"You've got to be fucking kidding me?"

Noah clasped his hand to his forehead and groaned in frustration as he paced back and forth in the kitchen.

"For fuck's sake, that's the last thing we need. Can't you stop this?"

Wrapping my dressing gown a little tighter around my body, I leaned my elbows forward on the table to take a sip of my tea; the hot, sweet liquid warming against the nervous chills that sporadically ran through my spine.

Noah's voice was now fully raised.

"If I'd known he was going to pull something like that I'd never have fucking gone, would I? Do you think I just go looking for trouble or something?"

I winced to myself. Since the previous day's events, we'd been holed up in the flat waiting for the proverbial shit to hit the fan. At around nine o'clock that morning, it had hit with full force.

Leaked video of Noah and Mikey's punch-up was all over the Internet. Gossip sites were already running articles about his secret past; trying to dig out any links they could to tie him to the seedy world of male escorts.

So far, only one newspaper had called to say they'd found his agency photos and would be printing them in their Monday edition. Karen and Tom were doing everything they could to embargo the pictures from ever being seen but, by the sounds of it, it was too late.

With Noah still ranting and pacing, I took a final gulp of my drink and walked over to put the mug in the sink. Glancing out of the kitchen window as I did so, I could already count three photographers camped outside, waiting to get exclusive shots whenever Noah finally emerged from the safety of our home.

The thought of being watched made me feel nauseous. In just a few hours, the truth would be out. Once it was, there was no going back.

The phone call I had with my mum once I'd showered and dressed was the most awkward call of my life. Explaining that the love of your life used to be male escort and that by breakfast it would be public knowledge, isn't an easy task.

But, to give her credit, she took it as well as could be expected. I guess she had experienced her fair share of skeletons in the closet, too.

At six o'clock the next morning, I ducked out of the side door and headed down to the local shop wearing Noah's old, comfy black hoody. My hands shook as I picked up a copy of the paper, threw a handful of change on the counter then rushed home, the saliva glands in the back of my mouth battling against the urge to be sick.

The article was as damning as it could have been. Not only had they tracked down the photos of Noah used to advertise his services, but they'd interviewed an anonymous 'client'. I wanted to believe it was made up, that the 'wealthy, forty-year-old businesswoman' wasn't real, but the details of Noah's body were too accurate. The hidden tattoos above his groin, the small birthmark on his left shoulder; she was real. It was all real.

No matter how much I wished it was some awful nightmare that I would soon wake up from, it was real.

Over the next few days, more and more stories came out. Not just about Noah, but all the boys in The Ambition.

Unveiling Noah's former life had led bloodthirsty journalists to dig up any dirt they could find on the four guys they were now labeling the 'Bad Boys of British music'. Former flings came forward to claim that they enjoyed wild nights on tour with James, old school friends dredged up stories about how Mikey first dabbled in drugs as a teenager playing truant; the onslaught from the media was relentless.

Understandably, the record label was once again threatening to drop them.

Still tucked up in our hideaway in West London, Noah and I did our best to pretend it would all blow over; that things would soon go back to normal. But it was clear this was far more serious.

The fact that the band was summoned to a crisis meeting at the label headquarters under the cover of darkness on Friday night only reinforced the severity of the situation.

"Come with me, please," Noah asked, as he towel-dried his hair and threw on a plain white T-shirt with his black jeans.

My mouth gaped open as I looked up from the book I'd been reading on the bed. "I can't," I stammered, "This is band business. I think I've caused enough issues between you lot already."

"I want you there," he continued, plonking down next to me to pull on a pair of socks. "You're my life, Abi, not the band. Whatever they've decided about our future, it affects us both now."

I shook my head. "Seriously, I don't think I should come."

"Is it because Karen will be there?"

"No. Well, kind of. But also I just don't think I should be tagging along uninvited."

Noah shifted his body to sit facing me. Placing one hand on my thigh, he looked up through his eyelashes as a lock of wet hair fell across his forehead.

"Look," he started, "There's probably only a handful of times in life when you can say 'I just need you with me' to the person you love most, without any questions or doubt. In those times, there's only one answer."

He closed his eyes as he let out a sigh. "I just need you with me, Abs."

As I placed my book on the bed and wrapped both hands tightly around his, the silent promise of my gesture was the only answer he needed.

To my surprise, there was no huge drama when we arrived at the meeting. No testosterone-fuelled punch-ups, no verbal slanging matches, only a buzz of nervous energy as all four band members – plus me – sat around a glass table in a slick conference room waiting to find out The Ambition's fate.

After what seemed like hours, Karen, Tom, and a team of three people in expensive-looking tailoring burst into the room and took the chairs opposite.

Five versus five, I thought to myself as I eyed Karen up. At least it's a fair fight.

Flashing me a patronising smile, she removed a pair of tortoiseshell frames from their position on top of her sleek, brown bob, then perched them on her nose to read from an open folder laid on the desk.

After twenty minutes of Karen dictating a list of rules, she closed her folder and invited the only other woman on her side of the table to speak. A woman who had remained quiet the entire time, but whose reputation preceded her.

As the daughter of the label's founder, Nikki Farnworth regularly topped lists of the most influential women in music. Having taken over the company at just thirty-two years old, her father had taught her well in preparation for his retirement. In only three years, she had turned his small, alternative rock label into one of the most prolific in the world.

Secretly, I'd always kind of admired her.

"Over to you, Nikki," Karen said, flashing one of her smug smiles.

"Thank you, Karen," she replied, taking a sip of water. "So, as you've just heard, there are going to be some big changes around here in order to try and make it out of this mess alive. Mikey, as agreed, we'll be sending you to a private rehab facility while the rest of the band work on the album."

Mikey nodded silently, his eyes fixed downwards as his deathly pale cheeks flushed hot.

"And Noah," Nikki continued, "As for your situation..."

"I know," Noah interrupted, "I fucked it. But if you guys think an interview with Ed Colston is what I need to do to tell my side of the story, then fine. I'll do it."

"If you'd like to let me finish?" She said, raising an immaculate eyebrow at him.

Noah also turned a mild shade of pink as he muttered a quick apology. I admired her even more than before.

"As I was saying, she continued, "In your particular situation, I think all of us here at Brave Records feel the best thing to do, before anything else, is make sure all bridges to your former life are completely burned."

I'm sure I almost saw a twinkle in her eye as she caught mine. She turned to face Karen and Tom, who sat nervously twirling a pen back and forth through his fingers.

"Unfortunately", Nikki continued, "As you were a part of this whole sordid affair, Karen, it means we have no choice but to terminate your management contract."

Karen opened her mouth wide but words seemed to fail her. Tom's normally unreadable face visibly crumpled as the pen stopped mid-twirl. Whether or not he'd known the truth about Karen's dirty side hustle before they'd met, I couldn't be sure. But Nikki certainly did.

She carried on. "We've had the Brave lawyers look over your contract and your original agreement expired a while ago. In this instance, the boys are perfectly within their rights to let you both go and seek new management."

She turned back to face the boys and I sat across the table. The tiniest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

"Obviously, we'd like to bring this whole operation in-house," she continued. "Management, publishing and distribution all dealt with under the Brave label. But, it's your choice. We're not going to force you into doing anything you're not happy with."

In stunned silence, the four members of The Ambition cast sideways glances at each other, their brows raised in both shock and silent agreement. In the end, it was Alex who spoke.

"I think we'd be absolute fools to turn down that offer," he said, the faintest sign of a grin creeping onto his face. "Tom, we'll be gutted to let you go, mate. You're a good guy and you've done a lot for us over the past couple of years."

Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he lowered his normal singsong Irish lilt into a firm, serious tone.

"But, Karen," he continued. "I think I speak on behalf of all four of us, in particular my guy Noah here, when I say it would be an absolute fucking pleasure to never answer to you again."