Pure Wicked (Wicked Lovers #9.5)(2)
Author: Shayla Black

Besides being a PR nightmare, Jesse had lost a friend he’d been trying to save. And the staggered, grief-stricken looks on the faces of that girl’s parents when they realized their daughter was gone would haunt him forever.

“So, I guess social media is firing up with condemnation and hate.” He stared out the window at the thick traffic.

“Enough to make me nervous. You’ve got sympathy from the hard-core fans but… We have to cancel the rest of the tour,” she murmured. “The noise is too negative. You look like an insensitive asshat if you continue on as if nothing terrible has happened.”

“We had six shows left.” It could have been more, but he wished it had been fewer.

“Yep. That’s well over a hundred thousand disappointed fans. And those are merely the ones who held tickets. It sucks.” She hesitated. “You’ll be thirty in less than eighteen months. I’m starting to think the time has come to tone down your bad-boy-gone-wild image.”

She was right. Jesse didn’t bother asking if his parents would be proud. They’d cashed out on his fame years ago. His dad now played golf with celebrities. His mom trained other stage parents and gave interviews about where they’d gone wrong with their only son. He hadn’t talked to them in forever. But none of that mattered at the moment. Bottom line, Jesse wasn’t proud of himself.

He hadn’t been in a long time.

“We need a distraction,” she told him. “You should start an anti-gun crusade.”

Jesse shook his head. “Too political.”

“What about a series of PSAs about suicide prevention?”

“Ryan didn’t want to take his own life. He was simply too high to realize he shouldn’t. Besides, doing either of those things will look like I know I should have done more.”

Candia gave him a deflated sigh, then began chewing on her bottom lip as if sorting through the problem. “I’ll keep working on solutions.”

“While you think about my public image, find out how we can help the Harris girl’s family, like providing funeral expenses or whatever else they need.” He paused. “Have my lawyers work up a confidential settlement and set these folks up for life.”

“But you had nothing to do with her death.”

“All those parents know is that the last time their daughter walked out the door, she was coming to my concert. She’ll never be home again because of the choices my bandmate made. They will never recover from that loss.”

Candia got quiet. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Great. I appreciate you coming with me to talk to the rest of the band.” They’d all been devastated but not stunned when he’d broken the news. “And when the police contact Ryan’s parents and you get the details of his funeral, let me know.”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks. So…I guess you’re canceling my appearances for a while?” When she nodded, the career-driven part of him grimaced. The rest of him exhaled in guilty relief. He hadn’t had a day off in years.

“I’m afraid you won’t be visiting Jimmy Fallon with this album,” she quipped. “I think it’s better if we proactively back out on these appearances for now, citing grief over the loss of your friend. We’ll have an easier time rebooking in a couple of weeks, once this crap has died down.”

“Wait. Maybe I should use those appearances to tell everyone that I had nothing to do with it.” But he couldn’t deny that on plenty of nights in the past, it could have been him—and everyone knew it. The fact that Maddy Harris had died in his hotel room simply splashed another stain on his already bad reputation. And it sure as hell made him feel shitty, too. What a waste of life…

“That’s not what they want to hear. ‘Rock Star Overdoses Underage Fan on Sex and Heroin’ makes for a juicier headline. Until the police finish their investigation and release the details, people will assume you had a hand in the incident.”

He sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I’m going to issue a statement expressing your grief and deepest apologies to the Harris family. You’re going to disappear—way off the radar—until I say otherwise. No swanky resorts. No high-profile outings with Taylor Swift. And absolutely no intoxication. Think sober monk.”

No one would ever believe that.

“I’ve got it.” She snapped her fingers and excitement lit her eyes. “You can go to rehab.”

Jesse scowled. “I’m not an addict.”

“But it would look good. Repentant.”