Shawn
I woke up and my head was buzzing. I'd had a lot to drink last night, but buzzing was a new hangover sensation. Maybe I really overdid it. How many shots of rye had I done?
"Is that your phone?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
Oh yeah. It was. It was under the pillow, for god knows what reason, and it was vibrating.
I looked to see who was calling before answering it. Andrew. My manager. It was before 9:00 AM and I felt like shit. I'd call him back later.
Rolling over, I took a look at the person next to me. She had that slightly embarrassed look that women often have after a hook-up.
"Hey," I said.
I had no idea what her name was. I knew it last night, probably. Today my brain was too fuzzy.
"Good morning," she said brightly. Too brightly. "Want me to make you breakfast?"
I started to climb out of bed, looking around for my clothes.
"No, thanks. I've got to get going."
I avoided looking over at her. I didn't want to see if my words disappointed her. I found everything but my top and got dressed.
"Do you know where my shirt is?" I asked the pretty brunette who was still laying naked in her bed.
"Try the living room," she suggested.
I walked out the bedroom door and turned right. My shirt was on the floor by the couch. As I buttoned it, the woman joined me, now dressed in a t-shirt and shorts.
"Please do me a big favor and keep this between us," I said.
I'd said this line many times before. It was amazing how every woman respected it and kept our encounters quiet.
"You told me that last night," she said, arms crossed, clearly annoyed that I was taking off.
"Thanks again," I said as I headed towards the door. "It was fun."
"Call me?" she asked as I turned the handle.
"Of course," I lied.
The odds were I didn't even enter her contact in my phone when she'd given it to me. Occasionally I'd add someone, but she had to be pretty special.
I walked out of her apartment and pulled out my phone. I used GPS to figure out where I was. Thankfully I was only a couple blocks from the bar I'd been at with my friends last night. My car was parked in a garage not far from where I stood.
After I got home, showered, and drank some coffee, I called Andrew back.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I need you to fly to New York today. Something's come up."
His tone told me that whatever was going on was not good.
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
"No. Text me when you get here. We've got a 4:30 meeting in my office."
He hung up.
Well fuck. What could be so bad that he had to be such a dick?
A couple minutes later I got a text from the travel agency confirming my flight time and my hotel reservation. I barely had enough time to pack an overnight bag before I had to drive to the airport.
I slept for the short flight, hoping the nap would take care of my hangover. It helped a little, but I still had a raging headache. I hadn't eaten all day and I was badly dehydrated. When the plane landed, I grabbed a big soft pretzel and a bottle of water before going outside to find the car that had been sent for me.
After I'd checked in at the hotel, I went back down and got in the same car, since I'd asked the driver to wait. He chauffeured me through the slow New York traffic to the Brooklyn building AG Artists was located in. I probably should have gone straight there from the airport, considering it was now 4:15. I gave the guy a big tip and walked into the office building on 8th Avenue. The secretary showed me into Andrew's office. At his small conference table sat Andrew and three people I'd never met.
"Come in and sit down, Shawn," Andrew said, his voice on edge.
I was only ten minutes late, so why the attitude?
I sat next to Andrew in the only empty seat. One guy was on my manager's other side, while a man and a woman sat across from us.
"Shawn, this is Aaron Stevens, a lawyer," he said nodding to his left. "This is Parker Everett and his lawyer, Julie Billings."
I nodded at each person. "What's going on?" My mind was racing and I could feel the anxiety building in every nerve in my body.
Ms. Billings spoke up, though I sensed the man next to her wanted to talk. He looked angry and was staring at me. Glaring, actually.
"Mr. Mendes, can you confirm that you were in Virginia on September 21st and 22nd of this year?" she asked.
"I was. I played a festival in Charlottesville on the 21st. I believe."
"And where did you spend the night on September 21st?"
I furrowed my brow. "My hotel room."
"Can you confirm the hotel name?"
I racked my brain. "I think it was the Omni."
"Were you alone?" she asked.
The man next to Ms. Billings clenched his jaw. And his fists.
"No, I wasn't," I said quietly. I could picture the pretty blonde I'd spent the night with.
Andrew let out an exasperated sigh. The lawyer next to him was writing something down.
Why were they asking about that night? Why was Andrew upset? Holy fuck. Was the girl I hooked up with that night underage? Was I about to be arrested? She'd told me she was a college student. I'd seen her use her ID to get drinks.
"I'm sorry, what is this about?" I asked nervously.
The angry man, Mr. Everett, finally spoke. "The girl you brought back to your hotel that night was my daughter."
"I swear to god, she had an ID. If she's underage, I didn't know it!" I said.
I could feel the pretzel working its way up my throat, but I really did not want to throw up right now. I gulped, trying to force it back down.
Ms. Billings said, "Mallory Everett is not underage. Her ID was valid. She's 21 years old."
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Listen you asshole," Mr. Everett barked at me, slamming his hands on the table, "my daughter might not be underage, but she's pregnant. With your child."
What? Fuck. This was not happening. My heart started pounding so loudly that I was positive everyone in the room could hear it.
Pregnant. No! How was that possible? I was usually so careful. There was no way it was mine. No fucking way.
Before I could say this, the other lawyer, Mr. Stevens, spoke. "As of right now, there's no proof that the baby Ms. Everett is carrying belongs to Mr. Mendes."
"When the baby is born, Ms. Everett will surely allow paternity testing," Ms. Billings said calmly. "I assume Mr. Mendes will comply."
So she was having the baby. I did the math in my head. It was November now. She was, what, two months along?
Andrew had been sitting silently throughout this discussion. He finally had something to say. "What exactly do we need to do to make things right here?"
Mr. Everett got up and started pacing. He was extremely angry, and I wondered if someone from my security team needed to be in here to protect me.
"My daughter told my wife the circumstances of what happened. My wife told me. Mallory has no idea I'm here today, though she knows I was going to contact the baby's father. I am not going to just sit back and let her life get ruined because of you!"
"Mallory is not a minor, Mr. Everett," Mr. Stevens said cooly. "Shouldn't she be the one making demands?"
Ms. Billings said, "Mallory was inebriated when Mr. Mendes brought her back to her hotel and had sex with her. In Virginia, a person cannot give consent when drunk. It's considered sexual assault if you go forward with intercourse under these circumstances."
The pretzel was moving back up my throat. I quickly jumped up and ran over to the trash can by Andrew's desk and emptied the contents of my stomach into it. When I was done, I grabbed a tissue and wiped my mouth. As I sat back down, Andrew handed me a glass of water. There was no sympathy in his expression, though.
"Are you saying you are pressing rape charges against Mr. Mendes?" Mr. Stevens asked.
"The police will not be involved as long as he does the right thing," Mr. Everett spat at Mr. Stevens.
"And what is that?" Andrew asked.
"He needs to marry my daughter."