George closes his eyes, resting peacefully as my cell vibrates in my bag. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, reaching over to grab it, welcoming the distraction.
I sold your weed and bought those expensive soccer boots that you said looked like they belonged to a drag queen. Better I look like a drag queen than you stunt your growth.
I smile through my tears, putting my cell down and laying on the floor with George cuddled into my side. Logan had this way of making me laugh, although at times, I was more annoyed than humoured. But for today, it was exactly what I needed. That one text was enough to ease my troubles. Within minutes, I fall asleep to the sound of George’s grumbling snore.
“This is not how we expected to start the third season.”
Jeffrey Marsh is the executive president of the network. A short, balding man, with a ruthless attitude and known as a shark in the industry. Surrounding him is his team—all nervous and writing down notes as he speaks.
I sit beside Nina and across the table from Wesley. We had spent the last hour hearing Jeffrey crucify Wesley for his actions. You could feel sorry for the guy—if you weren’t his fiancée that got screwed over.
“I don’t know what the fuck you were thinking, Rich? Do you know how damaging this is for the network? Drugs . . . Really?” Jeffrey continues to pace the boardroom, up and down, repeating the same thing over and over again.
I hated this.
No couple should have to sit in a boardroom and have their relationship dissected by money-hungry executives. Another reminder of why I wanted out.
“It’s not going to work with me and Wes. We’re not together anymore. I think it’s best if I leave the show,” I raise my voice, making myself heard and my demands perfectly clear.
Jeffrey sits down in his chair, swinging back and forth while staring at the door. He finally speaks, filling the silence.
“I understand your predicament, Emerson. But we are only into filming the third season. We’re rating number one in our timeslot. The fans are obsessed with watching the both of you as a couple. Even if I said leave, it’s not just the network that suffers. It’s all our sponsorships. They’ll withdraw and it will affect the future of the show.” He swivels his chair to face me. “Everyone that works on the show’s future may be in jeopardy. Do you really want to be responsible for that?
He poses the question so lightly like he is asking me if I wanted fries with that. Nina looks just as confused, promising me that it wouldn’t be a huge issue given the circumstances.
Across the table, Wes stares back at me. I could have sworn he was smirking, quick to change his expression when I made eye contact with him. I wanted to grab the glass of water in front of me and throw it in his face. This is all his fault.
“What are you trying to say?” I ask, heated.
“You are contractually obliged to film for another two seasons. Remember? You signed the contract last year while negotiating more money per episode.” Jeffrey slides the contract towards me. “So, to answer your question, you’re going to film and you’re going to stay with Wesley for at least this season. Now, towards the end of the season, I’m happy to show the cracks of the relationship. It would make for a good cliffhanger for season three.”
“You’re joking, right?” I laugh nervously, looking around the room to be met with blank faces. Blank because no one was standing up for what I wanted.
“I’m not joking, Chase. In fact, read your terms and conditions.”
I don’t listen to Jeffrey, begging Wes with my eyes to say something. He doesn’t seem to follow, gazing at me oddly while remaining silent.
“Okay, I think we’re done here.?
?
Jeffrey leaves the room followed by his shark posse. Nina is quick to open her mouth the moment the three of us are remaining.
“Emerson. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s not your fault,” I respond, still in shock. “I guess I should go home.”
I mumble goodbye and ignore the rest of the staff as I exit the room and wait for the elevator. Wes follows quickly and enters the lift with only the two of us occupying it. I watch the numbers count down, keeping silent until the doors open into the lobby and outside, swarms of paparazzi are on standby.
Suddenly, warmth graces my hand. I look down and see Wes’s hand intertwined with mine.
“What are you doing?”
“What I’ve been asked to do. Make everything look like normal. You’re still my fiancée as far as the network is concerned,” he responds eagerly, holding tight and pulling me along. “C’mon, let’s go home.”
“Wesley. Stop.”
I pull my hand away, the both of us standing in the middle of the lobby. His body is stiff; jaw tight and eyes impatient, waiting for me to talk.