The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,84

off my tour, about seeing me in the tabloids with another woman, and she’d gone after Sloan. I had no doubt in my mind it was her.

I was fucking furious. I’d called Ernie immediately after Sloan told me about her car and he’d gone down and gotten her. I’d almost flown back from New York, but both of them insisted I stay and do SNL. Ernie promised he’d keep her safe and deal with the police—and he did.

But the car wasn’t the end of it. Not even close.

Sloan’s social media accounts were suddenly bombarded with trolls. Fake accounts set up with no other purpose than to comment on her photos and slide into her DMs and harass her. It was so bad she had to delete her Instagram page and even Kristen and Josh had to lock down their accounts.

Then the phone calls started.

Vulgar texts and voicemails from strangers to Sloan’s cell, all hours of the night. It ran the gamut from calling her names to making threats of violence. And it was all made very obvious that this was about me. Jaxon’s whore, Jaxon’s bitch. None of it was traceable. All the numbers they called from were spoofed.

I had no idea how Lola had gotten Sloan’s number. But then I had no idea how Lola had gotten the gate code either.

It was like she’d hired a fucking army to come after my girlfriend.

I’d never felt so much hatred for someone in my life.

Ernie urged me not to confront her, that any engagement would just encourage her. He was right. There was no fucking point. It’s not like she listened to reason. All I could do was control the damage and try to keep Sloan safe.

I wasn’t taking any chances. We changed Sloan’s number and I wouldn’t let her off Ernie’s property alone or anywhere near her house. I’d hired a moving company to finish the packing, and I’d had Zane oversee it. We canceled the yard sale. I didn’t need Sloan outside dealing with strangers when there was someone out there who’d taken a baseball bat to her car.

The whole thing was a stress neither of us needed because our lives were hard enough as it was at the moment.

I’d been back from SNL for three days. My tour started in two. Everything was chaos. I’d had to dive right into rehearsals the day after I got back from New York, with the backup band I’d hired for the tour. I’d been working sixteen-hour days, juggling that and the media. I was being pulled in a thousand different directions and so was she.

And now Ernie had me up and waiting for him in front of the pool house at 6:30 in the damn morning. Sloan was asleep with Tucker in the trailer. I should have been asleep with Tucker in the trailer. But Ernie’s text had said it was important and that it couldn’t wait.

He came out the back door of the house and made his way past the pool. He was in his suit, even this early. “Hey, my friend. Sorry to rouse you. I know you need your beauty sleep.” He put his hands on his hips. “It’s important, or I wouldn’t have called.”

“What’s up?” I asked, yawning.

“Someone paid off my fucking housekeeper.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Huh?”

“Someone gave her a thousand bucks to give up the gate code so Lola could get in here that night. Ten years she’d been with me, and I have to find a new housekeeper. I’m doing my own goddamn laundry. And I haven’t even told you the crazy shit yet.” He looked me in the eye. “The person who paid her wasn’t Lola or any of her people.” He paused. “It was your people.”

My hand dropped, and I stared at him.

“I had to do a shit ton of digging. Had to give Lupe another thousand bucks to get her to talk and I had to ask the Swansons across the street for their surveillance video, but I got the plate for the guy who bribed her. He’s some low-level lackey for your label.”

“What?” I breathed.

“Yeah.” He scratched his cheek. “Here’s what I think. I think your label set you up for those photos with Lola. I think they did it so they could leak that shit. I think the whole TMZ thing was planned and they wanted the rumors circulating so when they stuck Lola on your tour, the two of you would be all over the tabloids

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