Page 95 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

Earlier in the morning, she hadn’t been too stressed about the hit to Conor’s reputation. Like Ashley, Dina figured Conor would recover quickly. Men always seemed to skate away from the cheater label more smoothly than women did.

But as the morning and the bus ride wore on, Dina began to fret about my role in the scandal. She seemed to be taking cues from people at 92 West.

I brought the phone close to my face and clicked on her latest message, sent a few hours ago.

The truth is, babe, who wants to hire a PR firm when they have to worry about one of the publicists fucking the client?

Well, I certainly wouldn’t.

Switching from text to photos, I accessed the pictures of Ashley and Tomo. When Conor went into the bathroom last night, I grabbed his phone and air dropped the photos to my phone. Now I had them.

My thumb trembled as I swiped through the three pictures, each one more incriminating than the one before it. Who took them and who sent them to Conor? And why? Would answers to those questions make my decision any easier?

I could post the pics anonymously or get someone to do it for me. That would end the hate against Conor but would ramp up the ridicule against Ashley, especially as she tried to leverage the cheating rumor to her benefit—when she knew it wasn’t true.

It would probably get me into more hot water with Dina though. Not only would I be the publicist who enmeshed herself in her own PR campaign, I’d be the publicist who fucked up the most important job she had—redeem Ashley Bennett.

Ashley would end up in an even bigger hole than when she started.

I couldn’t do it, and I couldn’t allow Conor to do it. There had to be a way out...and maybe it started with Ashley herself.

I stretched my arms over my head, or as far as they could reach, and wiggled my toes. I could do this. Play hardball.

Threaten Ashley, my own client, with exposure if she didn’t stop fueling the cheating rumors. I could salvage this and maybe even start to rehabilitate my own image with 92 West. If I turned this around, I’d stop being a liability to the company and turn into the agent who sold out the most hyped summer tour of the season.

I sent Dina a message:

I can fix this.

The rustling around me indicated that the bus was coming back to life after its slumber through the desert. We had just about three hours until show time, and we hadn’t even hit Austin yet.

If I planned this tour, timing like this would never happen. Performers needed a break, time to refresh. And what about Ji-yoon? Her first tour as a solo, and her management scheduled her for so many interviews and side performances, she didn’t have a chance to bask in her success.

With my phone still in my hand, I checked my Instagram DMs. Still no response from Louise. She had to know I told Conor that she’d changed my number on his phone and knowing that did she really believe he’d let it go?

Would he let those photos of Ashley and Tomo go?

I had to make sure he knew I had another way.

***

The chaos of the past hour drove all thoughts of anonymous pictures and messages from my head, as we pulled into our hotel in Austin.

Jermaine hustled everyone into their rooms where they could prepare however they needed to—a few more winks of sleep, a quick workout at the gym, a soak in the hot tub followed by a dive into the pool, more food, more drink.

More work.

After a few more text exchanges with Dina, Toby, and Orlando, I showered, got rid of my glasses, and dressed up in a pair of wide leg, cream-colored linen pants, topping them with a peach hued bodysuit and finishing with some low-heeled, pointy-toed cowboy boots—for Austin. I added some gold jewelry and blew out my hair. Ashley liked pretty, and I needed her to respect me tonight...while I blackmailed her.

Of course, I didn’t mention that particular PR strategy to Dina, Toby, or Orlando in my text messages.

I hadn’t talked to Conor amid the confusion of deboarding the bus. I peeked into his bunk as I gathered my stuff, but he was still sleeping—or pretending to sleep. I texted him at the hotel and knocked on his door once, but he didn’t answer either.

Was he avoiding me? Had he sent the pictures already?

A dose of adrenaline, which had nothing to do with the energy drink I just downed, shot through my body as I paced to the window, frantically scrolling through my socials.

More posts about Conor the cheat and the long-suffering Ashley. I placed my hand against the cool window and took a deep breath. All good.