When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(65)

*

For all her professional outrage, Olivia wasn’t entirely unhappy with that photograph. Her ego had taken a battering these last few months, and being publicly linked with a man like Thad Owens made her feel better, which was depressing because it signaled that she might be measuring her self-worth in terms of a man, which was absolutely not true, but it was still satisfying to know that people might now see her in a different light—not as an elitist opera singer, but as a woman who could attract a man like Thad Owens, which—

She slapped her hands over her ears. Everything about Thad had sent her into a tailspin even before they’d had sex. And now that they’d had sex, it was a thousand times worse. Maybe this wasn’t love. Maybe it was simply a crush. Could a woman her age have a crush? Maybe she could convince herself that’s exactly what it was because she couldn’t have found a worse man to have fallen in love with. Thad Owens, the anti-Dennis.

She reminded herself to stay focused on the present—today—not on the future, because wiping him out of her life would be horrible, and if she thought too hard about it, she’d ruin the little time they had left together.

*

Henri and Paisley met them in the suite for their last day before the tour ended. Instead of being upset by the photo, Henri was pleased. “Very romantic, yes? Windy City Live has already called. They want you both on tomorrow morning’s program. I hope you don’t mind adding it to your schedule.” His cell rang, and his smile became a frown. “Excuse me.” He stepped outside into the hallway.

Olivia and Thad were still at the table finishing their coffee. She scrunched her nose at him. “What do you bet that’s Mariel calling to ream Henri out for the way we’re dragging the Marchand name through the mud.”

Paisley, who’d been working on her eye makeup in the hotel suite’s mirror, shoved her mascara wand back in her bag. “Mariel doesn’t understand anything about publicity. She’s, like, all caught up in the 1950s or something. She’s not even on LinkedIn. At least Henri is starting to get it.” She reached back into her bag—maybe for a lipstick, maybe for her phone—but her hand stalled. “I was thinking . . .” She withdrew her hand. “Maybe you guys could, like, recommend me as a PA to some of your celebrity friends? Or as a publicist. Not you, Olivia, no offense—unless you know some pop stars or, like, even B-listers who want a personal assistant?”

“Gosh, I can’t think of anyone,” Olivia said innocently. “But I bet Thad has contacts.”

He stared into his coffee cup, taking the coward’s way out. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Paisley twisted the strap of her bag between her fingers and stared at them both. “Neither of you wants to help me, do you? You don’t respect me.”

“It’s not about respect,” Thad said tactfully.

“You don’t think I do a good job,” Paisley muttered.

Olivia regarded her with some sympathy. Paisley had been raised in privilege, and it was as much her parents’ fault she was so clueless as her own. “Paisley,” she said as kindly as she could, “you haven’t gone out of your way to be helpful on this tour.”

Paisley abandoned her purse. “That’s only because of how can I get excited about passing out sandwiches to reporters and, like, making sure your suitcases get to the right room?”

A task Paisley hadn’t exactly performed well.

Thad stepped in. “I understand promoting watches isn’t what you want to do, but once you take a job, you give it your best. That includes the parts you don’t like. And every job has those. You need to do them as diligently as you do everything else.”

Olivia had a strong suspicion he might be talking about himself and the work he was doing with Clint Garrett.

Paisley looked ready to cry. “That’s so not fair! I work hard! And I’ve gotten you twice as much publicity as you’d have gotten if you’d left it up to Henri or Mariel! I—” She stopped abruptly. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door.

Olivia shot up from the table and blocked her. “Maybe you’d better explain that.”

“Forget it.” Paisley tossed her hair, looking as defiant as a teen who’d been caught out after curfew.

It all fell into place. Olivia looked at Thad and could see he was thinking exactly the same thing. “You took those photos,” she said. “You’re the one who’s been feeding them to the gossip sites.”





15




Olivia stared at Paisley as the pieces came together. If she hadn’t been so distracted, she’d have figured it out days ago. Those four photos: Phoenix, LA, New Orleans, and yesterday’s kiss on Michigan Avenue. “You’ve been following us,” she said, stating what was now so obvious.

Thad rose from the table, and Paisley took a step back, as if she were afraid he’d hit her. “So what if I did? You got twice as many interviews as you’d have gotten if all you had to talk about was your lame watches.”

“That’s not the point,” Olivia said.

Paisley looked down at her hands. “I told you I know how to work hard. Like, I got up really early to take that shot of you and Thad coming back from your hike. And I know how to get publicity. Obviously.”

Thad’s expression was as stern as Olivia had ever seen it. “You didn’t have any right to expose our private lives.”