The Princess and the Porn Star (27 page)

“Rachel, you can’t—”

“I’m not leaving him just because the label doesn’t think it looks good.”

“You want to stay signed or not?”

My stomach flipped. “Are you really asking me to choose between my career and my boyfriend?”

He laughed and rolled his eyes again. “Rachel. Come on. You’re dating a porn star. Just end it now and move on with your career. Otherwise, you’re going to be regretting even hemming and hawing about this in six months when your recording deal is history and your ‘boyfriend’”—he added emphatic air quotes and no small amount of sarcasm—“is balls deep in his next playmate of the month.”

“What exactly is the problem?” I threw back. “You’re the one who said time and again that there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

“Rachel.” His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly, adopting an expression that was equal parts irritated and condescending. “You of all people know there definitely
is
such a thing as bad publicity.”

“Exactly,” Rich said. “And the problem with this right here?” Rich eyed me. “It’s increasing sales. No doubt about that. Problem is, it’s magazines that are selling. You know what isn’t selling? Albums. Albums and tickets.”

“But they
are
selling.”

“Not in the numbers they could be.” Rich folded his arms across his chest, and the condescension in his eyes made me want to smack him. “This is your comeback, sweetheart. If you’re selling two million when we all know you could be selling five million, you know damn well your ass is on the line until you’ve sold five million.”

I glared at him. “And the less than stellar sales are not because of piracy, competition or people flat-out not being interested in my album,” I said through clenched teeth. “Any number that doesn’t meet the expected quota is a direct result of my relationship with—”

“Relationship?” He scoffed. “Come
on
, Rachel.” He smirked, and I knew there was no convincing him he was wrong about Lee.

“So what do you want me to do?” I silently cursed the defeat in my voice.

“You’re an intelligent woman,” he said. “You’re ambitious; you’re more savvy about this business than people give you credit for.” He inclined his head. “So I don’t think I need to spell out what you need to do.”

I swallowed. “You want me to call it off with him.”

“I think that would be the smartest move, yes.” He pulled back his sleeve. “But we can discuss this later. Right now, you’ve got an appearance. Get out there and make Olivia Taylor look good, capiche?”

More like make Risen Star Records look good.

But I just nodded.

This wasn’t my first time on Blair Fox’s show, and I hoped it would be my last. She was one of those smug, plastic interviewers who delighted in making her guests as uncomfortable as possible. Why they didn’t just call the show
Schadenfreude with Blair Fox
, I’d never know.

Sitting across from me on the soundstage in an overstuffed white armchair—much like the one I sat in opposite a tiny wooden table—Blair folded her hands on her lap. From the mouth-only smile that followed, I knew what was coming before she spoke.

“So, Olivia,” she said. “You’re dating Buck Harder.”

The room fell so silent, I struggled to keep from squirming. I swallowed hard and then nodded. “Yes, we’ve been dating for a little while now.”

A mix of uncomfortable laughter and palpable disgust rippled through the studio audience.

“And what is that like?” she asked with thinly veiled contempt. “Dating a porn star?”

“Honestly?” I shrugged. “It’s not as strange as you might think. He does what he does for a living, and when he’s not on the set, he’s just…” I paused, biting my tongue because I almost said his real name. I cleared my throat. “He’s just a normal guy. We have a relationship just like everyone else’s. A boring, monogamous relationship.”

Blair laughed, but it sounded more like a snort of derision. “Monogamous? How can you call it monogamous when he has sex with other women? On camera, no less?”

“I…well…” Heat rushed into my cheeks. The muffled snickering in the audience told me I looked as uncomfortable as I felt. Shifting, I cleared my throat. “Yes, he does have sex with other women on camera. But it’s an act. It’s fake. It’s
for
the cameras, not for each other. The way he described it to me, it’s about as real as an actor playing a character who murders another character in a film.”

“Except an actor doesn’t
actually
shoot or stab another actor in the process,” Blair said, and the studio erupted with roaring laughter.

I forced myself to laugh too. Defensiveness wouldn’t get me anywhere, and I could already see the sound bites going viral on the Internet, so I just laughed and didn’t protest.

“Where is your, um, boyfriend right now?” A faint sneer suggested she already knew the answer.

I made myself hold eye contact and not flinch as I said, “He’s working this week.”

“This week. As in, today?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“So, right now, as we speak”—she glanced at the camera or the audience, maybe both—“he could be having sex with a woman on-camera, and that doesn’t bother you?”

“I won’t lie. I’m not crazy about it.” I focused on keeping my voice even. “But I knew when I started dating him that it was part of the deal.”

“Isn’t that awkward, though?” She rested her elbow on the armrest and cradled her chin in her hand. “I mean, I can’t imagine the ‘Hi, honey, how was your day?’ conversations are quite the same as in most other households.”

The audience laughed, and I gritted my teeth.

She went on, “How does that go when he comes home from work?”

“Well, we don’t live together,” I said, “so it’s not really an issue.”

“But, presumably you do see each other after he’s been working?”

No, because he’s usually exhausted.

No, because I’m usually a thousand miles away anyway.

No, because…it’s none of your goddamned business.

“Like I said, it’s something I knew about when I started seeing him,” I said. “And it’s his
job
. Nothing more. It’s unusual and took some getting used to, but…” I shrugged with one shoulder. “We deal with it.”

Another snicker rippled through the audience, but I refused to let any irritation into my expression.

Blair continued. “There’s been a lot of concern that you’re going to go back to your bad habits from a few years ago. What’s your take on that?”

I shook my head. “I’m done with that. All of it.”

The skepticism in her eyes irritated me. “But, you can understand the—”

“I appreciate everyone’s concern,” I said with a smile, “but I can assure you I haven’t backslid on my substance-abuse issues. I’ve been clean for three years and have never looked back.”

At that, the audience applauded, and I released my breath. At least they believed me.

Blair refolded her hands and smiled. “Why don’t we talk about your awards, Olivia?”

Oh, thank God. Let’s talk about anything but Lee.

She went on, “Do you think your involvement with Buck Harder had any bearing on losing the two entertainer of the year awards?”

I tightened my jaw. “Well, aside from that fact that our relationship was only a rumor until last night, I think it would be rather disingenuous to assume about the people who make that decision.” Narrowing my eyes slightly, I said, “Are you suggesting Tatiana only deserved to win because I’m dating a porn star?”

She straightened. “Well, no, no, of course I—”

“Tatiana is a talented musician. I was thrilled and honored to be nominated in the same categories as her. I’m not going to complain about losing to her.”

And I was pretty sure I’d go to my grave still savoring Blair Fox’s momentary loss of composure, that indignant sniff and the furrowed brow, and the way she stammered when she looked at the camera and said, “We’ll be right back.”

I smiled all through signing autographs for the audience and for the fans who’d gathered outside the studio. I smiled for pictures. I smiled through snide and condescending remarks about my relationship with Lee. I even smiled when some judgmental son of a bitch warned me against all the diseases and drugs that saturated my boyfriend’s industry.

Calling on all the experience I had from a decade in this fishbowl, I smiled, I smiled, I smiled.

And then I went upstairs to the dressing room above the studio, opened the door, and saw Quinn looking back at me with his arms folded and his lips already pulled into a sympathetic grimace, and I lost it.

I closed the door. Leaned against it. Slid down it until I was on my knees. And fucking sobbed.

Quinn knelt beside me and pulled me against his chest. “I am so sorry, sweetheart,” he said, stroking my hair as I cried. “Those people are horrible.”

I couldn’t speak. All I could do was lean on him and let go of everything I’d been forcing back with a smile for the last few hours.

I was used to the media eviscerating my every move and my every relationship, but this cut deeper than it ever had before. I’d never felt so disgusting. So
dirty
. Two weeks in a jungle without running water or a single creature comfort hadn’t left this much slime on my skin, and no amount of showering would rinse this away.

I finally sat up.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” I pressed my thumb and index finger into my forehead. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Does anything in this business?”

I groaned with frustration.

“Come here, sweetie.” He helped me to my feet, then guided me to the couch against the opposite wall. Once I was situated on the couch, he said, “You want a cup of coffee or something?” He paused. “Maybe scalding hot and thrown into Blair’s face?”

I laughed. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

“You sure?” He gestured toward the door. “I know where her dressing room is. I could totally coffee-smack that psycho.”

I snorted and shook my head. “That’s okay. But thanks for the mental image.”

“Any time, love.” He put his hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I just, I don’t get it.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “I mean, I know they’re going to tear me apart for dating Lee, but…” I choked back another sob and gestured sharply with one shaking hand. “The way she was talking to me, you’d swear I was fucking every man in Hollywood.”

Quinn sighed. “Unfortunately.”

I looked him in the eye. “Do you think it’s weird? Dating Lee?”

He shook his head. “No. I guess I might’ve thought so if I didn’t know you, and if I hadn’t seen the two of you together, but I know better.” He paused, and grinned. “Oh, and by the way, darling? I just have to tell you that that little swipe you took at Blair about losing to Tatiana was
epically
priceless.”

I smothered a giggle. “You liked that?”

“Oh, honey. I loved it so much, I turned straight for a minute and wanted you to have my babies.” He wrinkled his nose. “But just for a minute.”

I let myself really laugh that time, and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Quinn. I would never have babies with you.”

“Thank God.” He put a hand to his chest and sighed dramatically. “Because
no
.”

Snickering, I rolled my eyes.

The moment of levity was short-lived, though, because a sharp knock at the door and a “Rachel? We need to talk” from Rich killed it.

Quinn got up and opened the door and wisely stepped out. The vein standing out from Rich’s forehead said this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation, and it was best for everyone involved—and to avoid police intervention—if Quinn removed himself.

I rose, if only because I didn’t like the son of a bitch looming over me like that.

He folded his arms across his chest. “How long are you going to keep playing this game, Rachel?”

“What game?”

“Testing Risen Star’s patience?” He gestured at the door. “Going on talk shows and defending what you’re doing with this porn star?”

I gritted my teeth. “What do you want me to do? Just keep letting Risen Star dictate every last detail of my personal life?”

“You are a product of Risen Star,” he snarled. “You have a clause in your contract that you agreed to and are now violating.”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “Because that clause is bullshit. I could see if I was hitting the coke or the pills again, but I’m not. I’m clean.”

He snorted. “Clean? You call
this
clean?”

Clenching my jaw, I narrowed my eyes. “Yes. I do.”

He rolled his eyes, and I could feel his impending tirade from where I stood, and I just wasn’t having it. Not this time. So I spoke first.

“Listen, Rich,” I said. “I went into this to make a name for myself as a musician. But even after four albums and all the world tours and the damned awards, I’m still defined by who I fuck. You’ve got singers fucking groupies by the dozen after shows because they’re rock stars and that’s what they do. I’m with
one guy
who happens to be a porn star, and suddenly I’m a whore.”