Page 2 of Christmas Crisis
I was stuck in Los Angeles. With no family. A still-unfamiliar job. In a standoff with my best friend.
And no boyfriend.
Stone was filming in Vancouver. We’d talked on FaceTime last night before I'd settled in with the vodka bottle andThe Bear. I knew he felt bad that I was spending the holiday alone, but he also had an early shoot. Canadian film crews didn’t care about American Thanksgiving.
He was probably on set at this very moment.
Or maybe he wasn’t. Perhaps he was busy finding out that I’d accidentally ruined his life and made him a target of social media vultures. Maybe he was hiding in his dressing room doomscrolling and reading all the terrible things people were saying about him.
I barely had time to go to the bathroom before my phone rang. Shoshanna’s taskmaster voice came through immediately.
“Hey, Miranda, you know that photo was completely unacceptable. Totally in violation of your agreement.”
Alrighty, then. So not even a “hello.” Also, I was unclear which “agreement” she referred to, other than the imaginary one in her head. She’d spent the past year pestering Stone to make me sign an NDA, but I’d never been comfortable with that, and he hadn’t pushed the issue—although he had brought it up again recently. Fame had come so quickly and furiously for him that it always seemed like he was playing catch-up to learn the rules. I imagined he would have insisted on the legal document eventually, but he’d accepted my word until now.
Which made me feel doubly bad. He’d put that faith in me, and I’d repaid him by being careless.
I sighed, flexing my jaw. “Hi, Shoshanna. Yeah, I know I messed up. I promise I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“What were you thinking? After all this time, to be so remiss?”
I’d been thinking it sucked balls to be home alone on the couch the day before Thanksgiving. I’d been thinking I had important things to say to Stone, but as soon as his face popped up on my screen, I knew it was the right call to save them until we were in person. I’d been thinking about how I’d finally started my new corporate job, but the rest of my life was stuck in limbo.
And I’d been thinking about Leo.
But sulking wasn’t in my DNA. I was a firm believer that a lot of true happiness began with playacted happiness. Keeping my chin up was my comfort zone. So I’d been consoling myself by going through old photos on my phone, trying to capture better energy by posting some favorites under the caption “Good vibes dump.”
Ten photos. And I could have sworn the Maui pic I chose was of me solo in the surf. But clearly, the evil vodka and greasy fries had lulled me into inattention. Because the picture I’d actually included was the incriminating couch selfie.
My profile was public, my account less me and more nature-loving doppelgänger, and I’d amassed a decent following after seven years of posting my travel and outdoor adventure photos.
Closing out of the app last night, I had no idea that I’d unleashed a storm. But someone had recognized Stone. And then the sharing began.
And now—here we were.
“Have you heard from Stone?” I asked Shoshanna, rather than answering her question. “I’m surprised he hasn’t called me. Or even texted.”
“I told him not to,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I’m worried his texts are being stolen, frankly, which is a fucked-up thing to have to worry about. He called me on my landline at home this morning. I guess one of the guys on set woke him up. I’m working on a plan with the publicist. Stone’s going to get a burner and said to tell you he’ll call you as soon as he can. I’m assuming your phone is safe for now since people are just figuring out who you are. As far as I can tell, no one has connected your Instagram account to Miranda Davis. At least not yet. I suppose that’s lucky.”
“I need to talk to him, Shoshanna.”
“And you will. But first, let’s get him the temporary line. It might be overkill, it probably is, but it’ll make us all feel better to be careful.”
“Seriously? Can you please expedite that process? He’s my boyfriend. And this is on me. I need to explain.” I was a little annoyed that Stone had called Shoshanna but not me. Except that was on-brand. I might be his girlfriend, but he relied on his PA to tell him what to do, where to go, and who to talk to.
“Like I said, you will,” Shoshanna repeated. “But let’s make a plan first.”
Her voice sounded frustrated, but I didn’t sense genuine anger behind it. She was a professional.
Like everyone given the label of “famous for being famous,” Stone had his detractors. No doubt Shoshanna had been preparing for something like this for a while.
“I’m really sorry,” I offered. “I had too much to drink last night and posted the wrong picture.” Thumbing through my albums, I saw the shot I’d intended to put up directly beneath the one I’d posted. Just a slip of the finger.
A slip of the finger that ended more than a year of successful subterfuge.
“I know you are,” Shoshanna said resignedly. “And this plan with Naomi was always risky. If I could go back in time, I don’t think I would have done it. I knew people would take an interest in them, but not to this degree.”
Yeah, hard same, girl.
