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Eleven
Serena Fern and Ashton Weaver sat at a round table by the swimming pool, Pen across from them in a matching cushioned wicker chair. She’d met them at Ashton’s mansion, per his request, and was as grateful for the peppermint candy he offered as much as the warmth of the summer sun.
These two were currently interviewing for a public relations specialist to handle an incident that happened during a particularly wild party where Serena, who was engaged to Michael Guff, her manager, was photographed sliding lips with her fellow actor, Ashton.
And who could blame her? Serena and Ashton were in their early twenties and Michael was pushing forty.
In their matching aviator sunglasses, Serena and Ashton looked very much like a couple. Especially since they held hands on the tabletop next to three sweating glasses of lemonade.
“We want to go public,” Ashton declared. “She doesn’t love Michael.”
Serena’s smile was sweet—hopeful. She liked that Ashton claimed her; Pen could tell that much.
“You are public,” Pen informed them. “You’re public in a big way.” TMZ had plastered those photos all over the internet. There was nothing demure about Serena in her string bikini in this very pool and Ashton’s tongue visible as she clung to his neck. The engagement was off, but Serena said Michael hadn’t dropped her as a client yet. Because he was smart. He knew Serena was at the top of her game, and wasn’t about to let his cash cow go. So to speak.
“I don’t want to be the bad guy here. I look like I cheated.” Serena’s full pout appeared. She was gorgeous, if not a petite little thing.
“You did cheat,” Pen reminded her. Her clients came to her for the truth and she wasn’t holding back. “The good news is, most of the public will see this as predatory. Michael knows what he’s doing. He wooed you with his professionalism and expertise. We’ll perpetuate the story that he was marrying you for a cut of your money. A few timely interviews and tweets, and then you and Ashton can go public. For now, you can be seen together, but no kissing. No hand-holding. Go out and have coffee—better yet, with your scripts like you’re rehearsing. In a few weeks you can snog in public all you like.”
Serena grinned. Ashton didn’t.
“What about Michael?”
Pen smiled. And here came the part where the young actors hired her.
“I’d recommend Serena firing him.”
Ashton grinned. Serena gasped.
“Can I...do that?” she asked.
“Not only can you do that, you should. I know a couple of wonderful agents who could recommend someone reputable for your career.”
“And then we could stop sneaking around and pretending it was an accident.” Serena grasped Ashton’s hands with both of hers and then, the two most adorable people ever embraced and kissed in a way that made Pen uncomfortable.
Job acquired, Pen left Ashton’s mansion and those two to their inevitable lovemaking. Serena’s words wound around her brain as Pen climbed into her car. Sneaking around.
While Pen and Zach weren’t exactly sneaking, it irked her that she didn’t have a blueprint for their situation. This was what she did for a living—she should be able to draw up a concise plan.
Which would be...what?
She thought back to Chicago, to Reese and Merina Crane’s marriage of convenience, and how it turned into love despite starting as a farce.
Is that what Pen was hoping would happen with her and Zach? Because that was...silly.
What they had was an engagement that had started out as a distraction for Zach’s PR issue. What they currently had was an entanglement that couldn’t be resolved by a few tweets and sound bites.
What they had was a budding family and Pen needed to decide how, exactly, to move forward while preserving the Ferguson family’s good name.
She drove to her apartment, deep in thought about what that plan would look like. How she and Zach would maintain a friendship throughout raising their child. When the best time would be to announce the dissolving of their engagement.
Probably the wisest move was to announce the baby on the heels of them not being engaged—that way everyone would be too excited about the baby to focus on the breakup.
Sigh.
Maybe she should hire a PR person to handle her case.
From where she sat, everything looked muddy.
