Page 50 of The Ex Factor

Simon didn’t even look up from his tablet. He casually took a sip of his green juice, completely unfazed by her outburst. ‘It’s not a reality show, Ash. It’s a classic rock-and-roll narrative. The devoted partner supporting her rock star from the wings. The public eats it up.’

‘Molly is an actress, not a roadie!’ Ashley shot back, exasperated. ‘And we’ve had exactly two fake dates. The first one was an awkward disaster, and the second one ended with her throwing my tits out for all to see!’

‘And Bra-Gate got you a hell of a lot more press coverage than your denial interview,’ Simon replied smoothly, finally looking up. He slid his tablet across the desk toward her. The screen displayed a graph showing a massive vertical spike. ‘Look at that. Your ticket sales for Edinburgh and Manchester have jumped by fifteen percent since yesterday morning. The algorithm loves a disaster, Ashley. But more importantly, it loves her. And it loved your reaction. You were more human—tits out and laughing—than you’ve been in a long time. You’re a perfectionist, and that’s great. But people like to see the person sometimes.’

Ashley stared at the graph. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting out a heavy sigh.

Even now, thinking about Molly spread-eagled on that carpet brought a reluctant twitch to the corner of Ashley’s mouth.

‘Look,’ Ashley said, her voice dropping to a more reasonable, defensive note. ‘Molly was mortified yesterday. She’s trying to be taken seriously for some BBC thing. Trapping her on a cramped, sweaty tour bus for weeks isn’t going to help her. It’s going to make her miserable.’

‘Karen already talked to her,’ Simon countered, leaning back in his leather chair. ‘Molly already agreed.’

Ashley blinked, surprised. ‘She did?’

‘Of course she did. Because Karen understands the business, and so does Molly. This keeps her in the trades right up until the casting director makes their final decision. It’s a win-win.’ Simon leaned forward, his expression softening. ‘Ash, listen to me. This tour is crucial. We need to show the label as well as the fans that you’re stable. Having a sweet, dependable, highly visible girlfriend sitting in the VIP box every night completely rewrites the “lying diva pop star” narrative Reva left you with. It shows you’re grounded.’

‘Grounded,’ Ashley muttered sarcastically. ‘Molly can barely stay on her own two feet.’

‘Exactly. She’s a mess. People like her,’ Simon said with a shrug. ‘Look, we’ll get the luxury double-decker bus. She’ll have her own private cabin, total privacy, whatever she wants. You won’t be tripping over each other.’

Ashley looked out the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the London traffic crawl by below.

It was a terrible idea. It was a recipe for emotional disaster. One ex, plus faked intimacy equals…

Ashley wasn’t even sure exactly what the concern was. She just knew that something about all this scared her.

But as she thought about the gruelling, lonely weeks on the road ahead, the thought of having Molly there—even a reluctant, irritated Molly who couldn’t walk in heels—made the tight knot of anxiety in Ashley’s stomach loosen just a fraction.

Maybe that was the problem.

‘Fine,’ Ashley said quietly, turning back to Simon. ‘But if she hates it, or if the press gets too invasive, she gets a first-class train ticket back to London immediately. No arguments.’

Simon smiled, a triumphant glint in his eye as he swiped his tablet back. ‘Deal. Get some rest, Ash. You hit the road next week.’

Five Years Ago

They stood for a moment outside the house, as if both of them were waiting for the other to decide this was a bad idea and suggest a pub instead. But Molly just nodded once, like she’d already committed to something and didn’t see much point in reversing it now.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Lead on then.’

Ashley took a breath and pushed the front door open into the dark hall. ‘Dad?’ she called.

No answer. Which, for a brief moment, allowed her to feel optimism.

She glanced back at Molly. ‘He might be out.’

Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘That sounded like you don’t believe that.’

‘I don’t not believe it,’ Ashley said.

‘I’m not sure that’s how belief works.’

Ashley led her inside. The idea was to head straight upstairs to Ashley’s bedroom, her private space. But to do that, you had to walk past the kitchen.

Lo and behold, Steve Malone was there. Drinking tea at the table, his notebook nearby. The one he pretended wasn’t full of compositions and lyrics.

Ashley froze at the sight of him. Molly bumped into her back and stopped.