My brain short-circuits. “What?”
“Whatever you want to do, I’m in. If it’s making you smile like that, then I’m down.”
I stumble back in surprise.What does my smile look like?
“I haven’t suggested anything yet.”
“Ah”—he grins like he’s won something—“but you were planning to.”
Like I’ve ignored every other emotion he drags to the surface, I brush aside the flutter in my chest his comment elicits. Squished, rapid words fly out of my mouth, but he nods along as I explain how we went viral and about the boost in ticket sales for his episode premiere. I offer him my phone so he can watch the video for himself, and I shift on my feet, waiting for his reaction.
The idea I have is wild, but I want to prove to him I can do this jobwell. That I’m worth the salary he offered me and the opportunities to travel and have flexibility in my schedule. And if it requires a bit of…acting to make the release of his docuseries even larger, then I’ll give an Oscar-worthy performance.
“This is invasive,” he says first, flicking his focus up, then returning to the screen. “I’m sorry this happened.”
“Read the comments,” I urge, before my mind screeches to a halt. “Wait—why are you apologizing?”
“This is a massive invasion of your privacy. I might put my life on social media and open myself up to this, but you did not.” He holds my gaze, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked. “So yes, I am sorry this happened.”
I clock the tight pinch of his brow and how he tracks his thumb along the lines of text. Some comments were highly suggestive about him. Even @Mrs.JettParksis in the mix, speculating and complaining about his potential relationship status.
“They think we’re dating,” he says, his voice like gravel.
“Yes.”
“I can release a statement to clear that up.” The words come out clipped. “They should leave you alone.”
“What? No, don’t do that,” I screech.
A stunned expression meets my reply. Screaming at him was not a logical response here. “Youdon’twant me to tell people we’re not dating?”
“I want to do the opposite.”
Jett stares at me like I’ve grown another head, and I can’t blame him. What I’m about to suggest could be downright stupid, but it could also lead to success for something he’s passionate about.
In the end, the potential benefits outweigh the costs.
“Sofía,” he mumbles, “I need you to explain.”
“Have you ever heard of a PR relationship?” I ask. A strand of hair falls from his loose bun when he shakes his head, which is unsurprising. He doesn’t seem the type. “They’re usually relationships between celebrities to help promote something. Movie costars will participate in a PR relationship to build buzz around a new release.”
“People do that?”
“All the time,” I confirm, pausing a beat before adding, “I want to do it, too.”
Jett’s head tips back in laughter, his chest heaving with the force of it. The rumpled covers slip from the bed as he flops back, an arm slung over his face while he gasps for air. His reaction only worsens when I kick his calf, and he rips his legs up and curls into a ball.
“You’re funny,” he chokes out. “Hilarious.”
I glare at him from the front of the mattress. “I wasn’t kidding,” I mumble.
His head snaps up at my tone. “Oh.Really?”
A small insecurity weasels through my defenses, and I find myself asking, “Is it that unbelievable that you would date me?”
The internet didn’t seem to think so.
I shouldn’t care—I shouldn’t—if he finds me up to par, but I can’t help it. The laughter pressed a button I didn’t expect, drawing haunted memories from past relationships front and center. Laughed at or dismissed for voicing something, especially if it was something they didn’t agree with. His response exposed a vulnerability I’d rather hide.
