It would happen even when I couldn’t look at her at all.
Chapter 27
Jason
♪ Blood in the Cut | K.Flay
Lola roared up on her Harley in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, and the cameras fired up hungrily. She loved to make an entrance, and she always did it late. Fucking annoying.
“Forty-five minutes,” I grumbled to Pia, looking at my watch. It was 6:47 p.m. God, I hated her.
Ernie was off the red carpet, on the phone with a finger in his ear. We’d been waiting for Lola to show for almost a damn hour. I was contractually obligated to promote the movie however the studio saw fit, and Lola and I had collaborated on the soundtrack, so unfortunately we were a package deal at the moment. They wanted red carpet pictures of me with her, so I’d been forced to stand around outside in the blazing Hollywood heat until she got here. It was eighty-five in the shade. Sweat trickled down my back. I slid my fingers into my collar and tugged at the neck of my tie irritably.
I’d had to tell Sloan I couldn’t get a ticket for her so late—which was true. The seating arrangements had already been made. But I could have booted Ernie. Instead, I’d had to leave Sloan at home because Lola was going to be here, all over me, and I didn’t know what kind of shit show it was going to be.
It had been three days since Sloan told me she wanted to break up when I left. We had thirteen days until my tour and every minute counted now. I didn’t want to be here without her, wearing this monkey suit, waiting for Lola. I wanted to be in my underwear, tucked in bed with my girlfriend, watching TV. The fact that Sloan couldn’t be here with me and the knowledge that Lola was to blame for that infuriated me. Not to mention this was a whole day away from Sloan when our time together was almost up—and that was Lola’s fault too.
I wasn’t doing well.
I hadn’t been doing well since Sloan preemptively broke up with me. I couldn’t fucking sleep, and I didn’t feel like eating.
All of my wildest dreams were coming true. I was standing on a red carpet with superstars, promoting a major motion picture set to my music. I was about to leave on a massive worldwide tour. I was achieving all my career goals, and somehow I was about to end up losing the one thing that suddenly mattered the most to me. I actually resented my success now, wished I could just fucking walk away from it or take less of it in exchange for her.
I didn’t care what Sloan said about not wanting me to wait for her—I wasn’t dating other people during our split. I couldn’t. The fact that she maybe could fucking killed me. I was trying not to think about it. And now I was here, wasting the precious time I had left with her dealing with Lola.
I looked moodily at her on her bike. She wore four-inch red heels and shiny black pleather skinny pants. Her nipples pressed into the red ribbon of fabric that she considered a shirt. She’d actually ridden here in that shit.
She took off her helmet and her red hair tumbled out to the screams of fans behind the line stanchions followed by a strobe light of camera flashes.
I let out a controlled breath, making sure to keep my face neutral.
Pia put a hand on my arm. “Ready?”
“I will do as I’m told,” I said unenthusiastically, looking away from my nemesis posing on her Harley.
Pia had coached me extensively on today. She knew all about my issues with Lola. My relationship with my publicist was a little like a relationship with a doctor or lawyer. I had to be honest, or she couldn’t help me.
“Just remember to be diplomatic,” Pia said discreetly. “You can’t undo photos. If she touches you, don’t react. Smile and look relaxed. Don’t give them anything to speculate with. And don’t let her work you up.”
I nodded, my clenched fists the only thing revealing my mood.
Ernie finished his phone call and made his way back over. He was beaming. “Do you love me? Tell me you love me.” He rubbed his hands together.
“What,” I mumbled, watching Lola climb off her bike with a shaky coordination that told me I was not witnessing a moment of sobriety.
“I just got off the phone with your record label.”
My head snapped.
“She’s off the ticket.”
It took me a second to process what I was hearing. “What? What does that mean? She’s out?”
“I made the argument that she causes you undue stress and you’d be out with a stomach ulcer two weeks into it if they forced her on you. I may have also suggested that I’d hit her with trespassing for coming onto my property uninvited the other night if they wanted to push the subject. She’s already knee deep in Kanye fallout and they need her to stay out of jail.”
I stared at him for a solid ten seconds before I started to laugh. I couldn’t even fucking believe it. It was the best news I’d had in years. I hugged him and he slapped my back.
“But listen,” he said, putting an arm around me, his voice low. “And I need you to pay attention because there’s stipulations. They said as long as you put asses in seats you can go it solo. But I had to agree that if you’re struggling, they get to bring her in, no complaints from you, no questions asked. And I couldn’t get them to bend on the fog machine and pyrotechnics. Those guys really like fireworks.”
“Yeah, yeah. Not a problem.” I beamed.
I was going to ask Sloan to come on my tour as soon as I got home. I’d plead with her. Fuck, I’d kidnap her if I had to. Everything was different now. Everything. The tour I had been dreading like a stint in a foreign prison suddenly looked like a fourteen-month dream vacation. “I’m asking Sloan to go with me.”
Ernie eyed me. “So you’re really doing this girlfriend thing, huh?”
I grinned. “Oh yeah, I’m doing it.”
He let out a long breath and nodded. “Okay. Kinda thought you might. Well, I like her. She’s a good one, you were right.”
Pia spoke over her cell phone without looking up. “A girlfriend on tour? Not easy.” She shook her head over her text. “Have you seen your media packet?” She looked up at me over her glasses. “They’re keeping you busy, young man. Your attention is going to be extremely divided.”
Ernie waved her off. “There’s no talking to him. Isn’t that right?” He slapped my back.
I grinned.
Lola saw me looking at her and she shoved a paper she’d been signing into some poor fan’s chest and sauntered over to me. Her bodyguard, personal assistant, stylist, and long-suffering publicist followed close behind.
“Jaxon,” she said, giving Pia and Ernie a cursory glance and then sliding her cat eyes back to me.
“Lola.” I gave her a shit-eating grin. I couldn’t help it.
“Jason, we need to start heading over,” Pia said, checking her watch and nodding to the photo backdrop.
Lola fell in beside me as we made our way down the carpet toward the photographers, hooking her arm in mine. I didn’t know how to shake her off without it drawing attention and fuck it, I didn’t even care. This was the last time I’d ever have to deal with her. I couldn’t stop smiling.
I wondered if she knew yet—probably not by how she was acting. I couldn’t imagine she’d be taking the news with grace. It was better she didn’t know. She’d probably just cause a fucking scene over it.