Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

“What if he manipulated her?” Greg suddenly asks his publicist. I frown, wondering if Jonathan has been muttering in his ear.

Naomi cuts off Corbin, “That’s something for the legal team, and we shouldn’t inspect a bullet when no one has pulled a trigger.”

I rise with my daughter in my arm, and the room falls to silence. I manage to capture Greg’s gaze, even if he aches to look away. “I’m not going to beg you to trust me,” I say calmly. “What I can ask is that you acknowledge the intelligence of your own daughter. She hasn’t been duped by me; in fact she’d leave me at the hint of infidelity. I’ve shared more with her than I ever have with you, so know that she’s not blind by any means.”

I pause, more cautious as Samantha fixates on Jane in my grasp. I adjust my daughter, her eyes almost fluttering open from her nap.

Greg pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think we should focus on how to bury this, and not what we think of it right now.”

Samantha’s strict bun pulls the follicles of her hairline. “It might be best for Jane to stay with us in the meantime—”

“No, she’s safe with us,” I cut her off, my defenses and guards beginning to lift higher than before. I feel Rose boiling beside me, looking murderously at her mother for even suggesting to take our child away from us.

I sit again, and I pass Jane to Rose, who pulls our daughter protectively to her chest. Jane only stirs to hold onto Rose’s arm like she’s clutching a teddy bear.

Greg watches Jane. “Is she in a loving environment?” His doubt leeches each fucking word. I rub my lips, pissed, so pissed I could scream. I could drum my chest and stomp my feet, but no matter how much I’d want to do it, I see no logical point in the actions.

Rose’s face twists, bouncing between rage and hurt. “How could you even ask that?”

“I’m a concerned grandfather. I love that little girl.”

He’s suggesting that his love outweighs ours. I remember how I delivered Jane with my own hands. How Rose held her every night she cried. How we’ve spent sleepless months without complaint. How we’ve tried to minimize Jane’s exposure in the media, redirecting the heat on us. How we’ve treasured every milestone she’s made.

How do you measure love?

Is it by the things we’re willing to do? By the sacrifices we’re willing to make? If it is—then I love my daughter madly because I would cripple my world to give her something to stand on. I would implode Cobalt Inc. if I had to, the foolish choice. But a wise woman once said that love is worth every foolish choice we make.

Would Greg Calloway bulldoze Fizzle for his granddaughter? Not a chance.

Rose straightens even more. “Be a concerned parent first and trust me, your daughter.”

“Please, Rose,” Greg says, not one to raise his voice, even if he’s already accomplished that once today.

I hug Rose closer to my side, and she exhales a couple times, trying to move past her father’s doubt. There is no solution here.

I rotate to Naomi, ready to speed this beyond accusations and blame. “Our marriage is real and consensual. The sex tapes aren’t fabricated”—she jots notes as quickly as I speak—“and we had a child to start a family together. The only truth is in the past.”

Rose scoots to the edge of the couch, keeping her hand in mine. “What’s our best defense?” she asks Naomi.

“A public statement from both of you,” she says. “There’s a lot of evidence that says your marriage is a ploy.” She thumbs through her folder. “Mr. Cobalt, your Instagram is littered with photos specifically of your wife with you, but she’s glaring at you in almost every one.”

How I like it.

“They love each other,” Lily interjects. She flushes when every eye pins to her. “That’s what their love looks like.”

Rose nearly smiles, tears beginning to collect. She mouths to Lily, thank you.

“Well,” Corbin butts in, “it looks like hate.”

“Fuck you,” Ryke slings a curse from the window nook, Daisy sprawled on his lap.

My lips lift.

“I’m here to state what everyone in the public is thinking,” Corbin reminds him.

“And I’m here to flip this around in a positive light,” Naomi states. “Don’t delete any of these photos, Mr. Cobalt. It admits guilt. Try to add a variety of images, maybe date nights, photos of your wedding rings, and yes, continue to post ones that you normally would. There’s a fine line between justifying yourself and trying too hard to appear like something you’re not.”

The increase in PDA bit us in the ass for that last reason. I respect Naomi’s counsel, so I ask, “Should we acknowledge the striptease or anything the media has spun around on us?” Normally I’d be more specific and say that I went down on Rose, but her father is in the room. He needs time to cool down, and I’d rather not make it harder for him to like me again.

“GBA News had a body language analyst dissect those photographs,” she explains. “And they found reasonable doubt in Rose’s stiff posture. In almost every frame where you’re in public—where you kiss her, et cetera—she seems uncomfortable.”

She hasn’t been the best actress, but she tried and we couldn’t have known this is what it’d come to.

“Hey,” Daisy chimes in, her husky curled beside Ryke, “that’s not her fault. You know, not everyone enjoys kissing in public.”

“But why these past four months more than ever before?” Corbin asks. “The media is going to latch onto the timing.”

Rose pulls back her shoulders. “We were trying something new, to spice up our relationship since we’ve had a child.”

We’ll never utter the real truth: that we were enticing the media—on purpose. As far as Rose and I are concerned, the only one who will ever know our secret is Ryke Meadows.

Naomi nods. “It’s a decent defense, and it’s better than staying quiet. We’ll add that to your written letter. It’s not something you’d need to say at a press junket.” She’ll type the letter. We’ll read it and approve. That’s how this works. “I know you have some family pictures of Jane on your Instagram, but you two should post more. In addition, you both should work on tweeting about parenting. People like these comments. It makes you relatable.”

“Loving comments,” Corbin clarifies, “not sarcasm or anything that can be taken out of context.”

Rose huffs. “I have no idea what you mean.” She combs her fingers through Jane’s hair affectionately. She does know, almost entirely. She hates talking about it. I’ve seen regret flash in her eyes at comments she’s made before, taking a concept too far, not meaning the degree of what she says.

She speaks her mind often, and she’s penalized for every single word, even the ones said in haste, the ones layered with fears, the ones bleeding with rage. I love all of her opinions, the passionate ones, the dramatic ones, and everything in between.

“At ConnorCobalt,” Corbin reads Rose’s old tweet off his legal pad. “Every time the little gremlin wails, my ovaries kill an egg. I’m going to be barren soon.”

The people that know Rose laugh. Her mother and father remain quiet.

“It was a joke,” Rose says, her voice breaking at the end. She stares harshly at the ceiling, more upset than I thought she’d be. I can feel her confidence waning.

My smile fades. I massage her tense shoulder and lean closer to whisper, “It’s not your fault, Rose.” None of this is her fault. Everything is being distorted.

“She should be allowed to be herself,” Ryke interjects, sitting up on the window nook. Daisy slides off his lap and pets their dog.

“Not at the cost of her reputation,” Samantha says. “You wouldn’t understand—”

“I understand. I fucking understand more than you even want to know—and this entire thing is about turning them into people they’re not.” He points at me. “Let them be whoever they want to fucking be—the end.”

If only it was that easy, my friend.

“Yo

u live off a Hale Co. trust fund,” Sam chimes in, reminding everyone about the money involved in my decision. “We’re trying to protect companies that can be hurt by public perception. I don’t think you have a say here.”

“Fuck you,” Ryke fumes, standing off the window nook.

Lo hesitates to block his brother from a physical altercation, but Ryke hasn’t charged Sam yet.

Naomi takes advantage of the brief silence and reroutes the topic. “The sex tapes are a good form of defense, even if everyone is trying to brush them under the rug.”

Corbin taps his pen to his legal pad. “They’re not brushing them anywhere. Everyone believes that the tapes are just another stunt to cover Connor’s tracks. And frankly, I’d buy into it too.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Loren interjects.

“No,” Corbin says, “the public doesn’t know Connor as intimately as all of you. They know what they see, and what they see alludes mostly to a well-coordinated stunt. My suggestion—to clean everything quickly and easily—you need to deny these claims against you.”

Rose tenses even more beneath my hand. I can’t speak right away, but Corbin isn’t finished.

“You’ll say that you’ve never had sex with a man before. You’ll say that these guys were friends of yours and they just want a quick payout by tabloids. You’ll say you’re heterosexual and in a healthy, loving marriage with your wife.”

To fix this, I must lie.

I already know this. I’ve thought a hundred steps ahead of them, and I wait for Naomi to offer me a different version of the same hurdle.