by Eden Summers
“I’ll try to make it as painless as possible.”
Ryan grinned at his future conquest, fucking grinned. It was such a sweet, gentlemanly gesture that made nausea and discomfort tag-team in Leah’s chest. He didn’t even know her, couldn’t trust her, and yet, here he was, diving in head first. If he wasn’t careful, this would be another divorce waiting to happen.
“We’ll be in Atlanta tomorrow,” he continued. “After the show we can hit a nightclub and let the paparazzi take it from there.”
Felicity turned a lighter shade of pale as she nodded. “OK.”
Was the woman morally conflicted over the thought of a fake relationship? She certainly wasn’t this timid on stage last night when she was screaming her enthusiasm to the audience and gyrating against the microphone stand.
“Leah?”
She snapped her attention to Ryan. “Yeah?”
“I asked about how we will get the paparazzi involved.”
“We’ll leak it somehow. Don’t worry, they’ll swarm as soon as they hear word you’ve moved on from Julie.”
“You really think they’ll swarm?” Felicity’s voice was panicked, her ruby-stained lips tight with disbelief. “What happens if I can’t make this look plausible?”
“Then you try harder.” Scott stole the words from Leah’s mouth.
This woman still had celebrity training wheels, her cluelessness evident for everyone to see.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Blake answered. “The paps will want this story as much as we do because it sells. They’ll wait for the money shot and they’ll consider any unrealistic behavior as puppy-love nerves.”
“And between now and tomorrow night, we can get to know each other.” Ryan gave her another one of those consoling smiles. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”
“Can I suggest taking a few photos on our terms first?” Leah grated through a clenched jaw. She didn’t want to pussy-foot around this woman’s apprehension. It was bad enough her men were already fawning over her, jumping through unnecessary hoops. Felicity was supposed to be a rocker, an upcoming star. If she couldn’t handle a small dose of media manipulation, she didn’t have the skills to be in this industry.
“What do you mean?” Felicity met her gaze.
“Mitch’s wife is the official Reckless photographer. We can get her to take some staged shots and leak them under an alias. That way you’re assured you’ll look good—” not that this woman could ever appear anything less than fuckable, “—and you’ll be prepared for the first wave of craziness.”
“That sounds good.”
Curse her and her appreciative smile.
“Are you good with that?” Felicity focused on Ryan in hope.
He nodded. “I’m happy with whatever puts you at ease.”
Gagging noises filled the room, or maybe it was only in Leah’s head. This situation was becoming more unbearable by the second. She could only imagine what it would become once the two fake lovers were nauseatingly familiar with one another.
“Great. I’ll call Alana and—”
“No.” Ryan spoke over her. “I’ll do it. You’ll have enough on your plate trying to organize the PR team and track the success of this stunt.”
He was dismissing her? She’d never been relegated to the back seat when it came to publicity. This was her domain. Her job.
“We’re good.” He looked at Felicity. “Right?”
“Yeah.” The woman shrugged. “I’d actually prefer fewer witnesses. I’m not the best actress.”
“You won’t need to act, sugar.” Blake ruffled Ryan’s hair, receiving a scowl in return. “You’ll happily succumb to this guy’s charms within minutes.”
Felicity smirked, the first unscripted reaction of the day. “We’ll see.”
The rest of the meeting was dedicated to how Grander would deem this a success. A social media explosion was expected. There needed to be an influx of followers and friends and tweets. Paparazzi and news outlets had to recognize Felicity as an up and coming celebrity. And the clincher, Slicker was required to hit a chart on at least one major online retailer for this nightmare to be over.
There were also stipulations on the type of attention they were aiming for. Even though any publicity for Felicity would’ve been welcomed, Scott made it known they were only aiming for favorable hype. Meaning—if someone had to take the fall for a stunt gone awry, it would be Ryan. His reputation would be the one tarnished in the event of a social media backlash. His hard earned gentlemanly status would be ruined. And his future happiness would be at stake.
“Like I’ve previously stated,” Scott drawled, “if this doesn’t work, we’ve already got staff and venues on standby for the additional shows.”
“Yeah,” Blake grated. “You’ve mentioned that once or twice already.”
“We understand the terms.” Leah didn’t require a caustic tone. She made sure her stare was enough. “I’ll just need them in writing.”
“No problem.” Scott pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “The terms plus the standby dates.”
She didn’t move to claim the offering. “I want it in an email.” What she really wanted was an evidence trail.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust my mother.” She’d learned to cover her ass early in her career. Nobody had loyalty when money was at stake. And morals were in short supply when the industry thrived on greed.
“I’ll send the email. But leaking this information won’t be in your best interest.”
She ignored the threat and smiled. “I’m well aware of what will happen if this gets out.”
Fans didn’t like to be manipulated, even though PR teams bent them over and did exactly that on a daily basis. The majority of trending scandals instigated by artists were more prevalent than those that were unexpected.
Tina Costintia caught buying a pregnancy test two days before her album release—staged. Jensen Peters snapped half naked on a secluded beach the day his latest award nomination was announced—staged. Baby photos of Hillary and Jackson Miller’s baby leaked as their celebrity status slowly dwindled into obscurity—staged.
If an artist wanted to put their career in the spotlight, it was far easier to create a scandal than it was to earn hype on the merits of something legitimate. But on the flip side, if you were caught, it was a sure-fire way to kiss a bright future goodbye.
“I guess we’re done.” Scott stood and made his way to Leah’s side. “Here’s your list. And I’ll email you a copy later.”
“Thanks.” She stood, unable to tolerate him peering down at her, and took the paper from his hand. “No doubt I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
She glared at his back as he strode to the suite door.
“I better go, too.” Blake pushed to his feet and came to her side. “I need to call Gabi and pack my bag.” He squeezed her close and planted a kiss on her temple.
“Thanks for the reminder.” And the excuse to kick the remaining two out of her room. She turned to Ryan and Felicity, maintaining her professionalism with an amicable curve of her lips. “Do you lovebirds need anything else from me?”
“No, I think we’re good.” Ryan’s stare bore down on her, drilling holes into her soul. “We’ll talk somewhere else and leave you in peace.”
Goodie. She couldn’t wait to start planning someone else’s love life when she didn’t have one of her own. For the first time, it seemed like she was unqualified for her position. “Have fun.” She strolled for the bathroom, baited breath and all, as she waited for them to leave.
“Hold up.”
She stopped at his command and wished his voice couldn’t control her more than her own mind.
“Flick, can I meet you in the lobby?” he asked. “I want to speak to Leah for a minute.”
The unintentional seductress pushed to her feet. “Sure.”
Leah remained immobile as Felicit
y’s footsteps trekked to the door, the latch clicking shut seconds later. Her heartrate increased. The slightest hint of claustrophobia settling in with the thought of being alone in a room with him. But like always, she had to maintain the professional persona. She had to hike up her chin, straighten her shoulders, and face Ryan like he was any other band member. “What’s wrong?”
He moved closer, the few steps done in a gradual assault. “You’re not yourself. I want to make sure this situation isn’t stressing you out.”
“Me? I’m fine.” She placated him with a laugh. A fake and delirious laugh. She had this shit under control. Everything was peachy in her world. “You’re the one who offered to sell yourself like a hooker. I should be asking you the same thing.”
“It’s a small price to pay, I guess.”
“Maybe, if it all goes well. But if it doesn’t…” The possibilities were endless. He’d never tasted the bitter filth birthed from Internet trolls. He wasn’t used to drama. “I know the guys appreciate you taking the bullet on this one.”
“And what about you?” He took another step, creating havoc on her nervous system. He was close. Unprofessionally so.
“What about me?” Her voice grew in pitch.
“Do you appreciate it?”
Jesus. How did she answer that? Lying wasn’t an option. She couldn’t say she loved how he’d put his reputation on the line, because he’d know it wasn’t true. She would’ve much preferred anyone else to take the fall. He was too vulnerable. “Why does my opinion matter?”
Another step. Another dose of fear to add to the growing pile. “It’s always mattered. You know that.”
Don’t. The demand shoved to the forefront of her mind, begging to be set free. “I should start packing.” She slid backward, putting necessary space between them.
His eyes were killing her. They didn’t focus on her in friendship. They looked at her as if she instigated the start of world peace.
“Leah…”
He took another step, breaching personal space and snapping something painful inside her. “Stop.”
His face fell, his agony heavier than a beach-load of sand. “What’s wrong?”
She tried to recover, tried to pull her shit together and fake a brilliant smile. “I’m busy. That’s all. You should go.”
“No.” He stood firm, his agony turning to anger. “What have I done?”
Everything. Nothing. And neither answer made sense. “Please, I’ve got a thousand people to call before the end of business today.”
“Right… So Blake can hug and kiss you but I can’t get within two feet? I thought we were trying to get back to the way we were.”
And there it was. The confrontation she should’ve prepared for. “We’ve been trying for months. Obviously, we’re going nowhere.”
“No.” He shook his head, his stare narrowing, shrinking her. “You’re going nowhere. I’m more than happy to revert to normal and forget that kiss ever happened.”
But it had happened, and now her lips would be forever haunted with his affection. “It’s not that easy for me.”
“Why?” He straightened, preparing for battle.
She had to shut this down, extinguish any chemistry or attraction, or whatever the hell made this situation unbearable. This had to end. Now. “Because you carelessly risked my job with that kiss.”
He recovered from the verbal slap quicker than anticipated. “And now you think I’m going to smack one on you whenever I get within arm’s length?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” His voice softened. “I need to make this right somehow. We both know I messed up. But it’s time you let me fix it.” He inched closer. “I need you. This divorce and the stress with Grander is killing me without my best friend to talk to.”
Three big cheers for the fucking friend zone.
He smiled, a curve of lips so sad and small, yet so monumental. “And having to rely on Mason for advice has brought me to a remarkably new low.”
“Ouch.” She chuckled despite her best intentions. “That is pretty low.”
“See?” He spread his arms wide in temptation. “I’m a mess without you.”
No, no, no, no. She wasn’t going to risk her job again. She wasn’t going to fall victim to temptation. To desire. To longing. She’d successfully suppressed that shit long ago.
“Can’t we just hug it out?” he asked, as if the question resembled, ‘Would you like ketchup on your fries?’ When in reality it hit her ears to the tune of, ‘Would you like a lobotomy with a side of disembowelment?’
“Hard pass.” She repeated Sean’s latest catch phrase to combat the burst of adrenaline scorching her veins.
“Why?” He chuckled. “I give the best hugs.”
He did. He really did.
“No, you don’t.” She screwed up her face to back up the lie. They were fast approaching ground zero and there was no way she could return to the destruction of her body against his. Not now. Not ever. “I need to pack.” She side-stepped. “Is that all—”
He grabbed her around the waist, his devastating grip tugging her into his chest in one fell swoop. Two seconds. That was all it took for her to go from struggling to manage her composure, to complete and utter devastation.
An apocalypse had nothing on this moment. And all she could do was stand there, her hands on his shoulders to keep herself vertical, while her heart went through a shredder at a snail’s pace. She mentally clung to her professionalism, not letting the platonic squeeze slip into fantasy territory.
“See. It’s not so bad,” he murmured into her hair.
Not bad? Really? She held her breath to fight a groan. “Ryan, I need to get started on my workload.”
“Is my erection making you uncomfortable?”
What. The. Fuck? She pushed him, her eyes wide, her jaw practically scraping the floor while every nerve in her body sizzled as if she’d been burned.
“I’m joking.” He snickered. “Too soon?”
“Yes, too soon.” She shoved at his chest. “Way too soon.”
He continued to laugh, the delicious mirth contagious. “The look on your face…”
“This look?” She pointed to her flaming cheeks, trying to contain a smile. “This is the look of a woman who never forgets.”
“Believe me, I know.” His eyes turned somber. “But it was worth it to see you smile.”
“I’m not smiling.” She kept her lips thin, the edges lifting without her permission. “And just remember that next time you ask for a hug and I refuse.”
Christ. She’d never felt more delirious. With one brief embrace he’d short-circuited her brain, rewired her pulsing nerves, and slaughtered her professionalism. She was in meltdown, and unfortunately her body was loving the destruction.
“Noted.” He inclined his head and backtracked toward the door. “Next time I won’t ask.”
Chapter Three
Ryan disconnected the call to Alana and scanned the lobby. Mitch’s wife was going to meet him in the restaurant in fifteen minutes, just enough time to find Felicity and get inside that mind of hers.
“Looking for me?” The Slicker singer came up behind him, matching his lazy stride across the reception area.
“I sure was.” He shot her a friendly smile, faking comradery because he had a feeling she needed all the support she could get. “We might get some privacy if we do this in the dining area.”
“Sure—”
Her response was cut off by a high-pitched squeal that had him swinging around to face the culprit.
“Ryan Bennett?” A blonde in her late teens rushed toward them, her curly hair bobbing with each step. “Can I get a picture? Please? Oh, god, I can’t believe it’s you.” She was bouncing on her toes, her eyes wide, her cell clutched in her hand.
“No problem.” He gave the approaching security guard a dismissive look and swung his arm wide to let the woman sink against his side.
“I can take
the photo if you like.” Felicity held out her hand for the phone.
“No.” This was a perfect opportunity, one that would ease them into the charade. “Why don’t you get in here with us?” He gave her a pointed look and reached for her with his free arm. “Have you heard of Flick from Slicker?” he asked the fan.
“No.” Her mouth gaped. “Are you famous, too?”
Felicity chuckled. “Not nearly as famous as this guy.”
Her palm pressed against his chest, the warmth a comforting feeling after months spent in emotional isolation. He smiled at the camera, the click encapsulating the first moment in this crazy new nightmare as Felicity’s softness leaned into him.
“Thank you.” The woman beamed him a look of awe. “My mom won’t believe this.” She squealed again. “Neither will my friends.”
“Make sure you tag us on Twitter and we’ll share it around, then they’ll have to believe it.”
“Oh, I will. I’ll do it now.”
He kept Felicity at his side with a firm hand as the other woman became engrossed in her cell.
“Nice to meet you,” he murmured in farewell and started for the restaurant.
“Is it always like that?” Felicity was rigid, not an ounce of relaxation in her lithe body.
“Sometimes.” He didn’t want to point out the heavy presence of hotel security keeping them buffered from the crazies. “It’d be different if Mason was here. Blake, too. Panties seem to disintegrate when they’re around. No man, woman, or child is spared.”
She scoffed. “And you’re not a panty dropper?”
“Nah. I’ve been married for the duration of our success. I’m practically the decrepit uncle in the band hierarchy.”
“I don’t believe that for one second.”
Maybe she should, because from his point of view, this thing between them would run smoother if she knew his lack of seduction skills. She might be monopolizing the nervous-as-hell market at the moment, but he was the one likely to do something inappropriate, all in the name of cluelessness.
It didn’t help that Mitch, Blake, Mason, and Sean were his only knowledge base. He was pretty sure the tactics his friends used to score their women had nothing to do with gentlemanly wooing and everything to do with sexual prowess—a skill he wasn’t sure was still in his arsenal.