Overthinking.
My phone rings again. I grab under the pillow, thinking it must be hexed. I rummage for it and pull it out. Ray.
“Hello?” I croak. “You called earlier?”
He doesn’t even say, “Hello,” and dives right in with, “Are you married to a hockey star?”
“Kinda,” I eke out, waiting for him to go ballistic.
“Is this for real?” He sounds excited.Is he a hockey fan?
“It was a drunken night, and I was drunk.” I can’t admit that I was vulnerable. No, I can’t admit that. Although Finn impressed me asbeing nice, even genuine. But what do I know? I have terrible taste in men. Besides, he picked me up in a bar - that’s a recipe for disaster if there ever was one - and we’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours.
“Well, it looks real,” he counters.
“I’ll get it annulled,” I offer flippantly.
“Like hell you will!” he shouts.
I hold the phone away from my ear. He continues his rant.
“This is ingenious. You’re getting free press. Sales are up. Your songs are being played on every station across the country. You’re golden.”
“I am?” I ask, my voice quivering.
“Honey, you’re the newest happening thing. You have the news cycle. Remember what I said in the beginning? Any press is good press.”
“But what if I don’t want to be married?”
“I don’t care if you want to be married or not. You choose it at some point in time unless he faked your signature. So, deal with it. Just fake it. Besides, you need a year to make it respectable, anyway. Do you think he’ll agree to that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, make it happen. This takes years off of your ascent to the top.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply without weighing my options.
Did I just cave to my manager?
“You do that. But whatever you do, notify me if there’s any change because an annulment right now would be a disaster!” Ray’s voice practically explodes through the speaker.
“I thought you said any press is good press,” I counter.
“There’s a caveat to that. You don’t want to be labeled as impulsive or a problem.”
“Oh.” I gave myself a pass for one night. I’m not going to make a habit of marrying strangers.
Geesh.
“By the way, I have a singer in rehab, so the band won’t be playingas the opening act for the concert in Atlanta. I need to catch the next plane there. You’re trending. Your name will sell out the show. I’ve already sent a security team to assist you. Pack light. Sing hard. Don’t talk toanyoneaboutanything. Just smile and wave.”
Like the Queen of England. Right.
Well that’s a bunch of horse shit. I’m no queen, for starters.
We hang up. As if my life couldn’t get more complicated, Shay peeks through the cheap blinds of our apartment.
“Oh god,” she says. “There’s a camera crew on thelawn.”
