Dirty Laundry Read online

  There’s a woman in Keith’s life. It isn’t me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to tell the world about it.

  Get ready, Keith. Your dirty laundry is getting hung out to dry.

  Chapter 2

  Keith

  What the fuck, Todd?” I explode into my phone as I do my damndest not to hurl my computer across the room to shatter into a million pieces against the wall. “Have you seen this shit?”

  Through the phone, I hear Todd, my manager, trying to placate me. “I know, Keith. And I’m sorry. I’m looking into it as quickly as I can.”

  Quickly? I’m paying Todd a lot of money to make sure this isn’t something that needs to be handled quickly. In this particular matter, I’ve made it clear that this should never be an issue. “Todd, the headline is ‘Keith, who’s the girl?’” I fume as I keep reading. “Fans want to know who’s captured the heart of the rogue country star. Why would they even think there’s a girl? I’m not dating anyone. Everyone knows that.”

  Todd sighs, and in my mind, I can see him now, sitting at his antique oak desk, the little vein in his left temple pulsing to his heartbeat. “That’s just it, man. Everyone knows you don’t date, and that’s . . . odd for a celebrity of your success. I tried to get you to do some image work . . . show up for a few awards shows with another star, but nooooo, you didn’t want to hear it. So people get curious.”

  I’ve heard all of this before, but I hate being fake. There are too many wannabes and fake ass people in this business for my liking as it is. I refuse to be one too.

  “Well, fuck everyone’s curiosity. My private life is my own. I sing songs, I make records, ones that have won some pretty sweet awards. I put on concerts, and we’ve done some damn good shows, I think. But that’s it, I’m not available for public comment on my private life. I don’t ask what they do with the life-sized posters I sign for them, and they don’t get to ask what I do in my home.”

  Todd clicks into business mode, no longer trying to appease me, beginning the same conversation we’ve had over and over again for all the years we’ve worked together. I didn’t hire him because he’s a friend but because he knows the damn business. “Keith, there’s nothing to be ashamed of here. You went grocery shopping and bought supplies for your daughter. Maybe it’s time you tell the truth.”

  I inhale deeply, counting to ten before I let it out, willing it to calm me. It’s maybe only slightly successful. “We’ve talked about this. No. Carsen is only twelve years old, and I want her to have as normal a childhood as she possibly can. If people know about her, she’ll get hounded nonstop. She’ll need a security detail to go to school, for Christ’s sake, and never be able to grow up on her own. Never mind the fact that people are going to do some simple math and figure out that I fathered a child when I was still in high school. That’ll start a whole other heap of questions, ones I don’t want to fucking go into. The public isn’t entitled to know about her, to have an opinion on what she’s wearing or how I’m raising her, or fucking bring up her mother. No.”

  I can hear the resignation in Todd’s voice. We’ve had this argument too many times. “I know. And I understand. It’s gonna happen at some point, though. She can’t stay hidden forever.”

  I chuckle darkly. “The hell she can’t. If Hannah fucking Montana could pull it off for years, so can I.”

  Todd groans. “That was a fictional Disney show. And let’s face it, I doubt you want your daughter doing what Miley Cyrus is doing in the real world now.”

  “I know it’s fictional, dumbass. But I’ll make sure Carsen has her fairytale Disney ending. She deserves that.”

  “Fine, fine, I can see I’m getting nowhere with you,” Todd says, the exasperation with me obvious. His tone changes to one intended to be more placating. “Really, Keith . . . is Carsen okay after all of this?”

  “Some bitch reporter made my little girl’s first period into an expose about how I’ve supposedly got some new fucktoy. Ten million people now know what brand of fucking maxi pads I bought for her!” I growl, pissed off. “How do you think Carsen is doing?”

  I hear Todd gulp and have a little mercy on him. He’s kept my situation secret for nearly five years, a century in celebrity terms. “Sorry, man.”

  I shake my head, sighing. “No, it’s okay. She’s doing fine, mostly. She didn’t realize that the feminine shit was what brought up the questions. Thinks it’s just the usual speculation.”

  Todd hums, and I can hear the steel in his voice. He’s a damn good manager, a good man overall, really. “I’m gonna fix this. I’m not sure how, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Do your best. And do it fast, Todd.” I grunt as a goodbye before I hang up. As soon as I do, I realize Sarah, my older sister, is standing in the doorway and likely heard everything I just said.

  Sarah’s leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her long brown hair hanging down nearly to her waist, the same color as mine if I didn’t keep my head shaved by choice. “Little rough on Todd there, weren’t you?”

  I can see the disapproving look in her eye, reminding me so much of Mom. We both got our height and physique from her, although thankfully, I inherited Dad’s wide shoulders, or else I’d look like a ripped string bean.

  “Not really,” I reply evenly. “It’s his job to handle things, to make sure nothing like this happens. But it did, so now he can fucking fix it. Fast.”

  Sarah sighs, giving me an amused eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just call me? I could’ve gone to the store and there wouldn’t have been an issue. You know, if I go buy maxi pads, nobody gives a shit.”

  I sigh, feeling trapped. On one hand, I know she’s right. On the other hand, every time I’d have to do it, I’d feel like the world’s shittiest father. It’s a no-win situation. “I know, Sarah. And you know how much I appreciate everything you do . . . for me and for Carsen. But I’m her dad, you know? She needed something, and it’s my job to provide it, so I went to the fucking grocery store. It shouldn’t have been a big deal.”

  I plop to the couch, elbows on my spread knees and my head hung low. It’s been hard, raising a little girl without her mother, no help from her grandparents, and only my big sister to turn to. I can’t even ask more from Sarah. She’s a beautiful young woman with her own life to live. It’d be unfair for me to demand she be even more of a surrogate mother to Carsen. And no matter what . . . “I just didn’t want to be a failure of a father.”

  Sarah sits beside me, putting an arm around my shoulder like she did when we were little and I had to turn to her for comfort in the bad times. “You take good care of her, Keith. No doubt to anyone who knows you two how much you love that little girl. She has everything she needs right here with you, but you don’t have to do it alone. I love that girl like she’s my own. Damn-near raised her right along with you, remember?”

  I place my hand on hers, patting it. “Thanks, Sarah. I know you love her, and I don’t know what we’d have done without you all these years, but I hate that something that should be simple, like getting groceries, just isn’t anymore.” I sigh. “Hell, maybe I need a break. Just step away from the spotlight for a few years until Carsen gets older?”

  Sarah shakes her head. “No chance in hell. You have worked your ass off to chase your dream, Keith. ‘All those years’ you’re talking about? I remember them too. I remember you working days at shitty job after shitty job before singing nights. I remember my working a full-time job and bringing Carsen to some seedy places to hear you sing when she was just a toddler. I remember you holding her to your chest with one hand, writing songs with the other while you hummed her to sleep at night.”

  I smile slightly, remembering those nights too. “She couldn’t sleep as a baby unless I was holding her.”

  “And she still loves you just as much,” Sarah reminds me. “So all that hard work? You made it, Keith. You got your dream, and you need to grab onto it with both hands and hang on tight for as long as the ride goes. Because you
know what the rap god says.”

  I nod. Sarah’s always been more into hip hop than I am, but I know the lyrics. “When the run’s over, just admit it’s at an end.”

  “And in the meantime, get as much as you can out of it,” Sarah adds. “So yeah, it’s awkward right now, and the fact that something happened that is beyond your control is killing you . . .”

  I try to interrupt to disagree, but she talks over me. “Please, Keith. You’re the biggest control freak I’ve ever met. And this hit you out of left field and you don’t like it. But suck it up, buttercup. It’ll blow over, and trust Todd to make sure it does. In the meantime, you know you’ve got a moment, maybe two or three. Hang onto them and give you and your daughter the rest of a life together afterward.”

  I huff, knowing she’s right. “Fine. You’re right. As hard as I’ve worked to make a career singing, I’ll give it all up in a split second if it’s bad for Carsen though. You know that.”

  Sarah smiles, reaching up and rubbing my head like she used to when we were kids. “Of course you would. But look around you, Keith. She’s fine, goes to a great school, has great friends, lives in a gorgeous house like nothing we could’ve ever imagined when we were kids, and is happy.”

  I smile, looking around. You could probably fit our childhood home in just this room. Hell, this house has more bathrooms than we had rooms back then. We’ve definitely moved up in life since those days.

  “Thanks, Sarah,” I finally say, leaning back and relaxing some. “You know how to make things sound right.”

  She nods, and I’m struck by how far we’ve come, brother and sister against the world. Needing a lighter moment before those childhood memories take over my brain, I tease her a little. “You sound just like Mom.”

  She grins, sticking her tongue out at me. “Well, thank you. I’m choosing to take that as the compliment I’m sure you intended it to be.”

  I laugh, giving her a side hug. “Yeah, definitely a compliment, Sis.”

  Chapter 3

  Elise

  I can’t quite be sure, but it feels like I’m floating into work as I walk down the sidewalk. It’s only been two days . . . but what a two days. I knew that story was going to be hot. I was ecstatic when Donnie agreed to give me the top header with the biggest page square footage and a big byline on our site’s homepage. I’ve already snapped screen grabs of it for posterity. It’s tabloid trash, but one day, those disguises and stalker skills are going to land me my dream job as a real investigative reporter.

  I’m not picky, obviously, considering what I’m doing now. But I would like to do more than tabloid celeb hunting. Still, it was some damn fine surveillance if I say so myself. Well, other than when I ran into Keith. That was some newbie shit there, but he didn’t seem to figure out I was a reporter, at least. If anything, he probably thought I was just a fan girl trying to get an autograph or maybe cop a feel . . . which I certainly remember, even if that was a tidbit I couldn’t publish in order to cover my ass.

  Wonder if he’s still trying to figure out who at the grocery store scoped him out for the expose?

  I pause for coffee, greeting my coworkers Maggie and Francesca as they linger around the pot waiting for refills. They look like a study in opposites. Maggie is tiny, a deceptively curvy blonde who rocks the nerdy-librarian look while maintaining an appearance much younger than her twenty-five years. She’s a little shy but a total sweetheart once you get past her armor.

  Meanwhile, Francesca is an exotic and willowy brunette who carries the practiced presence of her younger years in pageants. She never fails to mention she was second runner-up Miss Teen New Jersey. No wonder I detest the bitch sometimes.

  So they’re polar opposites in personality, with Maggie being more shy and reserved to Francesca’s extroverted cockiness, but coffee is the eternal common denominator.

  Francesca sips her coffee, toasting me slightly. “Congrats on the country singer story, Elise. Got everything you could want with that one.”

  The words are right, but there’s a cattiness to her tone that’s always there with her. She’s always a bit chilly with anyone she perceives as a threat and sometimes an outright bitch if she doesn’t get her way.

  I pour myself a mug and make sure to keep my voice neutral. “Thank you. It was hard work so I’m glad it paid off.”

  She laughs, putting more meaning to words than I’d intended. “Oh, trust me, I do plenty of hard work for my stories too,” she says as she almost disgustingly slurps down a mouthful of coffee, hinting at her meaning. “It pays off in some ways more than others.”

  With a wink, Francesca refills and sashays to her desk. I shake my head as Maggie half chokes on her coffee as she finally gets the meaning. Leaning in closer, she stage-whispers. “Did she just mean . . .?”

  I smirk, giving Maggie a glance. “Of course. She’s totally been fucking Donnie to get the prime stories. Has been for months. Why do you think her reports are always from fancy parties, galas, and red carpet events? Hello, preferential treatment. You seriously didn’t know?”

  Maggie blushes a little and shrugs. “Well, I knew she was doing something to get Donnie’s attention, and the rumors are always flying. But she’s so casual about it, just throwing it out in conversation.”

  I grin, smacking Maggie’s arm. “You’re so cute when you go Dorothy Gale on me. Remember, hun, this ain’t Kansas. Besides, I can’t say I’m jealous. I’d rather work for my stories than get them by giving Donnie blow jobs under the desk. Can you imagine the dust bunnies under there? And eww on sucking his gross dick. I like my facials at the spa, thank you very much.”

  I half-feign a full-body shudder of disgust, and Maggie laughs. “Ew. Now I’ll have that image in my head all day. Thanks a lot, Elise. You suck!”

  I grin, blowing Maggie a kiss. “Well, in the right circumstances, yes, I do suck. Even been told I’m pretty good at it. But I think we’ve established that it’s not happening here.”

  I scan the room with a pointed finger. “Yup, not happening, not happening, not happening, and never, even if he was the last male on Earth and we needed to repopulate the species. So . . . what are you working on now?”

  Maggie laughs again, brightening my day. I love making Maggie laugh and blush. She’s so easy since she’s a bit innocent, and I’ve got no shame in my game and generally give zero fucks. “Nothing great. I’m currently looking into a senator who’s supposedly cheating on his wife. But I’ve been undercover as a copy-making volunteer in his office for two weeks and haven’t seen anything other than a man who works too many hours. Seems like a bust.”

  “Sorry about that. At least he’s not cheating. Hell, that alone would likely make me vote for him, considering the options lately.”

  Maggie grins, nodding. “Yup. He’s even polite. I’ve been wearing my cutest tight skirt and blouse whenever I go by, and he keeps looking in my eyes.”

  “Maybe you don’t have the equipment that entices him?” I ask, making Maggie laugh. “What? He wouldn’t be the first politician to reach across the aisle for entertainment.”

  “Nah,” Maggie says, smiling. Waving fingers at me, she walks off. “See you later, babe.”

  Refilling my coffee to the top, I head to my desk too but am sidetracked by Donnie’s yelling. “Elise! Get your ass in here!”

  Damn, you’d think a great prime story would at least get me twenty-four hours of peace, but apparently not. I consider saying as much as I sit in the chair across from Donnie, but when I see how red his face is, I decide to leave it be. Fuck it, I don’t need the headache. “What’s up?”

  Donnie’s in a pissed off mood for some reason. “You’ve got proof on the Perkins story?”

  I nod, confused but answering anyway. “Of course. Pics of him in the store, putting things in the shopping cart, including maxi pads in the hygiene aisle, and then again at the register for a close-up. Why?”

  Donnie sighs, running his fingers through his thinning, greasy hair, and ag
ain I’m reminded why I could never get to the top the way Francesca does. I might be a girl who enjoys sex, but I’ve got standards. Donnie ticks none of my boxes. “I just hung up with Perkins’ people. They want a retraction and correction.”

  My jaw drops open. It happens in our business from time to time, but it’s never happened to me. I’m too damn good at my job. “No way. I followed him legally, pics are in public places, thus legal, it’s obviously him, and I didn’t say anything that could be libel. It’s all true.”

  Donnie smiles, relieving me a little bit. “I know. That’s what I told the guy who called too, but I just wanted to check.”

  “I appreciate that you had my back,” I tell him honestly. Donnie’s a sleazeball, but he’s a dedicated sleaze. He won’t back down from a story he prints unless he has to, and that usually involves lawyers. “So, what now? We’re obviously not pulling the story, right?”

  Donnie shakes his head, reaching for the bowl of jellybeans he keeps on the corner of his desk and popping three into his mouth. “No, actually, when I told him that wasn’t going to happen, he had another idea that’s pretty interesting. He proposed a series of interviews, probably three or four at least—but maybe more—with Perkins himself.”

  Perkins himself? At the words, my pulse quickens. I can’t seem to keep my thoughts about him not tied up in how fucking sexy he is. “Really?”

  Donnie nods. “They’re doing some damage control and wanting to write their own narrative about his life. Control the narrative, you know?”

  “That sounds great!” I exclaim gleefully, and not totally professionally. “When do I meet with him?”