“Stop rambling and get to the point,” Fox growled.
But her sister remained ebullient. “I always knew Schoolboy Choir had some dedicated fans, but this is unreal.”
“Thea.”
“Sorry, Moll.” Thea laughed. “That tabloid site that published the photos? It’s down.”
“How?” Fox asked.
“Hacked, and a post on a major online bulletin board says it was done by the band’s fans. Several other sites that scraped the images have also gone down.” Thea sounded like she had the most gleeful smile on her face. “All of a sudden anyone else who reposted the photos is hauling ass to get them off.”
“Will this blow back on Fox?” Molly frowned.
“No, I asked the legal team. Everyone heard what Fox requested of Schoolboy Choir fans—they did this on their own initiative.”
The print version of the tabloid remained, Molly thought, but the worst they could do there was print stills with the explicit sections blacked out. Though, if the tabloid’s management had any sense, they’d stay clear even of that. No paper could survive only on print; the tabloid needed to have an online presence, and printing the photos would no doubt be seen as an aggressive move by the band’s fans.
“You haven’t even heard the best part.” So much glee Thea could’ve been a cat who’d found a whole vat of cream.
“There’s more?”
“Get your tablet so you have access to a bigger screen.”
It only took Molly a few seconds. “I have it.”
When Thea told her to look up a major entertainment blog, she was leery. “Thea, I don’t—”
“Trust me, this is a good one.”
Arm around her waist, Fox pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and it gave her the strength she needed. The front page of the site blinked to life on her screen—and it was dominated by a photograph of a grinning Fox kissing Molly on the steps of the hotel this morning.
FOX’S TAKEN, LADIES!!
The accompanying article was relatively small, but it mentioned that Molly was from New Zealand, a librarian, and that her father had been a “disgraced politician.” However, they’d spun the facts so instead of her family’s past being a tawdry piece of gossip, Molly came out looking plucky and strong, her and Fox’s romance a fairytale ending to a tough life.
Astonished, she said, “Did you do this?” to Thea, as Fox glanced at his phone, then stepped out to make a call.
“No, Molly, you did. The media, and more importantly the fans, are charmed by you—you couldn’t have done better if I’d scripted everything.” Open delight. “God, you were so cute. You even blushed!”
“I’m going to strangle you soon,” Molly muttered.
“Like I care. Just keep on being yourself, being the ordinary girl who snagged a rock god.” A pause. “Hmm, I’m going to feed that line to the press. Oh, if you want to get caught being adorable with Fox now and then, that’d be—”
Molly hung up on her laughing sister, then looked at Fox when he came to sit back down beside her on the bed. “The video’s still out there.”
“Yeah, but what dumbass will upload it now, especially when the man responsible has just been arrested and confessed.” He held up his phone. “That’s the message that came in.” Running his hand down her back, he said, “Even if someone is stupid enough to touch it, the piece of shit told the cops he only got about ten minutes of usable footage.”
“What?” Molly turned, heart thumping.
“Turns out he wasn’t a technical genius. No motion sensors. He just switched on the camera and left it running.”
“And”—Molly’s eyes widened—“we came in super late that day.” A tanker had spilled its load not far from the concert site, leading to traffic being held up for over two hours.
“The scum couldn’t get back into the suite to reset the camera because his shift had ended.” Fox closed his hand over her nape. “That’s probably why the tabloid was building up hype—they were hoping for a big surge of initial customers paying to watch it before word got out about how tame it was.”
Molly exhaled because Fox was right. Even if the video did leak one day, all anyone would see was a couple in love, cuddling and kissing and laughing. After surviving the exposure of the still photographs, photographs that could never be totally erased from the Internet, Molly knew she’d be able to handle that. “At least now,” she said to Fox, “you have the compulsory rock star sex tape.”
He squeezed her neck for the smart-aleck comment. “I can’t have that video getting out.” It was a snarl. “My reputation as a badass who does dirty, nasty things to women would be in shreds.”
Giggling, she leaned into him, her hand on his ridged abdomen. “The media likes us now, but they could turn on us in a heartbeat, couldn’t they?”
Fox looked down into her face as she looked up into his. “Yeah, so we don’t live for them, we live for us.”
“Us,” she whispered, her lips parting for his kiss.
The concert the next night blew off the roof. Schoolboy Choir kept playing for two hours beyond the official end time, accepting screamed-out requests from the sold-out crowd. Noah and Abe took the mike a number of times and the crowd chanted “Da-vid, Da-vid” until the drummer surrendered and laughingly added his voice to one of the band’s popular songs.