Arrogant Brit

Not without interference.

Not without the right push.

Something had happened…and I was going to find out exactly what. But I didn’t have to think long or hard before a single name popped into my head.

Steven.

He’d hated her from the start.

What was the word he’d used?

Liability.

I picked up the phone, forcing a friendly smile across my face. It was one of the hardest things I’d had to do.

“Steven! Are you around?”

“I’m kinda in the middle of something. Where are you?”

“I’m just picking up my car,” I lied. “I should be home in about forty-five minutes. Think you can meet me there?”

“Now’s not a good time, man.”

He sounded apprehensive.

Which told me I was right.

“It’s important. I think you’re right about Angel – she’s a liability. Time I cut her loose. But you, being my PR guy and all…mind backing me up?”

“What? R-really? But she’s…I mean, uh…”

“Steven, stop fucking babbling. She put herself up in a hotel and she’s on her way to my place. Can you come straight over?”

“I’m not so sure this is a good time…”

“C’mon, Steven. You and I, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Help me out here and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“…Alright. Half an hour?”

“Sounds good to me.”

About thirty minutes later, there was a knock at my door. Through the peephole, I could see the lanky, condescending fucker.

“Door’s open!” I called out, muffling my voice and taking a step out of the way.

The door popped open.

A moment later, Steven walked in.

“H-hello? Angel? Trent?”

I stepped forward from behind the door, slamming it shut. He barely had time to turn before I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and slammed him up into the wall, knocking a large photo frame down and shattering the glass.

“Trent – buddy – what the fuck are you–?”

Roaring with anger, I threw him across the room. He hit the ground hard, trying to scramble to his feet as I rushed towards him.

“Back the fuck off–” he started.

I landed a solid punch against his cheek, sending him sprawling into my sectional couch. As he struggled to climb back up, I jumped on him, landing a knee in his chest and knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Oof!” he cried painfully.

As I started to hit him repeatedly, Steven tried to dislodge me – first by force, then by throwing weak punches, and finally by attempting to scratch me.

I finally climbed off of him, and he lunged forwards. But instead of reaching me, he slipped, hitting his head on my coffee table.

With my anger barely controlled, I pulled his sniffling, shaken form up from the ground. Half-expecting him to be whimpering, he was instead snarling – broken but angry.

“You fucking piece of shit,” he growled.

I held him by the shoulders, my enraged eyes matching his gaze with enough strength to apparently surprise him.

“What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do.”

“What?” He snarled back.

“Don’t make me ask again, you spineless, backstabbing, limp-dicked son of a bitch.”

Steven’s furious sniffling began to settle, and he looked at me with a mixture of fear and absolute irritation.

I have to give it to him.

At least he doesn’t back down.

Maybe he’s less spineless than I thought.

“Angel, right?”

I nodded angrily.

His face curled into a shit-eating grin.

“You had me worried with your little phone call. Sorry Trent. Your lovebird is long gone by now.”

Because I couldn’t afford for him to lose consciousness on me, I delivered a strong punch to his gut. He crumpled to the ground, moaning and clutching his abs while I stood up and popped my neck.

“That’s for not answering my question,” I told Steven coldly.

I pulled him back up from the ground, half-supporting him on his knees in front of me.

“Let’s try again. What. The fuck. Did you. Do?”

Steven’s painful, defiant glance flipped up towards me. I could already see bruising and swelling starting to settle in.

He was going to look rough tomorrow.

“You know what I did,” he mumbled. “She’s a distraction. A ticking time bomb. That bitch is your motherfucking Courtney Love. You have other people depending on you. The rest of your band, the roadies, the label. Ever since you snuck her onto that bus, your performances have been shit. Critic opinions, not just mine. And then there’s the paparazzi thing.”

“What paparazzi thing?”

Steven laughed painfully.

“Have you not been on the Internet at all in the last couple of days? It’s been all over the gossip sites.”

I pulled him closer.

“Tell me. Now.”

“I’ll do you one better,” he chuckled before wincing with pain. “I’ll show you. Let me down.”

Reluctantly, I relinquished my grip.

Once he’d pulled himself up off of the floor and fished his phone out of his pocket, he did just that. He showed me what had happened.

The article.

The pictures.

The interview.

I read carefully, twice over, before handing him the phone back.

“This is nothing. It’s fixable.”

“It’s a little harder than that,” he told me.

“No. No, it’s not. This is your job. You run public relations for us. You manage us. Well, you’re supposed to, but you’re so fucking terrible at it that I can’t believe we got stuck with you…”

Steven opened his mouth to retort but, after one glance at my eyes, he closed it again quickly.

“So you showed her this, then.”

Steven nodded.

“And you made up some bullshit to make her go away?”

“It wasn’t bullshit, Trent. What makes this girl different? You left her here the first chance you got. No money, no friends, and a backpack full of clothes. Leaving was her choice. All I did was lay out the facts.”

“The facts?”

“Everything I told her was true. You can believe that I filled her head with complete shit, but my job is to keep this train moving.”

“My girlfriend isn’t some piece of dead weight to be cut loose,” I growled menacingly, advancing upon him.

I was so furious that I hadn’t even realized the Freudian slip.

“Well, you have your professional opinions, and I have mine,” Steven snarled with a slight hiss of pain. “All I know is, I did my job. You know, you’ve been a hock of shit since day fucking one. Always making shit difficult. You’re a real piece of work, Trent Masters. This is the worst fucking gig I’ve had in years! And I represented The Spitting Pigs, drug-fueled orgies and all!”

I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close, one last time.

“Steven…where is she.”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer,” I replied, wheeling my fist back.