Still wired from yesterday’s fight and all my disappointments, I was sitting in front of my computer and sorting through emails when an unfamiliar number flashed across the screen of my phone. I answered. It was force of habit. It could have been film-related.
“Hello. Is this Cassandra Evans?” the male voice asked.
“Yes.” My gut told me that picking up this call was bad judgment on my part.
“This is Brad Finley from Entertainment Weekly. Do you have a comment about your relationship with Frankie Blade?”
A rush of anxiety raced through me. I hung up without saying a word and noted a new message from Levi that had just come in.
You’re out, it read.
Frazzled, I clicked the link he included.
There they were, the photos of me and Frank from the Ventura gas station. No faces. But then there were other photos of him with Isabella, screenshots from her Instagram with me in the background.
Ready for the worst, I drew a deep breath through my teeth and looked at the headline.
“The rumors are true: Frankie Blade is dating”
“Secret relationship isn’t that secret anymore: Former Hall Affinity singer Frankie Blade is seeing music reporter Cassy Evans”
The time stamp indicated the post had gone live thirty minutes ago.
I dialed Levi.
“Is that what it takes to make you return my calls?”
“Sorry, I was on the phone with Linda and I just…needed some alone time.”
“We don’t have the luxury of alone time, Cass. Margerie Helm just emailed me back. She wants to meet.”
“Really?” My heart sputtered in my chest. “You’re not kidding me?” The woman had been so hard to pin down, I was about to scratch Melrose Cinema from our venue list.
“No. I’m not. Something tells me you would hate me forever.” He paused. “You wanna let me in on what happened to Frank yesterday?”
“You know I can’t.”
“I assume he’s off the project for good?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t count on him. Let’s move forward with the editing. I’m not sure he’s up for anything at the moment.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Cass?”
“Let’s not talk about him, huh?”
“Okay, okay,” Levi agreed. “I’m just going to pretend your face isn’t all over TMZ next to the face of the man who fucked us over.”
I moved my gaze down the screen of my computer. “Hey, at least they got my name right. Already better than Starbucks.”
“You should see the numbers. Your interview has been getting tons of hits.”
Sometimes Levi’s obsession with numbers infuriated me. My soul was torn apart and all he cared about was the magazine’s traffic.
“A lot of trolls?” I asked, pulling up Rewired’s front page to search for my interview with Frank.
“I suggest you don’t look.”
I scrolled to the bottom of the post and skimmed through the latest comments while Levi continued to talk.
I wonder if she sucked him before or after.
She should find another job…
I bet she got that interview because she gives good head.
Dante probably watched, bwahaha.
My stomach knotted. I minimized the window and began to pace my room. This was expected, yet the online remarks hurt.
“Are you okay, Cass?” Levi’s voice pulled me out of my daze.
“Yes. I am.”
I was lying. I was a complete mess for the remainder of the day. I had to shut off my phone because the calls and the messages from the reporters were too much. Deep in my heart, I understood I shouldn’t care, but I didn’t have enough experience dealing with bullshit. I couldn’t just turn my feelings off like Frank could.
But hey, I did give good head. My rock star boyfriend loved it. Or ex-boyfriend. I couldn’t really define what he was anymore.
I spent the next day glued to my computer, dealing with the fallout of Frank’s studio no-show stunt and dragging countless emails from reporters trying to get an exclusive into my trash folder. The tabloids were hungry for details and kept on blowing up my phone and my Facebook inbox. For the sake of my mental health, I had to change the privacy settings in all my social media platforms, which only made it worse.
In the afternoon, after Ashton got home from school, we set up a small camp in the living room and worked on Isabella’s article for Rewired. To keep readers up to date with her journey, Levi and I had agreed to post weekly recaps.
I sat on the floor, cross-legged, coffee in hand. My brother was next to me, sipping on his Red Bull and staring at the empty screen. An hour later, we were still only two paragraphs in.
“This article isn’t going to write itself,” Ashton croaked as I got to my feet and paced. My brain was lagging. This week’s piece was supposed to discuss Isabella’s experience working with Frank, but since Frank was out of the picture and she recorded the single alone, I had no idea what to put in the goddamned article. The words didn’t want to flow.
“Anyone approach you at school today?” I checked.
“You mean like reporters?”
“Yes.”
“There was one dude. He was hanging out in the parking lot. I didn’t talk to him.”
“Good.” I gestured at my laptop. “Don’t touch anything.”
Ashton leaned over the screen and stuck his tongue out.”
“You’re sleeping in your car if you lick my shit.” Laughing, I retreated to my bedroom to make a call.
“He’s fine,” Brooklyn stated over the phone. “X-ray didn’t show any major damages or fractures.”
“Is Roman there?”
“Yes. He’s staying at the house.”
“Thank you.”
“You should talk to him, Cassy.” Brooklyn’s voice softened. “I really am tired of arranging flower deliveries for you,” she added sarcastically.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to him at this point. We’re in such deep shit with the sponsors and Isabella and her mother.”
“Don’t worry about money. Jay Brodie’s services are paid for. They’ll just have to tailor the campaign to suit your needs.”
“I’m not worried about the financial part. I’m worried about how this might reflect on Isabella.”
“She’ll be fine. It’s best for everyone that Frank stays off the press’s radar for now.”
“Is he drinking?”
My question was met with silence.
“Have you considered calling his parents?”
“Billy’s here. He flew in today.”
A sigh of relief left my lungs.
“You should talk to Frank too. He’s not in a very good place mentally and it could help us get him to rehab faster.”
Guilt was a horrible feeling. It overshadowed all the other feelings I had in me toward Frank. He was alone and depressed, and no matter how much he’d hurt me by ruining everything I’d been building for Isabella, I still wished him well. I still loved him in a horrible twisted, unhealthy way.
“I’ll think about it,” I told Brooklyn and ended the call.
I just couldn’t get past my pride yet. I needed time.