Crash

Style

The next morning, Penelope sat in her bed in Los Angeles, staring at the white envelope Harry had given her like it was a rattlesnake, waiting for it to strike. They'd had a late night, deciding to ditch the after party and sneak out under the cover of darkness, drenched in water but happy all the same. They'd driven up to the hills, just sitting there and watching the stars, talking about the future and a little about the past. Penelope had explained exactly what had happened with Harry, including all the details, even the part about him saying he still cared about her. Charles had just nodded, saying that he understood. That had meant a lot to her, too. 

Now, the adrenaline of the night before had began to drain away. The papers plagued her like a bad smell she couldn't get rid of, and it was starting to bother her. Charles had disappeared for his morning run, leaving her sitting there, staring at them, an absent look on her face.  

"Are you going to sit there all day?" he'd asked her before he left, ducking to kiss her before shrugging on his jacket. They had a flight to catch that morning, but he'd already packed for both of them, following her instructions as she told him what to choose. It was one of those small things that warmed her heart, the way they functioned as a team when they needed to. Most of the time, she didn't even need to say anything. He'd already know what she was thinking. 

"Hm," she'd said, though she wasn't really listening in the first place. "You think I should sell them? Or return them?"

"Do whatever you want," Charles had told her, kissing her again before stopping at the doorway. "You don't owe him anything, Penelope. Remember that."

Those words were on repeat in her head still, replaying over and over like a chant. Charles was right. She could do whatever she wanted with this, and she didn't owe anyone an explanation. This, technically, was now her album. She could ruin it or cherish it or anything in between. 

"Fuck it," she said finally, reaching for the envelope and tearing it open. She didn't want this hanging over her. She could shred the masters, take the money and finally move on. Leave this chapter of her life well and truly behind her with no regrets. 

She flicked through the pages one last time, just to be sure. It was all legal bullshit, pages and pages of jargon about terms and conditions that made little sense to her but were probably important to anyone that cared. Satisfied, she went to tear the page, but at the last second, something stopped her. Right at the bottom of the very last page was a small symbol, so discrete she almost missed it. 

A prancing horse. 

At first, Penelope couldn't believe her eyes. She must be seeing things. What would the Ferrari logo be doing on a document like this? They had no ties to Harry or his label, she knew that for sure. Maybe she was going crazy, putting too much thought into something that didn't matter. Still, it was better that she knew. 

Penelope grabbed her phone from the bedside table, chewing on her lip as she found the number. It rang for a moment until Britney picked up. "Hello, Penelope. Nice to hear from you. How are you?"

"Hey, Brit," Penelope said, the papers she was holding suddenly heavy in her hands. "I'm fine, yeah. It feels like it's been forever. How are things with you?"

"Oh, busy as ever. You know how it is, trying to manage your schedule and fit things in as always. Oh, I should ask, how was last night? I saw the pictures, you two looked lovely. Congratulations, of course. I told you that they'd win."

Penelope did her best to skip the question. "Thank you. It was...fun, yeah. Listen, I was wondering if you could look into something for me."

"Sure. What's the issue?"