She hums under her breath, considering it. “I just don’t want you to fall into the same traps.”
I’m always trapped, forever boxed away in La-La Land, another victim of Hollywood and its iron fist. But I’ve accepted it now. It’s who I am. Who my mother always wanted me to be.
She won.
“Listen, I have a thing I need to get to. I’ll see you at the gala tomorrow.”
My mother tries to keep me on the line, tries to worm her way into my business and change my mind. “Lexington, I aggressively caution you against this.”
“Great. Hanging up now.”
“I love you,” she says.
“I know.”
Click.
I toss my phone onto the black marble countertop and press forward on mypalms. Rudy pauses the game and spins around on the gaming chair, giving me a pointed look. “Don’t start,” I warn.
“I didn’t start shit.”
“Did Adrian text you yet?” I glance at the oversize wall clock, a minimalist design with sleek walnut wood and a polished brass frame. Some uppity gift from a producer I’m forced to showcase in the event he ever stops by. “She should be landing soon.”
Rudy stands from the chair and stretches his arms over his head. “Someone’s anxious.”
“I just want to stay on top of things.”
“She touches down in twenty minutes. He’ll text me when she’s in the limo.”
“Good.” Straightening from the counter, I shake my arms out at my sides and crack my neck. “Run the plan by me again.”
“Because you’re not anxious.”
“Fuck off. Tell me the plan.”
When I reach for one of the endless packs of cigarettes littered around the condo, Rudy whips forward and snatches it from my hand.
“Shit’s terrible for you.”
“You’re terrible for me.”
“I’m the guy keeping your head above water. You’d drown without me.” The words are sharp, but his eyes are soft and filled with truth. “And the plan is rock solid. All you need to do is act—your specialty. Luckily for you, Stevie’s a smokeshow, so it shouldn’t take much effort to hold her hand, give her a few award-winning smiles, and whisper sweet nothings into her ear.”
My teeth grind together, enamel chafing. I think back to over a week ago, her playing the piano in some goth-like outfit, all curves and flowy fabric and dark-berry lips. Rudy isn’t wrong. The quiet, pretty farm girl has morphed into a bona fide knockout.
But this is just another role, another performance. I’ve worked with plenty of stunners and have stayed happily immune to their coy smiles and advances. Stevie is no different. In fact, it’ll be ten times easier, given the fact that she despises me.
I hop up onto the kitchen island and pop open the energy drink. “And the interview with Starline?”
“Stay vague. We want to keep people guessing and questioning the nature of your relationship so we can maintain the buzz.”
“So, what, just say we conveniently reconnected after the series debuted? They’re going to go after her, claiming she’s trying to capitalize on my success.”
“Let them. Negativity has a higher trending rate.” Rudy leans back against the fridge, his slate-gray button-down blending with the stainless steel. “Then you can be her shoulder to cry on when she inevitably discovers her hashtag trending on Threads and starts to spiral.”
My eyes slant. “Are you seriously going to try to play matchmaker?”
“Beg your pardon? As your highly respected agent, who is eight years your senior, I would never stoop to such childish gimmicks. I’m offended.” He stretches a phony-ass, white-toothed grin, a contrast to his dark skin. “But yes. I’m absolutely going to do that.”
