Sloane giggled. “He’s more like Cool Ranch. Super chill.”
“Don’t egg Abs on.”
Their laughter blended. Though now that Abigail had put the triangle-shaped chip in her head, it was hard not to join them. “Fine.”
“Fine?” Abigail shrieked, scaring both their masseuses.
“Yeah, fine. I’ll talk to him before dinner.”
“He’ll say yes. I’ll get everything arranged—hang on a sec. Scarlett Wu’s texting me.” Sloane paused, then squealed. “Rhys is in if you’re in.”
Jules snapped her head toward Abigail, panic rising into her throat. “He’s in?” There was no way. “Really?”
“He’s in. Which means you’re in? Right, Jules? Are we a go?”
Rhys was in. Holy shit. Her lungs squeezed. Her stomach threw itself off the edge of a cliff.
This was only freaking her out because—she didn’t finish the thought. She couldn’t finish it with Sloane waiting on the line and Abigail watching her like she already knew the answer.
Her heart hammered with the taut edge of excitement even as her self-preservation presented an important question: would a fake relationship for the paparazzi ruin their working relationship?
Of course not.
The fake relationship wasn’t real. They’d do whatever Sloane asked them to do, then they’d forget about it. Just shake it off and never speak of it again.
But if her last arranged relationship was any indication, the collateral damage could be unexpected and extensive. Ugh. Could she risk losing Rhys?
“Say yes,” Abigail pleaded.
“Say yes,” Sloane demanded.
Jules bit her lip and accidentally imagined him wrapping his large hands around her waist. She could almost feel his strong hold. Then her heart fluttered at the possibility of his mouth brushing against her neck for a photo op. After the publicity stunt ended, there would be tangible proof of how he’d held her. Her pulse trilled. Jules swallowed hard.
“Are you still there?” Sloane asked.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Will you let me get back to my massage if I say yes?”
Sloane and Abigail cried, “Yes!”
The way her stomach jumped high and fluttered low was hugely problematic. Heat that couldn’t be blamed on too much sun burned up her neck. Rhys had agreed to a fake relationship for the cameras. Why couldn’t she? “All right. Let’s do it.”
Chapter Eleven
Seven Years Ago
“Gun!”
From somewhere along the rope line, shouts came again. People screamed. Law enforcement and security dived into the crowd.
Rhys covered Jules, lifting her off her feet and rocketing away as her security detail wrapped around them. They did not stop until they were out of sight, where food services and award show staff stared, eyes wide and unaware of the chaos unfolding on the red carpet.
Breathless and staggering in high heels that might break her ankles, Jules didn’t let go. “Was someone shot? What happened?”
His comms were patched into the event security feed. “There was a gun, but no one was hurt. They have the situation under control.”
Her chest heaved with adrenaline, with anger. “What the hell is wrong with people?”
“That’s my line.”
