We sink back into our leather seats.
“Even if Amara agrees, we face a press problem. Headlines everywhere have declared the movie dead. Worse, Reese—” Geraldine exhales sharply. “The articles are blaming you because Felix is running his mouth to the press.”
A publicist slides a manila folder toward me, grave-faced as she reveals printouts from entertainment sites.
“Reese Ruins Robyn: Director Felix Langford Says Star’s Demands Sank Production,” screams one headline. Another reads, “New Hollywood Diva Strikes: How Reese Sinclair TorpedoedRobyn Hood.” And perhaps worst of all: “Sources Confirm: Reese Sinclair ‘Impossible to Work With.’”
My stomach plummets as I skim through the quotes. The weight of these accusations pressing down on me like a physical force.
“Do whatever needs to be done, Ger. Put me on the circuit. I can handle it. Interviews, whatever,” I say. “We’ve got to be able to turn this around—”
“Reese, darling.” Geraldine laments, adjusting the skinny scarf draped around her neck. “You know as well as anyone that the world is waiting to tear down a woman at the top. I’m afraid you speaking out will only make it worse.”
My teeth grind together.
She’s right. Men get labeled visionaries and misunderstood geniuses; women become “difficult,” “emotional,” “too much.” If Felix’s story sticks, I won’t just lose this film—I’ll become industry poison.
“But I’ve been up since two working with our data team, and I have a solution,” Geraldine adds, and she tosses theStone Timesonto the table. On the cover: Dante and me laughing at the beach, his hand on my back. She slides a thick binder out of her bag and onto the wooden table. “This is our escape route.”
The exec flips through it. All eyes shift between Dante and me.
“What is this?” My confidence crumbles.
Geraldine folds her arms. “You two are our way out of this mess.” This cannot be going where I think it’s going.“The public devours your chemistry,” Geraldine says plainly.
“The numbers don’t lie,” an executive counters.I pull the binder toward me, staring at the charts that reduce the time I’ve spent with Dante to metrics. “Look at these numbers,” she flips a few pages. “Viggle searches forRobyn Hoodskyrocket after you’re spotted together. Your lip gloss sales alone have doubled since that beach photo leaked.”
“But there is no chemistry,” I snap, the lie scorching my tongue. “None.”
Dante flinches. I can’t face him.
“It doesn’t have to be real. You know that better than anyone,” Geraldine concurs. “Felix has the media in his pocket. You and Dante as Hollywood’s newest power couple? That’s our counterstrike. This will drive ticket sales, and you know it.”
“No.” My voice fractures. “Absolutely not.”
But with the weight of my money on the line, my career teetering, and this film nearly crumbling before my eyes, can principles alone survive this fall?
Chapter 25
Dante
I knowwhat Reese Sinclair’s cunt tastes like, but there she sits, adamantly turning down the opportunity to date me, and it feels like a blade being sliced along my Achilles’ heel.
I don’t do relationships. Never have. The concept feels foreign, like trying to speak a language I never bothered to learn. Now here’s Reese, and suddenly I’m thinking about possibilities I shouldn’t be.
The nicotine craving hits hard. Quitting seemed smart at the time.
She’s spelled it out enough times: her work is everything, and she won’t let anyone—especially not some guy, even if that fucking guy is me—eclipse that. I get it. This movie was meant to be about her.
Now they bring up this shit.
“My client deserves input,” Todd, my agent, asserts. “His image is at stake; he has a disciplinary review looming.”
Geraldine scoffs. “Image? The same image that’s showcased in fencing brawls and yacht photos with cocaine and women?”
“I’m not doing any of that right now,” I say, drumming my fingers against my slacks.
“For now.” Her glare cuts deep. “What about next month?”
