She sucks in a breath. “Phoenix wouldn’t want you to worry—”
“You’re supposed to be my friend too, Skylar,” I remind her. “Tell me what happened. Please.”
“Hold on,” she says. “You need friend Skylar right now, which means I can’t talk to you about this here. I’ll call you back in five minutes, okay?”
Safe to say I’m the one who’s thrown now.
“Okay.”
As promised, my phone rings approximately five minutes later.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Where were you?”
There’s a long pause. So long I almost think she hung up.
“Skylar? Are you th—”
“Chandler’s house,” she whispers.
My jaw drops because I was not expecting that. “Why are you at Chandler’s house?” I glance up at the clock on the wall. “At eleven twenty at night?”
“I’m not in his house anymore,” she defends. “I’m sitting in my car outside.”
That’s a dodge if there ever was one. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want him to overhear our conversation.”
“I meant, why are you at Chandler’s house?”
There was a time where we skirted around each other’s questions—unsure if we could trust one another—but we’ve broken that wall down.
At least, I thought we did.
She clears her throat. “We were going over some PR stuff for Memphis.”
“PR is your job, though. Not his.”
“Yes, but he’s the manager. Technically, PR falls under his jurisdiction, too.”
That makes sense, I guess, but still. There’s something fishy going on. I can feel it.
“You and Chandler aren’t…” I let my sentence trail off because it sounds ridiculous to my own ears. Not only is Skylar light-years out of Chandler’s league, he’s sixteen years older than her.
“No,” she says, although she doesn’t sound very convincing. “He’s my boss…sort of.”
“Which is all the more reason he shouldn’t be summoning you to his house at eleven at night.”
“He didn’t. I’ve been here since this afternoon.”
My mouth drops open for a second time. “What the hell is going on with Memphis that requires you to spend that much time with Chandler?”
“Do you want to know what’s going on with your husband or do you want to keep speculating about my love life?” she snaps.
Fair enough. “Option one.”
But we are definitely circling back to option two at some point.
“Okay, so obviously, Phoenix canceled the rest of the European tour.”
“Right. That much I know. Tell me what I don’t know. Like how bad the fallout was after…you know.”
He told the entire freaking world that he stole my song.
She exhales sharply. “Okay, so at first it was really ugly. Cancel culture was in full effect and revenue crashed. Like nearly flatlined crashed.”
I wince. No wonder Chandler wanted me to do that interview sooner rather than later.
“I sent out a public statement declaring that Phoenix was taking some time for his mental health,” she continues. “And then I diverted people’s attention to someone they love.”
“Who?”
“Gwyneth Barclay,” she says dryly. “It’s hard for people to hate Sharp Objects when the entire world loves Gwyneth, who’s now officially engaged and having a baby with Memphis. Revenue still isn’t what it used to be, but it’s picking up.”
My stomach rolls. This must be killing her.
I wish I did that freaking interview like Chandler wanted.
“You didn’t have to—”
“Memphis and Gwen are having a baby.” Despite trying to keep her tone indifferent, I catch the trace of emotion in it. “The white picket fence was bound to happen. At least now it’s mutually beneficial for everyone.”
Except her.
“I’m so sorry.”
None of this is fair to her.
“It is what it is.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, that’s where we stand at the moment. Phoenix is canceled but Sharp Objects isn’t.”
“Well, considering Phoenix is a big part of Sharp Objects, I’m sure people will come around, right?”
They have to.
“Yeah, about that…”
There’s a different emotion lacing her voice now. Dread.
“What?”