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Chapter Twenty-Three
Julian
“What the hell do you mean our flights have been canceled?” My grip on the terminal desk tightened as Zane stood behind me.
The clerk shook her short blond hair and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bale, but your reservation numbers were logged into our computer system and canceled over an hour ago. We can rebook you both on a later flight to LAX, but it doesn’t leave for another hour and a half.”
“That’s impossible.” Only three people had access to our reservation information: Zane, Kristina, and me. “Change it back. This is a matter of life and death.”
“Let’s not be dramatic, Jag,” Zane muttered.
Whipping around, I shoved a finger in his chest. “Shut the fuck up, Z. No one asked you.”
The clerk looked at me with a mixture of sadness and reserved giddiness. All it did was ignite an already lit fuse. “Again, I’m sorry. I’ve booked you both on the next flight. I’ll update you if there are any cancellations.”
I pounded my fist onto the desk. “That isn’t good enough! Do you know who the hell I am?” I hated name dropping, but at that point, I’d use anything I had left.
She grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I do. I was wondering if I could get an autograph?”
I lost it. “Yeah. You can have an autograph. You can have it on my fucking ticket to fucking Los Angeles on the fucking plane that’s sitting on the fucking tarmac!”
“Jag, stop it.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just kick us off a flight.”
“Jag, you’re causing a scene.”
“If he touches her, I’ll sue this whole goddamn airline. I’ll own it and your pathetic—” Before I could finish my sentence a hard, right hook bounced my chin from one shoulder to the other. Instinctively grabbing my face, I shoved Zane in the chest, not giving a shit that we’d drawn a crowd. “Jesus, Z! Are you insane?”
“No, but you are. Will you shut up for two seconds and sit down? You think multiple headlines of you losing your shit in an airport will help the band or Phoebe?” He smacked me across the head one more time. “Use your brain, dickhead.”
Sinking slowly into a hard, plastic chair in the terminal, I pulled the bill of my baseball hat low and avoided eye contact with anyone, especially Zane. Trying as best I could to remain calm, I texted Kristina to find out what the hell had happened.
***
The text conversation with Kristina hadn’t been pleasant. The minute I’d sent the first text, while sitting in the small airline VIP club, she’d launched into a rant.
Me: Did you cancel my flight?
Kristina: Why would I do that?
Me: Because our reservation numbers were used to cancel our flights. Someone in your office is an asshole.
Kristina: The only other person with access to that information is Risa. Don’t shoot your mouth off if you don’t have proof, Julian.
Me: Then how do you explain it?
Kristina: A mistake. By the way, Risa got a call from the Stone Acer Show. I know you didn’t walk out on a nationally syndicated radio show. That’d be career suicide. That’d also be screwing with me. Don’t screw with me, Julian.
This shit reeked of Daniel Dalton. If he could get to Phoebe in LA, and me in Seattle, he could get into Kristina’s office.
Me: Cancel all the other interviews. In fact, cancel the next few concerts.
Kristina: Have you lost your fucking mind?
Me: We can’t do the damn things, end of story.
Kristina: I swear to god; I wonder if this job’s worth putting up with your shit.
