Tell Me No Lies Page 8

  Maury had reassured him that the current pace would only continue for a couple months. It wasn’t in the record label’s interest to drive Eric into an early grave. They would ease up on the schedule by summertime. He’d have the energy to sneak into Tessa’s hotel room late at night. He might even get days off. Soon. Very soon. He just needed her to hang in there a little longer.

  Right now, he saw the edges of her mouth quivering, and his arms ached to reach out. He couldn’t lose her. It was bad enough that he was back here, trapped in this pop-star life that he despised. Seeing Tessa’s face, however briefly, was the only ray of sunshine in his long and grueling days. If she left him, he’d be utterly alone again—back to that dark, lonely place where he had spent his days and nights before she wandered onto his Twitter feed last year.

  “Eric,” she whispered as he came closer. “It was a typo. I swear. I am so, so sorry…”

  She looked like she was near her breaking point. All this angst over a stray character? Really? Eric bent his head to search her face. “Tessa, it’s OK. It’s no big deal.”

  Maury cleared his throat. “It’s a moderate-sized deal.”

  “Her finger slipped,” Eric said, turning back toward his manager. “So? What’s with the guilt trip?”

  Maury tilted back his head and stared up at the ceiling. A vein throbbed in his neck. Eric couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his manager so close to losing his composure. No wonder Tessa looked like she wanted to shrivel up into a ball at Eric’s feet. “Do you kids have any idea what I do for you? Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to save your image after the mess this girl made—”

  “Maury, chill! It’s one emoji!”

  Maury held up Tessa’s cell phone, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger like a piece of dirty laundry. “Don’t you see how this looks?”

  “Um, like he’s sad?” Tessa offered. She reached for her phone, but Maury pocketed it.

  “Exactly,” Maury said. “Not happy to be here. Not rested and refreshed after a brief hiatus. No, Tessa. You made him look sad to be performing at the YMAs.”

  “Maury,” Eric said. “It’s just Twitter.”

  Maury turned on him. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Eric. Twitter is her job. What if Katrina over there”—Maury waved a vague hand in the direction of the three-way mirror—“decided to improvise and alter your jeans into a pair of assless chaps?”

  Eric shrugged, trying not to laugh. “It would probably get me some retweets.”

  “Not the kind of retweets we’re going for, kid.”

  “I still don’t understand why we can’t delete it,” Tessa said.

  Maury shook his head. “No way. Not so soon after the death hoax. Then it looks like he’s trying to cover something up.”

  “But—”

  “Goddammit, Tessa. Be quiet and let me think!”

  Tessa looked down at the floor, and Eric glared in his manager’s direction. Maury didn’t have to snap at her that way. She was new to all of this. Couldn’t Maury laugh it off like usual?

  “Tessa,” Eric said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “Are you OK?”

  She didn’t answer. Somehow his question must have been the final straw. Her expression crumpled, and she turned to bury her face in Eric’s chest. His arms squeezed tight around her, and he dipped his head to hear her words, muffled against his shirt. “Why am I here, Eric? I’m just getting in the way.”

  “You’re here because I need you.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I do!”

  She looked up at him, her eyes ringed with smudged mascara. “You barely even look at me,” she whispered.

  Eric smoothed a loose strand of hair from where it clung to her damp cheek. “Tessa, we agreed. I can’t show you any special attention when we’re not alone.”

  “I know.” Her face sank against his chest again. “But we’re never alone.”

  Eric sighed. He dipped his head and inhaled the scent of her hair. It felt so good to hold her again. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

  “Shhh.” He hushed her softly, his mouth brushing against her ear. “We’ll make time. Just you and me. Tonight. Come find me after the show.”

  She nodded, but Maury interrupted before she could answer. He’d turned his attention to his phone during their whispered conversation, but now his voice dripped with impatience. “I hate to break this up, but the Twitter situation needs to be addressed. Promptly.”

  “So delete the damned thing!” Eric exclaimed. He released his hold on Tessa and held out his hand for the phone.

  “Too late. There’s already a meme circulating.” Maury showed him the screen once again. This time it bore a tweet from a fan account, and Eric did a double take when he saw the username.

  MET @MrsEricThorn • 2s

  Awwwww, what’s the matter baby??? Don’t you love us anymore? #WeLoveYouEric

  Eric couldn’t help but marvel at MET’s speed. Only a few minutes had passed since the initial tweet. Somehow, MET had already captured the photo from his dance rehearsal and embellished it with a cartoonish trail of tears flowing down his cheeks.

  And it had already racked up fifty retweets.

  “MET,” Tessa said with a sniff. “She’s always first. Every time!”

  Maury nodded grimly. “We can’t backpedal now. The only thing to do is bury it.”

  “Bury it how?” Tessa asked.

  “Tweet blast.” Maury switched back to Tessa’s cell phone. He spoke without looking up, and his finger flashed across the screen with lightning speed. “Here we go,” he muttered. “That’s a start.”

  Eric craned over Maury’s shoulder to get a better look. “Wait a sec. Did I just retweet Ariana Grande?”

  Maury didn’t answer. He turned the cell phone’s camera lens toward Eric and took a step backward to frame the shot. “Go ahead. Blow her a kiss.”

  “Maury, no! I can’t tweet that at Ari. They’ll say we’re dating!”

  “Nah,” Maury answered with a cackle. “They’ll say you’re hitting on her. That’s how we’ll spin it. We’ll say you have a thing for her, and she’s playing hard to get—and that’s why Eric Thorn was crying backstage at the YMAs.”

  Eric’s eyes darted to Tessa. It wasn’t the worst plan. He knew how the fans always shipped him with Ariana. Tessa herself used to speculate that the two of them were an item, back in her #EricThornObsessed days. The fandom would explode if @EricThorn tweeted a kissy-face at @ArianaGrande.

  Tessa met his eyes with a reassuring smile, but something about it looked forced. “It’s OK, Eric,” she said. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s for Twitter,” he told her. “It doesn’t mean anything. You know that, right?”

  She nodded. “Of course. I trust you.”

  “Eric, sometime today?”

  Eric tore his eyes away from Tessa and back toward the camera. He blinked twice, and then his face contorted—a caricature of his usual selfie look, with puckered lips and smoldering come-hither eyes. He blew a few kisses with his hands.

  “Got it,” Maury said. He tapped a few more times to compose a message, and Eric read it over his manager’s shoulder.

  Eric Thorn @EricThorn

  Just one snowflake. It melted and I cried… @ArianaGrande #YMAs

  “No,” Eric said. “Wait—”

  But Maury ignored him. He added the sad cat emoji and hit Tweet.

  Eric winced as the message appeared at the top of his feed. He didn’t dare look at Tessa. Of all the things that Maury could have tweeted… Did he have to quote the lyrics from “Snowflake”?

  “Are we done now?” Tessa asked.

  Maury tossed Tessa’s phone into her hands. “That’s a start,” he said. “Now I need another selfie going out every half hour for the rest of the afternoon—”

  Eric’s eyebrows rose. “How is Tessa supposed to—”

  “Forget Tessa.” Maury pointed to Eric and snapped his fingers.
“It’s all you, kid. Try to tweet at least a couple from the red carpet.”

  “A couple selfies?”

  “Sure.” Maury crossed the room to pick up Eric’s phone. He handed it to Eric and then turned to straighten his tie in the dressing room mirror. “Go make fish faces with Taylor Swift or something. Make it a love triangle.”

  “Isn’t Taylor Swift with—” Eric broke off as he met his manager’s eyes in the glass. “Who is she with again?”

  Tessa answered. “I heard on TMZ yesterday that she might be dating her hairstylist.”

  Eric snorted. “Yeah, and you’ll hear on TMZ tomorrow that I might be dating Ariana Grande.”

  Maury turned back toward him, bracing his weight against the counter with his elbows. “So go give Zayn Malik the finger. Start a Twitter feud. I don’t care. Try to show an ounce of creativity!”

  “No,” Tessa said. “Eric’s right. It’ll seem fake. You’re basically asking him to act out the plot of an entire fanfic in the space of one award show.”

  Maury cocked his head at her, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Tessa, that’s not half bad. You used to write that garbage, didn’t you? If you can get a fanfic up on Wattpad in the next two hours, that’s even better. Then Eric can notice it somehow. The fan girls will go bananas. And then… Oh wait, I have it.” Maury snapped his fingers, as another idea came to him. “Even better. You saw the hashtag going around. #WeLoveYouEric?”

  “Right,” Eric said slowly. “So?”

  “So,” Maury continued, “we need something to kick off your new Snapchat account. Tessa, I want you to Snap a story. Something to tell all the fans how much Eric loves them back. We’ll plant you in the crowd tonight, as close to the stage as you can get. Try to get a shot of Eric making googly eyes at some fan while he performs. You got it?”

  “Me?”

  Tessa let out a gasp, and Eric rushed to her defense. “Maury, Tessa can’t! The TV cameras are going to be all over the place tonight.”

  “So?”

  “She can’t get her face on TV!”

  Maury waved away Eric’s words. “No one’s going to be looking at the crowd shots.”

  Eric flashed a glance at Tessa. It was a terrible idea. A concert? A packed performance hall? He knew it was her worst nightmare come to pass.

  “Can’t one of the other publicists do it?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Everyone’s got their hands full as it is.” Maury opened the dressing room door and shot his final instructions over his shoulder as he made his way out. “Look, Tessa. I feel for you. I really do. But you’re going to have to suck it up tonight. Be a team player.”

  “But, Maury—” Eric called after him.

  “It’s her job, Eric!” Maury disappeared behind a rolling wardrobe cart, but Eric could still hear his manager sounding off all the way down the hall. “Don’t blame me. She’s the one who made this mess. If you want to point the finger at someone, look at her!”

  THE INTERROGATION

  (FRAGMENT 4)

  May 1, 2017, 2:19 p.m.

  Case #75932.394.1

  OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW

  —START PAGE 4—

  INVESTIGATOR: Tessa, I’m going to ask you again. Please describe the nature of your relationship with Eric Thorn.

  HART: I already told you.

  INVESTIGATOR: You told me that you worked for him as a social media consultant. We both know that was not the full extent of your relationship.

  HART: OK! Fine. That wasn’t the full extent.

  INVESTIGATOR: Please answer my question. What was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Thorn over the last ten months?

  HART: I honestly don’t even know sometimes.

  INVESTIGATOR: Was your relationship romantic in nature?

  HART: Yes.

  INVESTIGATOR: When did it become romantic?

  HART: I don’t know. Last fall sometime. Before we went to Mexico. We met over Twitter, and then it became…romantic. And he came to Texas to meet me, and we ran away together. That’s the whole story, I swear.

  INVESTIGATOR: Were you boyfriend and girlfriend?

  HART: In Mexico? Yes.

  INVESTIGATOR: And after your return from Mexico? Did you still consider yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend?

  HART: Yes and no. I mean, technically yes, but we were trying to keep it under wraps.

  INVESTIGATOR: No one else knew of the relationship other than yourself and Eric?

  HART: Just Maury. He was helping us keep it secret. The whole social-media-consultant thing was Maury’s idea. That way Eric and I could still see each other, but we were hardly ever alone together.

  INVESTIGATOR: I have to confess, I find that very odd.

  HART: Well, it was an odd situation. I found it pretty odd myself.

  INVESTIGATOR: No, I mean I find it odd because of the pictures that surfaced in the course of our investigation. Are you the unidentified female with Eric Thorn in these photos?

  HART: No. I can’t… I can’t look at those.

  INVESTIGATOR: Please let the record show that we’re looking at a series of six photos depicting Eric Thorn and Tessa Hart engaged in a variety of intimate activities. Is that a fair description, Tessa?

  HART: [unintelligible]

  INVESTIGATOR: Tessa? Could you speak up?

  HART: Could I possibly get a ginger ale?

  INVESTIGATOR: This isn’t a restaurant, Ms. Hart.

  HART: I’m sorry. It’s the only thing that helps.

  INVESTIGATOR: Andy, can you grab the wastebasket over there?

  HART: [unintelligible]

  INVESTIGATOR: Are you all right?

  HART: No, I need to go home. I really need to lie down.

  INVESTIGATOR: There’s a washroom down the hall. Why don’t you take a moment and—

  HART: Can we please just finish? What else do you need to ask?

  INVESTIGATOR: Where were we? [pause] Right. The photos. I take it these pictures were taken without your knowledge?

  HART: Yes.

  INVESTIGATOR: When were they taken? Do you know?

  HART: A couple months ago in March. The night of the YouTube Music Awards.

  INVESTIGATOR: You’re certain of that timing?

  HART: Yes. I-I’m sure. Eight weeks and three days ago.

  INVESTIGATOR: You calculated that off the top of your head?

  HART: I’m smarter than I look.

  INVESTIGATOR: You look plenty smart to me. Do you have any idea who took these photos?

  HART: Probably.

  INVESTIGATOR: Would you care to enlighten us?

  HART: I don’t have any proof. It’s my word against his.

  INVESTIGATOR: Your word against whose?

  HART: It had to be him though. There’s no other rational explanation.

  INVESTIGATOR: Ms. Hart, for the record, could you please state the name of the individual you’re discussing?

  HART: He’s been stalking me off and on for almost a year. His name… [pause] His name is Blair.

  11

  THE SHOW

  Blair pulled his hoodie over his head and leaned against the wall behind him, blending as best he could into the shadows. He hadn’t expected it to be so crowded. People wandered past him in packs, and Blair tensed every time someone cast a glance in his direction.

  He didn’t know why that guy insisted on conducting the transaction in person—let alone in such a public place. It seemed shady. Some kind of setup? Maybe he should leave. Be more patient. Bide his time…

  Blair shook his head. He couldn’t bail. It might be a long time before he got a better chance, and he’d been patient enough already. A full month had passed since Eric Thorn’s miraculous resurrection, and not one single picture of Tessa’s face had surfaced on the Internet in all that time. Where the hell was she hiding?

  Blair knew she hadn’t gone back to Texas. He’d dropped by Midland two weeks ago to make sure. No sign of her at her house. Blair had eve
n checked up on that therapist of hers, Dr. Regan. He’d wasted a solid week trailing that clueless shrink around, hoping she might lead him straight to Tessa.

  But after all that trouble, he’d come up empty.

  Tessa wasn’t making it easy on him. She’d better appreciate his effort in the long run. She would, he vowed. He’d make sure of it. Someday, Tessa would thank him for his steadfast refusal to give up on her, in spite of all the obstacles she threw in his way.

  For now, Blair’s first step was to confirm her whereabouts. Was she still with that ass-clown? Was she trailing around after him like a pathetic lost puppy dog? If so, it wouldn’t be easy for Blair to catch a glimpse of her. Not with all the bodyguards and security everywhere Eric Thorn went.

  But Blair might have found a way—assuming this guy from the DNM showed up to complete the transaction. It was mind-blowing what you could score online, if you knew where to look. Most people lacked the creativity to venture beyond eBay and Amazon Prime. But then again, most people had no idea what a dark net market was.

  There were risks, obviously. If the seller didn’t deliver, you couldn’t exactly call up customer service to complain. And you definitely couldn’t go to the police. The biggest risk was getting scammed. But Blair had gone back and forth over the details a hundred times, and the guy seemed legit. Probably some wannabe paparazzi freelancer who didn’t have the stomach for the job.

  His loss. Blair’s gain…or make that Tessa’s gain.

  Blair bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

  Soon, he thought. Soon he would have answers. Then he would have her.

  • • •

  Tessa followed in the wake of the security guard as he cleared a path through the swarming fans. She kept her eyes fixed on his back, reaching out to brush it with her fingertips whenever the crowd threatened to separate them. His black suit jacket strained across his massive shoulders as he pressed his way through the crush of people toward the roped VIP section in front of the stage.

  She forced herself to focus on the center seam of the guard’s jacket, rippling and puckering with every step he took. Better to think about poor tailoring, if it kept her mind off the crowd surrounding her. She watched the stitching between his shoulder blades tense and relax, tense and relax, tense and relax…and each repetition echoed the sensations inside her own clenched throat.