Not Another Player

28.Bad Press, Good Intel

My Sacrifice // Creed

The hotel is swarmed with paparazzi. As soon as I got off the phone with Char, I called for my driver. Swinging past the front of the hotel to the secret back entrance, my driver weaves through a parade of black panel vans. We can't see the throng of vermin with cameras as we drive past but taking into account the amount of vehicles present, there must be a fuck ton. We pull into the garage and stop at the celebrity drop off station. It's Jeeves 2.0 today, another stuffy guy with white gloves. He opens the passenger door to greet me.

"Your new room key, sir." Jeeves 2.0 drops the key card in my hand. "As requested, we've taken all of your belongs to the penthouse. The crew your people sent are still going over your old room. I'm told they are to make a report directly to you when they've finished."

"Thanks."

I hop out and rush to the celebrivator.

I pace inside the metal box as it rises to my floor. When the doors open, I enter my new hotel suite and walk directly to the window. Being in L.A., the high rises are nothing like other big cities. I can still see the ground from the top floor with pretty decent clarity. Glancing down, I swallow hard. Shit, I was right. An absolute fuck ton of cameras aimed right at the door. A few security guys from the hotel try holding them back but it reminds me of a couple toothpicks trying to hold back an entire river.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll to Clinton's contact. He answers on the first ring.

"Go," he says.

"Go where? Should I leave? Did you already send me a plane ticket? Should I contact David? Does my director know I'm leaving-"

"Dude, stop. I meant, go, tell me what your status is. That's what go means."

I smack my forehead. "Oh."

"So...go."

"I'm holed up in my hotel room, watching the paps swarm like flies on shit."

Clinton chuckles. "They didn't get you coming or going so we're good so far."

"You sure about that?"

"Listen, I have a team of no less than six hackers at any one time taking down every single photo or video of you posted online in the last twenty-four hours."

"You can do that?"

"No, I can't but these guys are the best there is. And they don't have official authority, but what's a little illegal internet scrubbing these days?"

"Uh...right." I'm pacing. Worried about everything that's out of my control. But it sounds like Clinton's handling it all.

"We do have one issue," he says, pulling me out of my short-lived relief.

"Shit. What?"

"Star Tracker is airing an interview with Curt tonight. Prime time."

"The online gossip show?" They've given him a mic. It can only go downhill from here.

"We already know his story. It's nothing worse than what's been circulating out there."

"But he'll pull on public sympathy. It could burn Char."

"Not gonna happen on my watch."

"Clinton, I hate to break it to you, but all of this happened on your watch."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could stuff them back in. What a shitty way to treat the guy who's done nothing but have our backs.

"Man, that was uncalled for. I'm so fucking sorry." I sit down, now sick to my stomach with guilt. A tense silence ensues.