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CHAPTER TWO
Treyton
“Well, how’s it going?” my manager, Kat, singsongs into the phone pressed to my ear.
“I could fucking murder you and wear your skin as a blanket, that’s how it’s going.” I press my back into the booth, fighting to keep my voice down.
“Oh come on, you’re out with a beautiful, mature, respectable woman. It can’t be that bad.”
“Can’t be that bad...” I run a hand through my hair, messing up the carefully placed strands. “She fucking hates my guts.”
“Now I know you’re being dramatic.” She laughs loudly, the sound causing me to clench the phone tighter.
“I’m serious, Kat, she hates me. Out ofallthe women you and Helen could have cooked up, you had to pick the only person in this entire fucking state that can’t stand to even look at me. Seriously, is she a man hater in general or does she just hatesuccessfulmen? I can’t decide.”
“You’re just mad because your usual tricks aren’t working. And you know what, that’s a good thing.”
“Good thing for who?”
“For you. Your image. You know, the thing we’re trying to salvage.”
“My image will be fine.” I grind my teeth together.
“Will it? Because from where I’m standing, no one wants to work with you. You’re either showing up drunk, showing up late to set because you’re fucking some rando in your dressing room, or getting into fights with your co-stars. If you want to sustain a career in this industry, you need to make people believe that you’re turning your life around. Otherwise, you can kiss your acting career goodbye. Doesn’t matter how good you are if there isn’t anyone willing to hire you.”
I know she’s right.
Fuck…
I drop my head into my free hand and blow out a hard breath.
I don’t set out to fuck things up, yet somehow that’s always what I end up doing. It happened with my baseball career and now it’s happening with my acting career. It’s like I self-sabotage for no real reason other than I can.
“Look, you don’t have to marry the girl. Just let the public see you with someone of substance for a little while. I promise, it’ll be worth it in the long run.”
“And if I can’t get her to agree to another date?”
“You’re Treyton Tyler, you’ll figure something out.” With that, she ends the call, the deafening sound of silence buzzing in my ear.
“Everything okay?” I look up at the sound of Clarke’s voice, watching her slender figure slide into the booth across from me.
“Yeah, you find the bathroom alright?” I plaster on a fake smile. I’ve already committed now. Nothing left to do but see this through.
“Yep.” She nods, turning her attention to the menu open on the table in front of her.
When Kat first approached me about this, I thought she had lost her damn mind. She and my PR Rep, Helen, had it all worked out. They made the plan, they picked the girl, they set the stage; they even planted the paparazzi currently sitting at the bar trying to snap photos of us without being seen.
Though, I will say, when Kat said Helen had the perfect girl in mind, Clarke isn’t exactly what I pictured. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a fucking knockout with long blonde hair, perfect ivory skin, full plump lips, bright green eyes. She’s beautiful, there’s no disputing that. And according to Helen, she’s one hell of a real estate agent, which is how she found her. Clarke sold Helen the unit she bought downtown last year.
Unfortunately, while beautiful, driven, and smart are all things I should want in a fake girlfriend, she has a ginormous stick up her ass about celebrities, or maybe just me, which clearly is not working in my favor.
I have to bite back the urge to tell her she’s damn lucky to be out with someone like me. Then again, is she really? Considering I’m using her as nothing more than a front to try to get my image back within the good graces of the public and more importantly, the people who pay me millions to do a job I absolutely fucking love.
Baseball was it for me. I didn’t want anything else. But after a career ending injury, which was entirely my fault, I found it was more the spotlight I loved than anything. Like a drug, I’ve spent years building up a tolerance until eventually, the only way to get the high was to be the only thing people talked about. Which, of course, led to some really poor choices on my part, ultimately landing me in the shit show I’m currently starring in.
“Oh my God.” My gaze is pulled to the left when I catch someone in my peripheral. “It is you. See Jane, I told you it was him.” The twenty-something elbows her friend in the side, the two giggling in unison.
“We’re, uh, so sorry to bother you, but um… Can we get a picture with you?” the other friend asks, her cheeks flaring pink.
