Free Hung by Holly Hart Page A

by the time he'd finished his angry tirade, I was ready to pitch myself to Clay's plan – whatever the repercussions.
    "I'll have you know, Mr. Peters," I said, allowing the righteous anger building up in my voice to dispense with my previous anxieties that he'd figure out I was lying, "we've been together for almost a year. I've never met a man like him – even," I looked directly at Clay and shot him a hard glare, "if he is a little rough around the edges sometimes."
    I decided to direct the rest of the conversation not at the Atlantic Records executive, but at Clay. If I was going to go along with his crazy, madcap plan, I was going to do it my way. After all, the worst that could happen was that I'd need to stage a "breakup" at some point.
    "Clay knows that after the other night, the only way I’ll stay with him is if he's on his best behavior. It's not losing his career that worries him," I said. "After all, we both know that he's got enough money to live out the rest of his life in unbelievable luxury. It's losing me."
    "Then how can you explain," Fred batted back with the air of a man who believed he'd found a way of toppling the entire house of cards our lie was built upon, "those pictures of him with that Victoria's Secret model draped around him last week? Are you happy to stay with a man who's cheating on you?"
    He thought he had me there, and for a few seconds, I was worried he did as well. Suddenly, my mind grasped upon a solution. "Fred," I said. "I can call you Fred – can't I?" I blustered.
    "Sure," he replied, sounding irritated. I grinned, enjoying myself.
    Clay, how have you rubbed off on me this quickly?
    "Not that it's any of your business, Fred," I said – now injecting my own condescension into my voice, "but Clay and I have maintained an open relationship," I continued, grasping around for something to say next.
    "An open relationship?" he spluttered. "You mean, you're okay with him sleeping around?"
    "I'm not really sure I'm comfortable having this discussion with you," I replied, "but as it so happens – yes. You're right, Clay's a man who likes a woman, likes a lot of them. That's one of the things I've found so attractive about him – he takes what he wants. But," I said, staring back at Clay, ready to make my point, "when we got engaged, we decided to close the relationship. Clay and I are exclusive now, and if he sleeps around – not that I think he would," I quickly added, "I'll end it, immediately."
    I saw Clay's face fall as he listened to me and the reality of what his rash decision to claim we were engaged really meant hit home. I was making it clear that if he wanted me to go along with this crazy plan, then I was going to call the shots. He wasn't going to be sleeping around, and he wasn't going to be fighting – because if he did either, I'd be straight out the door, and his career would go right down the drain. He looked crestfallen.
    Fred was silent. Mike took the opportunity to make his point. "Fred, you and I both know that Alicia and Clay are PR gold right now, and we both know that Atlantic needs every bit of good PR it can use right now. How exactly were last quarter's results?" he said, somewhat snidely.
    I couldn't really believe where this was all going – was I seriously about to commit myself to a philanderer like Clay Hunt? Did this mean that I actually had to marry him?And if I didn't, what did that mean for my career in this business – would it just disappear?
    "We both know that last quarter had us in the red," Fred said after a long silence, "but don't think that your boy's completely blameless in that. His sales were down more than ten percent, after all."
    "And they'll be up fifty this quarter, just from all the extra press he'll get," Mike said. "That alone will buy you a bit of breathing space on Wall Street. Don't tell me you don't need it…"
    Fred didn't say anything and Mike pressed on. "And think about what will happen when their album breaks. We both