“You already know what I’m going to ask, and you know you want to. It’s just pretend, Rhys. Just a game. You’ve had dozens of cover stories over the years—”
“Scarlett—”
“Viv’s going to call, but she’s the backup plan. You don’t want her to call you.”
Vivian Maddox, his boss, didn’t shy away from impossible conversations. She also wasn’t shy about making demands that made Rhys want to climb out of his skin. Playing the role in a cover story for Jules’s safety was one. Doing it as a massive “Fuck you” to Mason? That… was something else.
Not that Rhys wouldn’t do whatever it took to keep her safe. But what he was certain Scarlett and Vivian wanted to ask was less about safety and more about the circus that was Jules’s life. Then again, Titan didn’t trade in publicity stunts. Viv wouldn’t ask him for anything unless there was an operational reason. Sloane’s devious last words before he’d left the hotel came to mind. That woman could make anything operationally necessary, and Rhys wasn’t sure whose side Vivian would take.
He gritted his teeth. “What is it?”
“You already know.”
Somehow, Sloane had convinced Vivian that a game of pretend was operationally necessary. He couldn’t see it—even as part of him jumped to attention and told him to shut up. He didn’t need to see it. He could feel it. Nothing he was feeling was operationally appropriate. That was for damn sure. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Viv’s going to explain how this falls under the parameters of keeping Jules safe?”
“Safe is a broad, broad,broadword. All-encompassing. You would simply keep her safe from a different threat.”
“That being?”
“Obviously, Mason and his grand publicity tour started this morning as a man abandoned at the altar—”
“A cheating asshole dumped at the altar.”
“I agree. You agree. Vivian agrees. Hell, our whole office agrees. I took a poll.”
Rhys dropped his head into his hand. Of course she had. He could only imagine Gage’s face when Scarlett popped into his face with celebrity gossip.
“But Jules is up against a multimillion-dollar machine that will protect Mason’s image at all costs.”
“He should have thought about that before knocking up a bridesmaid.”
“Agree, Rhys. Hard agree. Now get your head out of your ass and see how you can be part of a different multimillion-dollar machine protecting Jules’s image.”
He didn’t answer. Scarlett was unaware of the arranged-marriage aspect. Did Sloane know? Vivian? Did that make a difference? Jules had still been screwed by Mason, whether there had been love in their nuptials or not.
“Think about it,” Scarlett pressed. “The actress and the bodyguard? It would drown out every stinking heart-eyed postabout Mason Marlow and his stupid golden-boy smile. The guy doesn’t deserve all the gushy, happy social media hits he’s getting. I’m going to puke on my keyboard if I see one more congratulations-on-the-baby comment.”
Why would Jules and Mason have had an arranged marriage? In what universe did that happen? “No.”
“Oh please. It would be so much fun.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No. Besides, Jules already told Sloane no. It was floated as a possibility yesterday in the hotel, and Jules shut it down.”
“Jules only said no because she knows how much you hate all things celebrity.”
He groaned.
“Do you have a woman in your life who would be upset?” Scar asked.
“That’s not the point. If this had to do with keeping her safe, then I’d be all for it. But it’s not.”
