Page 5 of The Fix
I’m already spinning headlines in my head, debating which ones the media would eat up first, as I replace the worst attempt at gaining fame I’ve seen back into the envelope, ignoring the included phone number.
I hand the note over to Leo and fish the travel-sized bottle of sanitizer from my pocket, only mildly concerned about the bacteria I might be transferring to my coat as I reach inside. Squeezing some gel into my palm, I rub my hands to dissipate the remaining moisture. Meeting Leo’s glacial gaze, I frown.
Because he’s offering up another envelope similar to the last.
This one bulges in a different way, appearing to hold two more pregnancy tests.
“That’s not all, Anna.”
That tone. That’s the one that makes me purse my lips and sigh at my boss.
“There’s another tape.”
“Okay,” I draw out.
“And a fucking DNA test that looks awfully … official.”
Chapter Three
Anna
After hours of reviewing, deliberating, researching, and gallons of sanitizer, I finally throw my notes at the band’s manager and try my best to smooth the stray hair sticking out of my slicked back ponytail. Or what once was. My clothes are rumpled beyond recognition, my shoes lost somewhere under the table that became my work station until I could no longer hold my eyes open.
I passed out for only a moment after refusing to accept a bed in a strange house with a weird sense of smell that only comes from adding brand-new materials to an old house.
Musky and fresh.
It’s weird.
“What’s this?” Leo stirs on the uncomfortable looking loveseat someone dragged in when we refused to leave, the creases around his eyes digging deep.
“The plan,” I reply, hands on hips.
“Uh-huh,” he mutters, scanning the page the book is open to. “And we keep Toby out of the loop?”
“Yes. Lest he mentions something to the wrong person and blow it all up.”
The bassist who caused this whole mess is still noticeably absent, while the rest of us take care of his problems. Security mentioned he made his way home and has been passed out—not alone—since about six this morning. God knows what he was doing before that.
My nerves are on the verge of snapping when Leo continues to stare at the page and says nothing. “Well?”
His gaze flicks to me, then back to the page with a scowl. “Well.”
Huffing, I snatch the notebook from him and spin back to my workstation, dropping my butt back into my chair. “Maybe if he wasn’t such an ass, we could ask his feedback—”
“Did you just say ass?” I ignore the drummer’s mocking tone as he enters the space with a half grin on his handsome face and coffee cups filling his grip. “How original.”
“Then what would you propose, Mac?”
He edges closer, sets a steaming cup of what I hope is hot chocolate next to my pile of pages, and shrugs. “She would have signed an NDA, right? So any shit she shared, or shares, publicly makes her in defiance of that.”
Leo gasps in jest, his hand going to the undone top buttons of his wrinkled dress shirt. “As if we didn’t think of that.”
Mac flips his manager the middle finger and sips from the second cup in his grip. “She never signed one?”
“We would know,” I answer on a sigh. “If we could find it.” The last words are growled off of my lips, my scowling brow turned to Leo.
“His file is literally thicker than the dictionary,” Leo adds, rolling his eyes.