Ch.14: Inappropriate Behaviour

I decided not to go back to the studio with Jude. It was an experience I'd never forget, but it also wasn't something I could participate in, and Jude would be there for the rest of the day and probably much of the night.

Besides, I really needed to unpack my stuff.

We picked up an assortment of sandwiches from a little French café that Jude liked, and I took a couple of them back to the loft with me, while Jude took the rest to the studio.

My phone started pinging shortly after Don dropped Jude off at the studio.

Then it kept pinging.

And pinging.

And pinging.

When I glanced at the screen, I realised that my life had just changed again, in the biggest way. My phone was blowing up with messages and notifications about Jude. I'd known that my identity would be revealed now that Jude had publicly declared himself my husband, but I hadn't expected it to happen this fast.

My throat knotted.

After the texts came the calls, my screen lighting up with name after name after name, and then after the people I knew, came calls from numbers I didn't recognise. I let them all go to voicemail.

In hindsight, I should have changed my number after Jake and I broke up – he and Kelly had probably already given it to whichever media vulture was willing to pay.

When we got back to the loft, Don took my bags upstairs and neatly stacked them in the kitchen for me. Then he left and I was alone.

I turned my phone on silent, but that didn't stop the onslaught of call after call after call, now mostly numbers I didn't recognise. The knot in my throat was getting worse, and there was a feeling in my chest like a trapped bird, frantically flapping against my ribcage.

I had no idea how to deal with this, or even where to start.

Gripping the edge of the bar with both hands, I took several deep breaths. "Calm down," I told myself. "Panicking doesn't help anyone."

As pep talks went, it was hardly original, and unsurprisingly, it didn't make me feel much better. Taking another deep breath, I looked around for something to focus on, and my gaze landed on the vase of flowers near the sink.

The red roses were gone. A bunch of yellow roses were in their place.

I stared at them, wondering why I found that strangely unsettling, then I heard the faintest creak from somewhere behind me. I spun around.

The loft was empty and yet . . . it wasn't.

Suddenly, somehow, I knew I wasn't alone here.

My heart crept into my throat.

Jude's stalker couldn't be in the loft. There was no way. Nope. Not a chance.

Right?

I pulled a knife from the block on the counter and clutched it with both hands as I tiptoed away from the kitchen and into the living space.

Nothing.

But Jude's bedroom door had been closed when we left the loft this morning. Now it was slightly ajar.

The creak had come from there, I was sure of it, and I paused, listening hard. I could hear something else now – the faintest hint of music. It sounded familiar, but it was too quiet for me to work out what it was.

But someone was definitely in Jude's room.

And it wasn't Jude.

Readjusting my grip on the knife, I crept closer and nudged the door with my foot. It swung open another couple of inches, and I tensed, ready to leap back, but nothing moved inside the room.

I peeked around the door.

Annie lay on Jude's bed, curled on her side, her red hair spread across his pillow, her eyes closed. The faint sound of music drifted from her earphones, and one hand was curled around her phone. On the screen, the tattered wings from the Angels & Demons logo was just visible over her fingers, which explained why the music had sounded familiar.

What the actual fuck?

Lowering the knife, I shoved the door fully open. Annie didn't stir. I walked over to the bed, keeping the knife at my side, pointed down, where Annie hopefully wouldn't see it, and shook her shoulder.

Annie jerked awake like she'd been electrocuted, a soft cry spilling from her lips. Her eyes went wide.

"What are you doing?" I said. The frenzied thudding in my chest had slowed, but I still felt tense and on edge.

"I'm so sorry," Annie said, her fingers fumbling over her phone. The music went suddenly quiet, just as I worked out which song she'd been listening to – Kill Me Like You Kiss Me, a song from Angels & Demons' first album.

"What are you doing?" I repeated. I didn't know what else to say.

Annie's hands trembled as she smoothed down her hair, making her suddenly look very young, even though I was sure she was a few years older than me.

"I just needed a nap. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night," she said.

"You couldn't nap on the sofa?" I said.

That still would've been weird, but less weird than finding her in Jude's bed.

Annie bit her lip. "It didn't occur to me."

"You realise how completely inappropriate this is, right?" I said.

Tears shimmered in Annie's eyes. "I know, and I really am sorry." Her voice cracked. "Please don't fire me."

I wasn't sure I had that authority, but I didn't tell her that.

Annie clutched my wrist. "Please," she said. "I know how unprofessional I've been, but Jude is the best employer I've ever had. I don't want to lose that."

I hesitated.

"I swear, it'll never happen again," Annie said, blinking up at me with watery eyes. Her hand was still wrapped around my wrist.

"Okay, fine," I said, shaking her off.

The relief on Annie's face made me feel like I'd just pardoned her from death row.

"Thank you, thank you," she gushed.

She scrambled off Jude's bed, forcing me to take a step back while she straightened the covers and plumped the pillows, and maybe she did that every time she brought in his clean laundry, but it rubbed me the wrong way.

Annie turned to face me, her hands linked demurely in front of her. "Can I get you anything?" she said.

"Thanks, but I need to be on my own for a while," I said.

"Okay." Annie smiled as if nothing had happened. "Call me if you change your mind."

I followed her out of Jude's bedroom and watched her leave the loft. My phone was still vibrating on the bar where I'd left it – maybe I should turn it off? But what if Jude needed to get hold of me?

While I dithered, staring at my phone, the front door opened. I turned, expecting it to be Annie, but hoping it was Jude, and the blood drained from my face.

Two strange men stood in the doorway.

They both looked to be in their forties – one with a paunch starting to strain the buttons on his shirt, an obnoxiously flashy watch on his wrist and a dark scowl on his face, and the other smaller and skinnier, with a ponytail worn in a way that tried – and failed – to hide his bald spot.

The bigger man started forward, and I fumbled for the knife that I'd put down on the bar.

"Stay the fuck where you are," I warned, wishing my voice didn't shake so much.

He stopped, his scowl growing even darker. "Put the knife down, Camden," he said.

"How do you know my name?" My phone lit up again, reminding me that that was a pretty stupid question to ask. Everyone probably knew my name by now.

The bird behind my ribs was flapping again, so hard I thought it was about to burst out of my chest.

The man rolled his eyes.

Something about him was familiar, I realised. I was sure I'd seen him before.

"For God's sake, I'm Neil Collins," the man said.

Wait, I knew that name. I peered more closely at him, and a lightbulb went on over my head. "You're Jude's manager," I said.

He looked different than the last picture I'd seen of him – his hair was a warmer colour, and it looked thicker than before. Maybe he'd had a transplant, using some of that money that Jude was making for him.

"That's right. Are you going to put the knife down now?" Neil said.

My hackles went up at the irritation in his voice. I wouldn't have liked someone pulling a knife on me either, but two guys I didn't know had just walked into my home.

What if one of them had been Jude's stalker?

Although, now that I thought about it, a random stalker wouldn't have been allowed past the doorman downstairs, and they sure as hell wouldn't have a key to the loft.

Feeling suddenly foolish, I put the knife back in the block.

"I'm Rich Powell, Jude's publicist," said the skinnier man, waggling his fingers at me.

I managed a weak smile in return. Even though I knew I wasn't in danger, the batshit craziness of the day felt like a lead weight around my neck, and my nerves were as frayed as old rope.

Neil was still scowling at me. "Where's Jude then? He's not answering his phone."

"He's at the studio," I said, nettled by Neil's snappish tone.

If Jude wasn't taking calls from his manager, then he was probably completely lost in his music world and had no idea any of this was happening. I suspected that, like me, he'd assumed we'd have had more time before the floodgates opened.

"So what the fuck is this?" Neil demanded.

"Sorry?" I said.

Neil gestured at me with one hand. "This, you."

I looked at Rich, but his face gave away nothing. "I don't understand," I said.

"We've been getting nonstop calls asking for official statements about Jude Scott's secret wife," Rich said.

Neil brandished his phone at me. "Is this some kind of joke?"

My first instinct was to deny everything. Neil Collins might not Jude's creepy stalker, but he was still a stranger to me, and he looked pissed as hell. The last thing I wanted was to make things worse. But there was no putting the genie back in the bottle now.

"It's not a joke," I said.

"You and Jude are actually married?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes." Now it was my turn to get annoyed.

Neil looked me up and down, slowly, methodically, and his sour expression suggested he wasn't impressed with what he saw.

"When the fuck did this happen?" Neil snapped.

I mirrored his tone. "Why the fuck is that your business?"

"Because we're the ones who have to clear up the fallout from this little stunt," Neil said.

Rich didn't say anything; he was studiously looking at the floor.

"It's not a stunt," I said.

And yet, if this trial didn't work, and Jude and I separated, wasn't that exactly what this would look like? Or would people chalk it up to one more failed celebrity marriage?

Neil rolled his eyes again. "Right, I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

"No," I said, matching his glare. I'd probably have to, sooner or later, but I wasn't going to jump on command just because he wanted me to, especially when he'd come at me so aggressively.

Neil stabbed a thick finger at me. "Listen –"

The front door opened again, and Elle walked in. "Yeah, no, she doesn't have to listen to you, Neil," she said, and her voice was sugary sharp.

Neil opened his mouth.

"Nope," Elle said, making a slashing motion with her hand. "Jude will contact you when he's ready. In the meantime, Camden doesn't owe you a thing, and you don't get to bark at her like this."

"This has nothing to do with you," Neil blustered.

"Jude's my best friend, and Camden's his wife, so yeah, actually it does. Camden's also my friend, and I don't like the way you're talking to her, so why don't you run along like a good boy?" Elle opened the door and made a shooing gesture.

Neil's face turned puce.

Rich looked like he was trying not to laugh. Maybe his opinion of Neil was as low as mine, and apparently Elle's.

"I'm not kidding, Neil," Elle said, her voice hardening. "Get out."

I thought he'd refuse. He was breathing heavily, like an angry bull, and he towered over Elle, but she stared him down with eyes like steel.

"Fine," Neil muttered. "I'll go to the studio –"

"Not if you want Jude to get ahead on this album, you won't," Elle said. "Let him work, and he'll call you when he's ready."

A muscle furiously twitched in Neil's jaw, and I could imagine how much he wanted to shout at Elle. But he didn't. He gave her a short nod, and walked out of the loft. Rich followed him, after giving us an apologetic smile.

I couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief. "Thanks," I said.

"Don't mention it. I really don't like that man," Elle said. "He thinks that because he manages Angels & Demons, he owns them, Jude especially."

My phone vibrated again, and Elle's face softened.

"So the secret's out," she said.

"Looks like it." I bit my lip. "Elle, what if I can't handle this level of media attention?" The bird was in my chest again, flapping and flapping.

Elle pulled out one of the barstools. "Sit," she ordered.

I sat.

"Now breathe," she said.

Obediently I sucked in a long breath.

"Better?"

"No," I said.

Elle sat next to me and glanced at my still vibrating phone. "I know how this feels. As soon as the news broke, people were texting me to ask if I knew, to demand a statement, to try and sniff out information about you." She smiled and patted my knee. "Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone anything."

"I don't know how to cope with this," I said.

"Okay, but you must have realised this was a possibility?" said Elle gently. "You and Jude are doing this trial because you both think there's a chance your marriage could work, and if it does, then you'd have gone public eventually."

"Yeah, but this isn't eventually. This is now," I said, staring at my feet.

"Is it enough to scare you off?" Elle said.

My phone blowing up was only the tip of the iceberg, and I didn't want to imagine the media storm that could come next. My life was about to be completely upended. Walking away now might mitigate some of the chaos but . . . I couldn't forget the way Jude had kissed me, here in the loft, on the stairs in Brentford, his mouth fierce and passionate. I thought of the way he'd calmly humiliated Jake and Kelly, and his threat to sue them if they tried hurting me again – a threat that I absolutely believed he'd follow through on. I thought of the moment we'd shared in the back of the Bentley, raw and charged with tension. No, I couldn't walk away from that, no matter what might be coming.

I shook my head.

"Good," Elle said. "Now, I feel like you could use a drink."

I laughed shakily. "Yeah."

Rather than going to the fridge for a beer, Elle took a black glass bottle from a cabinet close to the sink, and placed it on the bar with a flourish.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Some fancy German gin that Jude likes. It's only produced once a year."

"He probably won't be happy if we drink it, then," I said.

Elle reached back into the cabinet, and produced a taller pink bottle. "This is the fancy Japanese gin that he likes. Trust me, he's got enough that he won't mind."

"Okay," I relented.

Elle fetched glasses, filled them with ice, splashed in a generous amount of the German gin, and then topped them off with tonic water.

"Voilà," she said, executing a graceful curtsey.

We clinked glasses, and I took a sip. "Oh, wow, that's good," I said.

Elle cast her eye over the plastic bags still stacked on the floor where Don left them. "What's all this?"

I told her what had happened with Mrs Shields this morning.

Elle looked faintly horrified, her lips forming a glossy O and her eyes widening. "These are all the clothes you own?"

"It's not just clothes. I've got shoes, makeup, toiletries, books, knickknacks, all that kind of stuff," I said.

Elle actually touched her hand to her heart. "But this is all you own in the world?"

I looked at the bags. "Well . . . yeah."

"Oh, honey!" She sounded as if I'd just told her my entire family had been murdered.

"I was going to unpack, but then Neil turned up," I said.

Elle climbed off her stool and approached the sad heap of bags. "You're a rockstar's wife now, so you deserve a new wardrobe. Let me take you shopping."

"You already treated me to brunch. You're not spending any more money on me," I said firmly.

Elle gave me a wicked grin. "I'm Elle Reed, and you're Jude Scott's wife. Any shop we go to will be dying to hand over free stuff."

That was tempting, but . . . "I don't think I want to leave the loft again today," I said, as my phone lit up again.

"Okay." Elle hopped back onto her stool. "Then let's get drunk on Jude's fancy gin. Maybe then you'll feel up to tackling some of your notifications."