Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Now Baird and I were on a set of inflatable armchairs, fake splashing each other and grinning into each other’s eyes, even though I could tell Baird was over it too.
We pulled the chairs out of the water to film in front of the green screen, pretend-drinking mojitos and enjoying the sun. It was then I became aware that the plastic under my skin felt looser.
I finally processed the whistling sound.
My head whipped toward Baird who was looking down at himself and that’s when I realized his chair was deflating.
And so was mine!
Our eyes locked, and with hilarious abruptness, the whistling grew louder as we lowered toward the floor. Either they’d burst or unplugged somehow. Baird reached for me as I reached for him, trying to pull each other out before they completely deflated. We couldn’t have stopped our hysterical laughter if we tried.
By the time the chairs flattened, I was collapsed over Baird, and we were laughing so hard I was crying. We could hear the crew trying to get us to pull it together, but we were too far gone.
The pressure and weirdness of the campaign had finally gotten to us and the laughter was a release.
Finally, Bruno stood over us, holding out a phone. “Pull it together, Maia! Hilary is on the line!”
I sucked in a breath, trying to calm down as I wiped at my face, and Baird helped me sit up. Why was my boss calling? Had Bruno tattled on us for ruining the shoot?
I exchanged a confused look with my fiancé and then reached for the phone. Pressing it to my ear, I asked tentatively, “Hilary?” Her name came out a little croaky because of my laughing fit.
“Maia.”
Her tone sent a chill through me and any amusement abruptly fled. “What is it?”
“A news article broke in a national tabloid an hour ago. I know you’re locked in the studio and most likely haven’t seen it. We need you to come into the office.”
“What’s the news article about?”
“It’s your mother, Maia. She sold a story to the papers.”
Blood rushed in my ears. Lips suddenly numb, I only vaguely processed the words. “What kind of story?”
“About where you grew up. That she’s a recovering addict. And you ran away when you were fifteen, leaving her to fend for herself.”
Leaving her to fend for herself?
“You need to come in. We have to talk response strategy. Bruno knows. The shoot is over. Get dressed and get here.” She hung up.
Baird pressed a hand to my back. “Maia, what’s wrong?”
I stared at the phone as that fifteen-year-old girl I used to know screamed from the back of my mind in absolute fury and heartbreak.
“Maia?”
Suddenly his face was in mine, his hands clasping my cheeks. “Maia, talk to me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BAIRD
My stomach was sick with worry as I drove a silent Maia back to her place. After Hilary’s phone call, we’d googled the article in question and sure enough, there it was, front-page headline in the same national tabloid that published the photo of me partying a few months ago. Same fucking journo too. Craig Bennet. There was a picture of Maia from the campaign plastered on the front and then a picture of Maryanne Lewis, Maia’s mother, looking surprisingly well and not at all the haggard heroin addict Maia had described from her childhood.
The headline stated:
SOCIAL MEDIA SWEETHEART ABANDONED ME IN MY TIME OF NEED
The subhead: Maia MacLeod’s mum speaks out about her addiction and how her estranged daughter left her behind to fend for herself while she pursued fame and money.
The double spread article had more photos of Maia when she was a kid, more of Maryanne Lewis, and was just a bunch of bullshit that any moron could see through. How does a kid abandon their heroin-addict parent? She stated that Maia had left their home when she was fifteen to go live with her dad and that Maryanne had felt abandoned by her. That she was clean now and working to help other people get sober. She said she was shocked to see Maia online and it had brought back a lot of painful memories.
I fucking despised the woman, and I’d never met her.
“Not only did she sell a lie, but she got sober,” Maia whispered. “She got sober and … she never reached out. Instead, she sold a twisted version of events to the public.”
“Baby …” I reached over to squeeze her hand, but it was limp in mine.
Fear crawled through me at how distant she was.
“Even if she’s clean now … she … she hasn’t changed. She still cares more about herself than she ever cared about me. I can’t blame the addiction anymore. It’s her. She’s just a terrible fucking person.”
I didn’t know what to say because I knew deep down there wasn’t anything I could say to make it better, and I hated that.