never going to get another deal now! You’ve fucked everything up! All the work Lila and Rivers did to fix the band’s reputation is spiraling down the drain. The labels are bailing because they think the band is just as bad as it’s every been. And you’re taking Molly down with you. Get your head in the game, boy, or you’re going to ruin everything. If you can’t take care of yourself, take care of her. Leave her the fuck alone. Come up with a cover story. And meet me downstairs in the cafe in half an hour. We have to plan for war.”
She hung up just as abruptly as she’d called and I stared at the phone for several moments, trying to wrap my head aroundeverything. Pictures. God of course there were pictures. There always were. But this time they were hurting someone I loved. And it was my fault.
Unless.
My brain finally turned on and started going through what Taylor had said. I was taking Molly down with me. Take care of her. Come up with a story. Plan for war.
Taylor wanted me to take care of Molly if I couldn’t take care of myself.
She wanted a story that the press would buy.
What if… What if I could do all of that with one simple plan?
