25. Dante
Chapter 25
Dante
I know what Reese Sinclair’s cunt tastes like, but there she sits, adamantly turning down the opportunity to date me, and it feels like a blade being sliced along my Achilles’ heel.
I don’t do relationships. Never have. The concept feels foreign, like trying to speak a language I never bothered to learn. Now here’s Reese, and suddenly I’m thinking about possibilities I shouldn’t be.
The nicotine craving hits hard. Quitting seemed smart at the time.
She’s spelled it out enough times: her work is everything, and she won’t let anyone—especially not some guy, even if that fucking guy is me—eclipse that. I get it. This movie was meant to be about her.
Now they bring up this shit.
“My client deserves input,” Todd, my agent, asserts. “His image is at stake; he has a disciplinary review looming.”
Geraldine scoffs. “Image? The same image that’s showcased in fencing brawls and yacht photos with cocaine and women?”
“I’m not doing any of that right now,” I say, drumming my fingers against my slacks.
“For now.” Her glare cuts deep. “What about next month?”
The truth stings—I wouldn’t trust me either.
“You’re not hearing me,” Reese cuts in. “I won’t sell another film through tabloid romances. I chose this role precisely because it transcends that!”
“But Miss Sinclair,” a publicist condescends, “audiences crave your on-screen to off-screen romances. Data confirms it.”
“Don’t you want success?”
“Have you considered the investment others have made in this project?”
“You have to do whatever it takes.”
“Of course I want this movie to succeed,” Reese insists, leaning toward her agent in a failed attempt at privacy. “But there must be alternatives to tired publicity stunts. Thoughts?”
Heather angles toward her. “We’re not just in the big leagues anymore—we are the league. Rewrite the rules.”
“Everyone quiet.” Determination flashes as she surveys the room. “I need to think.”
She glances at me with a flicker of apology or a silent request for alliance. I nod, acknowledging whatever comes next. Then resolution takes over as she uncoils, commanding attention.
“I have a vested interest in this film’s success. If we do this, we do it my way. Here’s the deal. We leverage our reputations without manufacturing a relationship. We can be seen together and sure the media will speculate, but we won’t confirm anything.” She pauses, scanning the eyes of everyone in the room. “My mainstream appeal balances his bad boy image; his fencing reputation can give me action-movie credibility.”
I nod. A calculated non-relationship. Enough visibility to spark gossip without confirmation.
“I’m in. Whatever you need,” I say.
I’m so fucking proud of Reese. In a matter of minutes, she’s meticulously mapped out everything. She’s seizing the power of her life.
“But Reese,” Geraldine interjects, “we’ve spent years building your image—”
“And now I’m evolving it,” Reese cuts in. “Speculation generates more buzz than any staged romance. It’s the art of the tease.”
She steals a glance at me. Naughty girl.
“But a confirmed public relationship will benefit your reputation,” Geraldine argues. “Love is at the center of your brand. ‘Good girl falls for the bad boy’ is a narrative audiences adore.”
“Isn’t that absurd?” Reese frowns. “You’ve saved me from countless PR disasters, Geraldine, but I’m done being reduced to these shallow romantic storylines that overshadow my work. I don’t want to date Dante—but I get it. A few well-placed appearances with him will shift the conversation away from Felix. People will speculate about us, sure, but more importantly, they’ll be talking about Robyn Hood .” Reese stands and starts pacing. “Once we have their attention, I’ll take it from there—interviews, talk shows, red carpets, press junkets, social media. The focus will be back where it belongs, and the rumors about Dante and me will fade into the background.”
She’s brilliant.
Heather nods approvingly. “ Robyn Hood isn’t a romance film, so hopefully the dating rumors will burn out fast. If anything, being seen with an Olympic fencer only adds to your credibility and dedication to this film. It’ll make you look serious about embodying the role by being close friends with a master swordsman.”
Geraldine sighs. “I can see I’m outnumbered here. Just promise me you’ll let me know before you make any major moves?”
“Of course.”
“Reese’s plan makes sense.” I look up at her, permitting myself the prolonged eye contact.
“Dante,” Todd warns, “the USFA committee is watching. Any more press could jeopardize everything.”
He’s not wrong. I consider the stakes. Yes, a scandal could derail my fencing career. But the math feels simple: A single beach photo didn’t end me. The occasional late night with Reese won’t either. The media will spin it their way regardless. Hollywood’s good girl goes rogue.
Plus, it’s nice to have the media buzz around us shift the focus away from my suspension.
Through I don’t think I can tell her that. She might think I’m using her spotlight—just like Ricky did.
And after everything Susan’s been writing about us…Christ, if I hadn’t invited her on the yacht this summer, maybe she never would’ve gone after Reese. She already knew about the filming location, but I didn’t do anything to stop her. The least I can do now is make sure this movie is a success. My throat tightens, the buried guilt spreading like ink through water.
“We won’t do anything that would compromise Dante’s career,” Reese says to Todd. The statement carries a protective edge.
“I agree. We can keep it PG-13. I’m mentoring a kid in fencing now, helping her land a scholarship. New leaf and all.” I meet Todd’s gaze steadily. “Running around the Hollywood circuit with Reese a few times is hardly front-page news in Colorado Springs.”
“We’ll need ground rules and an ironclad NDAs,” Todd insists.
“Works for us.” Gerladine’s planner opens with a snap. “Jaxon’s party next weekend—your first big appearance since the Love and Loathing premiere. Every major outlet will be there, along with half the industry.”
“The perfect opportunity to announce my new executive producer credit,” Reese smiles.
“And brag about your intensive combat training,” I add.
Heather nods. “We’ll outfit you in something sleeveless to show off your freshly toned arms.”
Geraldine continues, “The Diamond Essence shampoo campaign is in a few weeks. We can arrange for some candid shots of you two practicing sword techniques in between takes, it’ll look completely natural and unplanned. The media will love the narrative: a dedicated actress honing her combat skills even during commercial shoots.”
Todd continues, “There’s the Hastings Gala in December.”
“The family fundraiser for athletic programs,” I explain when Reese shoots me a curious glance.
“What kind of people will be there?” Geraldine jumps in.
“Our sports connections run deep—Formula 1 drivers to Olympic medalists regularly attend. Plus, there’s an impressive lineup of team owners from every major sport you can think of,” I say.
“Excellent.” Geraldine nods. “Being seen with these elite athletes will show the industry you’ve evolved to take up space in these new circles.”
I’ve brought people around my family before. Entourages, groups, the kind of crowd that makes everything feel like a performance. But bringing Reese feels different.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
Still.
The image of her among the only other people who know me as well as she does is starting to linger.
“And it’ll highlight Dante’s philanthropy and willingness to help,” Todd adds pointedly.
The room dissolves into logistics—press coverage, costume leaks, and appearances.
Under the table, my foot finds Reese’s. The contact ignites a galaxy along my vertebrae. When she softens, I silently speak to her.
Good work.
Thank you. She fights with a smile, and I catalog the subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth.
I don’t know what this thing between us is, but I’ve bought myself time to figure it out.
“Are you going to be alright with this?” Reese asks, her fingers tracing the edge of the conference table. “The committee watching, the press…I know it’s a lot. If you’re uncomfortable, we can call it.”
The sky outside grows dusky. We’ve been here for hours.
“It’s fine, Reese.”
“Are you sure?”
“I promise.” I stand and sit beside her, something I’ve wanted to do for hours. “I like helping people I care about.”
She smiles, but slumps forward. “I appreciate that, but none of this really matters if Amara doesn’t sign on.”
“Trust me, Mari wants to work with you. Your reputation precedes you.”
“If you say so.” She wraps her hair around her index finger, pursing her lips like she’s figuring out how to ask another favor of me.
“There’s something else, huh?” I ask.
“This is going to be really awkward to bring up, please forgive me, but I’d appreciate your discretion regarding any other…entanglements. I know it’s not right of me to ask since we’re not—”
“Dating,” I finish, letting out a deep chuckle. I like that she gets nervous around me. The setting sun turns her hair a light shade of caramel.
“Exactly.”
“And you don’t want to be,” I say, needing to make sure.
She straightens a stack of papers that’s already perfectly aligned. “I don’t want to overshadow Robyn Hood .”
“I understand.”
“So?” She fidgets with her pearls draped along her perfect collarbones.
“There’s no one else,” I say, the truth slipping out before I can dress it up in something more casual. Truth is, however difficult it is to admit, I want to stay with Reese for as long as she lets me. She’s sort of invaded me, and I hate how easily—those cravings for other vices haven’t sparked up like they have in the past. I try not to think about what that means.
As if being with her…well, it doesn’t make me want to get lost. Escape myself. She makes me want to stay.
“Our media circuit won’t be long,” she says. “We’ll front-load our appearances, sprinkle them here and there. I’m sure it’ll only take a handful of outings to bury Felix’s headlines under our narrative. And then I can handle the rest.”
“I’m not worried, Reese. We’re good at improvising.”
“Very good,” she agrees.
“And everything else between us.” I place my hand on her dress under the table. “We can take it slow like we talked about?”
Her eyes drop to my hand on her leg. “You mean what happened in the armory?”
“Hollywood’s newest wild child needs to get comfortable talking about these things,” I tease.
“The…physical aspects?”
“Getting warmer,” I say gruffly.
“Sex?” My mind flashes, remembering the way she felt against me in the armory. How sweet her cunt tasted. How I’d do anything to hear her angelic moans again.
“Yes, I’d like that. Maybe we can keep things…” She pauses, choosing her words with the precision I’ve come to expect. “Casual. That’s more your style anyway, isn’t it? Simple, uncomplicated?”
I hate how correct her assumption is. “We can do casual,” I promise. “But we need boundaries. Working together, training, this—it’s a delicate balance.”
“Since when do you care about boundaries?”
“Since you decided to start breaking all the rules.”
“And you’ll keep me in line?” She bites her plush bottom lip, as if knowing I want to do the exact the same.
“Someone has to.” I grin, my fingers inch down the fabric of her dress. She sneaks a peak to the empty room behind us. “What are you comfortable with?”
“On set, can we go back to being ‘Mr. Hastings’ and ‘Miss Sinclair’? Exactly how we were before?”
Being professional on set while being reportedly linked will be interesting. Let the world keep guessing.
“I do love when you’re formal.”
She rolls her eyes. “And when we’re alone…”
“Just Reese and Dante?” I finish.
“Exactly.” She drops her hand to mine just as I reach the hem of her cotton dress, her thumb gently stroking along the top. “I’ll still send you recordings, of course. Especially if there are script updates. And I’ll still need someone for choreography training.”
“You could just admit you want more time with me.” I squeeze her thigh, digging my fingers into her strong quads.
“Your ego is truly something else.”
“I’m looking forward to our new arrangement.”
“We seem to be making a habit of cutting deals.” She scooches her chair closer to mine until our knees are touching.
“Hey,” I reach forward, cupping her jaw. “Can we acknowledge your first executive producer credit? That’s fucking incredible.”
She exhales, leaning her face into my touch. “I know. It feels like a dream. I should tell my parents. Maybe I can fly out tomorrow. But first, we should definitely see if Amara will be on board.”
“Let’s call her now.”
“Yes, please.”
I stare at her brown eyes a second more before dropping my hand and retrieving my phone. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it, and I’m struck by how such a small touch can feel like a freefall, how I’m starting to crave these small touches constantly.
“Show them what you’re made of, fighter.”