“Her?” Camilla murmurs, her smirk sharpening with interest.
Shit.
“I—”
Before I can dig myself in deeper, Will claps his hands together, cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Okay, can we bring the spotlight back to me, please?” he announces, feigning offense. “I don’t do well with being ignored.”
The audience laughs, Camilla’s attention flickers, and just like that, the moment passes.
My gratitude for Will at this moment?Boundless.
In this industry, having someone who’s always got your back? That’s rarer than gold.
The rest of the panel goes smoothly—fast-paced, easy, the kind of well-oiled PR machine I’ve gotten used to over the years. Then we move to a private room where a select few fans get autographs, exchange a few quick words, and snap an on-the-fly selfie.
This is the only part of the whole ordeal I actuallylike.
Meeting the fans, seeing their excitement, knowing that for a couple of hours, our films give them something to escape into. It makes all the bullshit worth it. It reminds me why I wanted to do this in the first place. And I’m grateful for every single one of them.
Money is a limited commodity, I know that firsthand. I lived that life until recently. So the fact that these people are spending their hard-earned cash on a ticket to see me? That humbles me in a way not much else does.
I’m not yet as jaded as some of my costars.
The rest of the day is a blur of press junkets, interviews, and endless meetings. And unfortunately, at some point, I have to change, because as much as I love this sweater, it’s really, really hot under these lights.
When I ask an assistant to grab something lighter from my wardrobe, I do my best to ignore Jen’s smug, satisfied smile.
Most of theinterviews focus onExplosion Protocol.You’d think that by the third film in the franchise, the excitement would have died down, but if anything, it’s only ramped up—especially since Will’s character gets killed off in this one, setting my character on a brutal revenge mission.
Every once in a while, though, someone brings up Prince Anlon. And whenever they do, I answer with Amy in mind.
“Melinda James is here today,” one of the web journalists mentions during my last interview of the day, a quick ten-minute slot. “We spoke with her earlier today, and she said that your audition for Anlon brought her to tears. Are you meeting with her?”
I turn slightly, glancing at Jennifer. She looks away, feigning interest in her phone.
I narrow my eyes but don’t push it.
I turn back to the journalist, flashing a polite smile. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”
It is now, at least.
“As for the role,” I continue, “I’m thankful for Melinda’s words, but honestly? It’s thanks to the character she created that I’m able to make her cry.”
The producer steps in, signaling the end of the interview.
“Thank you,” I say to the young woman, unclipping my mic before stepping away.
The moment I reach Jennifer, I don’t waste time. “Was I asked to meet with Melinda James?”
She hesitates, glancing down at her tablet like it might shield her from my irritation. “Well, it’s—” She clears her throat. “You’re here for a promo tour, Jake. I can’t just?—”
“Oh, soyou’redeciding what I do now?” My voice is sharp, and I know I’m being unfair. Normally, I go with the flow and let them shuffle me from one interview to the next without complaint. But today, I’m done with playingtheirgame. I’m tired of them shaping the narrative—that I’m just a spineless action hero who grins for the camera and cashes the checks.
“No, it’s not…”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’d like to at least be given the option. Tell Landon he can expect a call from me tonight. And right now?” I meet her gaze, my voice dropping into something colder. “Find me Melinda James.”
