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I want so badly to advocate for her again—to ask her if she’s sure she’s okay—but it’s not my right to question her decisions. She’s a grown woman with her own mind, and I have to trust it. Even if we were in an actual relationship, the only time I’d want to speak for her is if she couldn’t do it for herself.
Of course, just because I know these things doesn’t make them easy. The practice is a whole lot harder than the realization because, fucking hell, do I want to go Hulk Smash on these assholes right now.
Instinctually, I am the alpha male. I want to protect her. I want to pre-sort any and all trouble she may be forced to deal with and send through only the rainbows and sunshine.
But I know in the end, we’ll both benefit so much more if I don’t stand in front of her or behind her—but beside her.
The lackey paces behind the crowd with his hand to his Bluetooth earbud like it somehow helps him hear better. I wouldn’t know since I’ve never used one, but I feel like if you have to hold it in your ear as you use it, it defeats the purpose of using it at all—putting your phone to your ear would take the same amount of energy.
Rocky rubs at her stomach and closes her eyes as the hair and makeup people continue to work on her.
I finally find my voice. “Sorry to state the obvious, but if you want to project the image of a father figure, why don’t you use the actual father figure?”
The room quiets to an immediate hush as people look pointedly among one another. Heidi breaks the silence pretty quickly, though, with a discordant laugh.
My eyebrows pinch together as I cross my arms over my chest and wait for an explanation.
When I don’t take up laughing with her, Heidi quiets and pulls up one corner of her mouth in a smirk. “Gallant offer, but a prostitute isn’t really the image we’re going for.”
“Heidi.” Rocky chokes on her own saliva as my spine straightens without prompting.
“I’m not a prostitute.”
Heidi rolls her eyes. “Right, right. A high-end escort.”
“No,” I say immediately. “Not an escort either. Not a hooker or a stripper or a date for hire. Just a CFO in a widely known company.”
“Why in the world would you think he’s a prostitute?” Rocky interjects. “You think I had to hire someone to have sex with me?”
“Raquel—” Heidi starts, her voice an annoyingly demoralizing placation.
I interrupt before she can go any further.
“So, what about me? I’m the father of this baby. I’m willing to be the fake fiancé.”
“You mean, you’re willing to be the opportunistic coward who found his way to stardom by tricking the world’s most favorite virgin into sleeping with him?”
I can feel the blood surge in my veins with protest and my throat immediately turning thick. “I’m not some fucking vulture, plundering the weak to have some chance at stardom,” I correct brusquely. “I couldn’t give two shits about celebrity. I just want to be there for Rocky and our baby.”
Heidi smiles like nothing I’ve said holds any merit. “Maybe that’s not your intention, dear, but that is what they’ll say about you. And the aggression of your reaction illustrates the fact that you’re not prepared to handle it. Not even close. In fact, you’re not prepared to handle even a fraction of a percent of the allegations and questions they’ll throw your way.”
She snorts a laugh and takes up a pace in front of the couch that’s reminiscent of a lioness circling her prey.
“Drugs, cheating scandals, sexually transmitted diseases, they’ll try it all. You’ll be a walking, talking pariah, and you can’t even imagine the havoc that’ll wreak on Raquel. The stress of someone she cares about—for God knows why—going through all of that at her expense?” She shakes her head. “It’ll torment her. And I don’t think I have to remind you what stress can do to an unborn baby.”
This woman. I’m pretty damn certain she just might be the scum of the earth. A fucking con artist of words.
I grind my jaw as Rocky worries her lip beside me and shrugs.
“Maybe she’s right. I don’t want you to go through this garbage because of me, Harrison.”
Heidi smirks to celebrate her victory, and it’s all I can do to cover my rage with a deep, calming gulp of air.
When we got together that night, I thought I was finding comfort and fun in an old friend.
Turns out, I was corrupting Hollywood’s most famous good girl.
I never could have fathomed the consequences—or that I wouldn’t have any say at all in how to deal with them.
Being in charge of my own destiny is out.
“Ben Huddleson is in,” the stupid PR schoolboy announces to the room, and I have to bite my tongue to keep my true thoughts to myself.
