Unforgettable ~ A Jared Leto/MARS Fanfiction

10-Jared

As Kristov said, my phone has been going crazy all morning. Once I'm dressed and have brushed the horrendous taste out of my mouth—courtesy of the new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste Kristov provided—I scroll through the list of texts and missed calls. I have four new voicemails.

"Still a busy boy," Kristov remarks from the kitchen where he's brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He pokes his head out, coffee cup in hand. "I hope it's nothing urgent."

"It's always urgent," I mumble.

"I remember," Kristov says with a rueful smile, and then he disappears back into the kitchen.

I look at my phone again, the missed calls, the unread texts. Karen Hale, my publicist. Oliver Hatch, my attorney. Carrie Walsh at the Wilshire office. Interscope. Lanie. Several from Lanie, in fact.

Maybe I'm being a stubborn and unreasonable bastard, but I'm not ready to speak to her right now. I'm still angry and hurt at the way she looked at me and that tone in her voice—they were both a clear condemnation, a reflection of everything she'd just read and clearly believed. Undoubtedly, she'll also start asking questions about where I am and where I spent the night, questions I wouldn't know how to answer even if I wanted to. Which I don't. I scroll through the list again, running my free hand through my hair. I don't want to talk to any of them.

But I suppose I should get in touch with Gene, David or Jimmy. That goddamned rape story is probably going viral, and I'm aware that Lanie is meeting Flora in Studio City for lunch today.

Returning to the bedroom, I call Gene. I tell him that he and David are to stick extra-close to Lanie while she's out, warning him that the pap as well as legit news reporters might be extra aggressive. "I know Lanie hates you guys shadowing her, but tough shit. Don't let her talk you into leaving her there."

"You got it."

"And Gene, I may be back late tonight or not until tomorrow," I add. "I'll be in touch with Jimmy to let him know."

Once I'm finished with that call, I scroll down my list again and call Carrie, who assures me nothing's happening that the team can't handle. They're fielding press calls and no-commenting anything that isn't strictly business. "You may want to get in touch with Interscope, though," she says. "They've called twice this morning. The release has come through, and they've emailed you a copy of the document."

I smile. "I have a voicemail from them, too. At least there's a little bit of good news amid this clusterfuck."

"Clusterfuck is right. Something tells me this story isn't going to go away, Jared," Carrie warns. "In fact, it's caused a resurgence in all the other bullshit that's been floating around for years. How's Lanie dealing with it?"

"Not great," I answer honestly. "Listen, I've gotta go and get that release to Liz. Thanks, Carrie."

"No problem. Just hang in there. You know we've got your back," she replies and clicks off.

I check my email and sure enough, there's the release from Interscope. I quickly go through my list of contacts and locate the direct number for Liz Moore.

"It's a go," I tell her voicemail. "Interscope emailed me the release for the music. Text me your email address and I'll forward it on to you." I end the call and return to living room where I flop down on the couch with a sigh. I look at the rest of the missed calls and texts. I'm in no condition to deal with any of it. I toss the phone aside and rub my eyes.

"Finished?" Kristov asks.

"Yeah, for now," I mutter as I glance up.

Kristov's leaning in the archway of the kitchen, a small plate in one hand, fingers of the other hooked through the handles of two cups. His long ponytail is draped over his shoulder, and his shirt is still unbuttoned, giving me a generous view of his lean but sculpted chest and abs.