Page 50 of Forbidden Romeo
CHAPTER 20
My phone buzzes relentlessly in the palm of my hand, a cold and unforgiving metal against my clammy skin.
Reporters from Backstage Magazine want my statement.
Fans and friends are DMing me.
Jill is texting me.
Yet I find myself unable to answer any of them. Instead, I keep staring at the picture on my phone. The harsh glow of its screen lights up my face in the corner of the room, casting long shadows that seem to dance with every flicker of the viral image that now holds my life hostage.
It’s currently going viral on social media with every passing second, getting more shares, likes, comments…
It’s an image from the day I found Holden, playing in the park with Jamie and Megan.The photo shows him playing with them… and me in the background, looking on like a lost woman scorned.
The headline above reads:
Oh, Baby! Broadway’s Golden Boy has a Secret Golden Love Child.
The comments below it were even worse.
There’s been rumors that he’s had a secret family for years!
Didn’t he JUST start dating his co-star?
Oh please, this is just to cover up the fact that he’s gay and not ready to come out!
A ghost from our past is now a viral sensation, framed by the harsh light of public scrutiny and the relentless chime of incoming notifications. The air around me pulses with the acidic sting of scandal as my name is dragged through the digital mud alongside Holden’s.
If Holden wasn’t such a public figure; if he wasn’t Broadway’s latest it boy or the senator’s son; if he hadn’t broken up with Missy so publicly, the picture might have been innocuous. Innocent, even. Just a guy, playing in the park with a woman and child.
But add his public break up with Missy; his father as a senator; and me… the girl whose relationship he only just took out into the spotlight after hiding it for years in the shadows… Well, now it’s an open, oozing wound on social media, bleeding rumors and speculation about Broadway's Golden Boy and his secret love child.
I force my eyes closed and exit out of the window on my phone. Absolutely no good can come from looking at this. And especially not from reading the comments.
Paralyzed by the onslaught, I'm rescued only by the sudden ring of an incoming call—Ms. Greene, my landlord. Her timing, as always, impeccable.
I’m so not ready to deal with her, but I answer it anyway.
“Hey Ms. Greene,” I croak. “I sent you the first two months rent, did you get them?”
“I did, sweetheart, thank you.”
Sweetheart?
Well, that’s new.
“Um… okay. I’ll have the third month for you soon, I promise.”
“Don’t you worry about that third month,” she coos in a maternal way I’ve never heard from her before and my eyes immediately narrow.
“Don’t worry about it?”
“Yes, I’ve sent notice to the US Equity Assembly that you’re fully in the clear financially now. So you’ll start paying your rent again three months from now.”
This is a jarring departure from the woman I’ve known for years. The woman who would hunt me down at the cafe when I worked as a barista to get the rent checks from me. The woman who once camped outside my building in her car until I came home late one night then ambushed me before I could get into my building.
Now she’s ready to just let a month’s rent slip through her fingers?