Page 52 of Not Your Golden Boy

Meaning whoever the man was would never completely delete the video. He’d keep it around to dangle over Nikky’s career for the rest of his life.

With a jolt like being hit in the gut with a cannonball, Harry suddenly realized who he was dealing with. “Holberg,” he said, rage boiling within him.

The American chuckled. “So you’ve heard of me,” he said.

“Nikky told me all about how you’ve been harassing him for the past several months. You know stalking and blackmail are illegal, don’t you?” Harry wasn’t sure if they actually were, but it was satisfying to say all the same.

Satisfying but futile.

Holberg was more bemused than worried. “Five hundred thousand dollars for me to keep this dirty little video under wraps,” he repeated. “And I must say, you’ve got a fabulous camera on your phone. The picture is so clear and the details so vivid. Our Nikky makes sounds worthy of a porn star when he’s got a dick up his ass. Well done.”

Harry had never known hate like he felt in that moment. Entwined with that hatred was far too much helplessness. Holberg had the video. He could release it at any second, and while Harry wasn’t sure it would destroy Nikky’s career completely, it would certainly cause problems. The film offer on the table that Nikky was so excited about could go away. The golden boy image that had been thrust on him would vanish, too, but that didn’t feel like a victory at the moment.

And the video dropping on social media would tank his own reputation forever. Not even Rudy would knock on his door to ask what projects he was working on and to welcome him back to the place he should have had all along. The train company might even ditch Love on the Line as their key marketing song, drying up his royalties and his means of supporting himself.

Honestly, Harry didn’t care about himself. He cared about Nikky. He would rather have his entire life torpedoed than have Holberg embarrass Nikky for one second.

But paying off blackmailers never solved the problem, particularly when it came to digital videos. Once something hit cyberspace, it was there forever.

“What if I say no,” Harry said, still pacing, his gut still in knots.

“Then by tonight, the world will know that Nikky Smith is an enthusiastic bottom,” Holberg said.

Harry shrugged, even though Holberg couldn’t see his false bravado. “So what? We’ll put out a statement that the video is an AI deepfake.”

“There’s no way you can prove that.” Holberg’s voice was suddenly cold and serious.

“There’s no way you can prove it’s real,” Harry countered. “Nikky’s fans will support the story that it’s an AI fake, even if you bring in experts to claim it’s real. The more attention you draw to it, the more you’ll expose yourself. You think your career as a so-called Hollywood reporter would withstand that kind of exposure? Nikky is the star, not you.”

Holberg met Harry’s speech with silence.

A second too late, Harry realized that was because his phone had run out of power and gone dead.

“Fuck!” He threw his phone hard against his sofa, then pushed both his hands through his hair. There was no way to tell how much of his counterthreat Holberg had heard. There was no way of telling how he would react or what he would do.

The whole situation was beyond fucked up.

“Is something wrong?” Nikky’s soft, vulnerable voice sounded from the edge of the hallway leading deeper into the flat.

Harry whipped to face him, and his heart nearly fell out of his chest. Nikky was like some sort of demigod from mythology in nothing but his boxer briefs, his face still slightly puffy and his eyes hazy from his nap. His golden-blond curls were tousled from their early activities, and the hickey Harry had left on his neck the day before stood out against his flushed skin. The man’s body was a work of art on display for Harry alone.

Harry was stunned to silence, not just by Nikky’s ethereal beauty, but by the conflicting need to protect his younger lover and the feeling that Nikky deserved to know what was going on.

Protectiveness won out over full disclosure.

“I think you should stay with me for the rest of your time in London, not just for a night here and there,” he said, forcing himself to smile as he crossed the room to draw Nikky into his arms.

“Yeah?” Nikky smiled, beautiful, innocent, and amorous.

“Yeah,” Harry repeated, then kissed him hard enough to dispel any potential worry Nikky might have had.

Who was he kidding? He needed to kiss Nikky hard enough to drown his own fear that everything was about to come crashing down for both of them.

“I’d love that,” Nikky said, circling his arms around Harry’s waist and grinning heatedly at him. “You might not be able to get rid of me once I’m moved in.”

Nikky’s grin instantly turned vulnerable. Harry knew him well enough to know why. Even the suggestion of a home where he was wanted probably nailed Nikky’s worst insecurities hard. That only made Harry’s heart bleed harder.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, kissed Nikky again, then took a step back. “I swear to you, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”