3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Anna

A fter hours of reviewing, deliberating, researching, and gallons of sanitizer, I finally throw my notes at the band's manager and try my best to smooth the stray hair sticking out of my slicked back ponytail. Or what once was. My clothes are rumpled beyond recognition, my shoes lost somewhere under the table that became my work station until I could no longer hold my eyes open.

I passed out for only a moment after refusing to accept a bed in a strange house with a weird sense of smell that only comes from adding brand-new materials to an old house.

Musky and fresh.

It's weird.

"What's this?" Leo stirs on the uncomfortable looking loveseat someone dragged in when we refused to leave, the creases around his eyes digging deep.

"The plan," I reply, hands on hips.

"Uh-huh," he mutters, scanning the page the book is open to. "And we keep Toby out of the loop?"

"Yes. Lest he mentions something to the wrong person and blow it all up."

The bassist who caused this whole mess is still noticeably absent, while the rest of us take care of his problems. Security mentioned he made his way home and has been passed out—not alone—since about six this morning. God knows what he was doing before that.

My nerves are on the verge of snapping when Leo continues to stare at the page and says nothing. "Well?"

His gaze flicks to me, then back to the page with a scowl. "Well."

Huffing, I snatch the notebook from him and spin back to my workstation, dropping my butt back into my chair. "Maybe if he wasn't such an ass, we could ask his feedback—"

"Did you just say ass ?" I ignore the drummer's mocking tone as he enters the space with a half grin on his handsome face and coffee cups filling his grip. "How original."

"Then what would you propose, Mac?"

He edges closer, sets a steaming cup of what I hope is hot chocolate next to my pile of pages, and shrugs. "She would have signed an NDA, right? So any shit she shared, or shares, publicly makes her in defiance of that."

Leo gasps in jest, his hand going to the undone top buttons of his wrinkled dress shirt. "As if we didn't think of that."

Mac flips his manager the middle finger and sips from the second cup in his grip. "She never signed one?"

"We would know," I answer on a sigh. "If we could find it ." The last words are growled off of my lips, my scowling brow turned to Leo.

"His file is literally thicker than the dictionary," Leo adds, rolling his eyes.

"The generic verbiage in the NDA somehow doesn't mention pregnancy," I inform Mac.

His brow furrows, his cup paused in front of his lips. "Seriously?"

"Yep."

"How is that?" Mac's question is to his manager, but my boss shakes his head. "I mean, I know mine had to be different, but for real?"

The hearty sigh that escapes Leo is almost loud enough to echo in the formal dining space. His brow pinches in defeat, his shoulders less proud than normal when he leans up and braces his forearms on his knees. "Apparently not."

I scoff, my professionalism long gone, and lean back over my open laptop. The screen displays different windows of tabloid sites that love to paint As Above in a negative light. They would jump through hoops at the chance to have some kind of scandal like this. I can already imagine the headlines.

Tobias Jeffers impregnates fan.

Toby, As Above's backup guitarist, loves to love it and leave it.

Mac's clearing throat brings me back to the conversation. "How did legal miss that?"

"I have no idea. That's Leo's department."

Mac snorts and turns to his manager and friend and offers him the cup he's been sipping from. "Bet you paid extra for it, too, didn't ya, owl toes."

Leo chuckles, but it's tired. Quiet. Defeated. "You have no idea," he mutters, accepting the cup from Mac, only to smack his lips. "You fucking drank it ?"

"I left you a sip." Mac arches a brow, his eyes light with humor he tries to hold back but fails. "Seriously, though." He sighs and flops into the seat beside Leo. "What can be done?"

Seeing them squeezed onto the small loveseat, covered in tattoos and dressed complete opposite, is almost as humorous as Mac's banter. Leo's shrug is as disheartening as his exhausted gaze when he swings it on me as if silently asking for me to become a witch and do magic.

I'm good. But not that good.

"Well, since you nixed my plan, I'd say the only thing left is to see where the cards fall. You or I"—I gesture between Leo and myself—"can try reaching out to her and hear her demands."

Leo growls and throws back the last sip of what I presume is cold coffee based on the wince that returns. "I hate that idea."

I wing a daring brow at the manager, hoping he shoots down another idea of mind when he's yet to present one of his own that won't end up with As Above labeled as some kind of crappy baby-daddy drama band. We already fought those vultures off when the media found out about Aria taking the twins to the park, alone, on a day that Rex was busy in the studio.

At least that was easy to overshadow.

Post a few of the millions of pictures where Rex is obsessed with his children.

Wait.

Then plan an interview with a popular radio disc jockey where said lead singer gets asked questions only a present dad would know.

Which is supposed to be conducted today, including an even more exclusive VIP meet and greet with fans, to keep the narrative flowing.

"I don't hear a better one, boss."

"Ugh, I hate when you're right," Leo grunts as he pushes to stand but not without landing a backhand on Mac's chest first.

The drummer only snickers, hooks a finger in Leo's suspender strap, then lets it snap back against him with a loud crack . "Fuck!"

"You're awake now."

Leo spins and growls, his fist closed and drawn back to toss a punch when Mac darts off the loveseat and across the room.

"That was for Anna. She was totally right."

"I am right," I state and tap at the keys on my laptop. "I'll schedule the meeting, but you're going. We'll hear her out, see how she accomplished a DNA test already. Need to demand one for ourselves to confirm and handle things from there. First step is to keep it quiet. "

The manager nods, one hand massaging the ache from his snapped suspender.

"And keep it away from Jeffers?" I confirm with a quirked brow. "Are you sure?"

"Should be easy enough. Otherwise, he might open his mouth at the wrong time."

Said every overly confident entrepreneur ever.