Page 104 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

I wanted to celebrate Conor’s release with him last night, but I couldn’t muster up much joy. While his turn of fortune thrilled me down to my toes, my own issues weighed on me.

Most of the crew would sleep in, hang out by the pool, and probably hit the Austin clubs tonight. Conor had plans to meet with a friend of his, a country artist, in town who had invited him to his recording studio to work on a song. Conor had hit me up early this morning to ask if I’d join him, but I had to prepare for a big meeting—maybe the biggest of my life.

I’d gone over a hundred scenarios in my head to rework the PR on this tour so that everyone came out on top. I hadn’t talked to Ashley since she and Tomo swept out of the venue last night. But I was pretty sure she was convinced that neither Conor nor I had anything to do with leaking the pictures. Not that it mattered to her.

But it mattered to me. I could work with her better if she still believed we were on the same side. I was still playing with the idea of using her failing vocals to save her—even though that sounded counter-intuitive. Honestly, Ashley might be more open to admitting she had vocal issues than admitting that she cheated on Conor.

Which was absurd. There was no cheating involved on either side. Because there was no real relationship. They both paid for going along with my scheme.

Managers and publicists used the stunt dating scam all the time for artists with varying levels of success. The one time I propose it, it blows up in my face.

Because how often did the managers and publicists who engineered fake dating actually get involved in it themselves? Not like this girl. Seemed I had a special knack for fucking things up when it came to Conor Flynn.

I should’ve never gotten involved with him twelve years ago. I crossed the line then—and paid for it, and here I was crossing the line again. How would I pay this time?

Someone knocked on my door, and I set my tea down and walked into the room to answer it. Peeking through the peephole, my shoulders tensed. Better now than later.

I swung open the door to admit Ashley into my room. As she waltzed past me, her blond ponytail swung, matching her chipper mood.

She made a beeline to the breakfast tray on the table. “Ooh, avocado toast. Can I have this piece?”

“Knock yourself out. You’re doing a lot better than I am for being a doomed woman.”

She crunched into the toast, leaving a shower of crumbs on the carpet. “I know. It sucks. But at least Tomo and I had some fun last night without sneaking around.”

Her gaze traveled to my primly made-up bed. “You and Con?”

“No.” My cheeks blazed as I returned to the patio. “He had to get up early for a recording session, and I have a lot of work to do for the meeting today.”

She opened the pot of hot water, wrinkled her nose, and snatched up the other half-eaten piece of toast. “You mind? I’m starving. Tomo has a lot of stamina.”

“That’s why he’s such a good dancer.” I shoved the other chair on the balcony with my foot, and Ashley took the invitation and joined me. “Y-you don’t still think Conor had anything to do with those pictures, do you?”

Ashley considered the uneaten side of the toast and took a bite. “Conor’s too fucking noble to pull a stunt like that, and I don’t think even you’re silly enough to save Conor at the expense of your job. At least I hope not.”

Did she just call me silly? “I always saw another way out.”

She kicked off her heels and propped her feet on the railing, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Don’t come at me with that voice stuff again, Noelle. I’m not admitting to the world that my voice is shot just to get the sympathy vote.”

“You were willing to admit a man cheated on you to get it.” I took a gulp of tea hoping it could get me through this conversation. “I get it. There’s no shame in that, but there’s no shame in losing your voice, either. Happens to a lot of people. Think of how many singers have gotten nodes removed from their throats. Charlie Beck lost his voice last year—on stage. It happens.”

“Hmm.” She dabbled her fingers against her chin. “I suppose we could spin that. We could blame it on the venues or the equipment, and then I could lip sync for the rest of the tour.”

I rubbed my eyes. Why did everything have to be a lie? “But how does all that rescue you from hooking up with Tomo while you were supposedly in a relationship with Conor?”

“We’ll blame it on Tomo.” She wagged her finger in the air. “He got me drunk, seduced me.”

“Umm, that’s called rape and could get Tomo into a lot of trouble.”

“Okay, forget the drinking part. Maybe he blackmailed me into it—threatened to throw the show or...drop me on stage during a dance sequence if I didn’t get with him.”

“That’s almost as bad. He’d never work again.”

“Memory loss? Temporary insanity? Hypnosis?” She bit the tip of her finger. “I can always blame my sex addiction.”

“I think you should stop trying to find excuses.”

“I know.” She kicked her feet in the air like a little kid. “Conor and I had a fight. I thought he broke up with me. Tomo was a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.”