Double Standard (831 Stories Romance)

Chapter I

I

Ana

My manager paces my living room reading excerpts from the Hollywood Star like a list of charges being brought against me. I sit on the plush, white rug as though I’m a child being told off.

“Ana and Colt seen canoodling . . . laughing together . . . trying to be discreet . . .”

There’s a moment that comes to mind, the only time I’ve ever been alone with Colt Haggerty: him walking me to my car after our first read-through of the script, his hand at my lower back, me canting toward him to hear as he relayed a story, waiting for him to finish as I leaned against my car and he reached around me to grab the handle.

Nothing salacious. It seemed chivalrous. Though I can admit, through the lens of someone looking to sell a story, it’s how on-set affairs probably start. Someone must’ve seen us.

“Just . . . how bad is it, Emily?” I ask through gritted teeth.

She winces and continues: “With Ana Barlow’s career finally on the upswing, it seems unwise to make an enemy of Haggerty’s wife, Francesca Stella—who happens to be the director on the pair’s upcoming film.

Ana’s diva behavior on the set of her last flick, Made from Scratch—showing up late, questioning the producer, ruffling the feathers of her co-stars—overshadowed her work.

She’d be smart to avoid a repeat performance, though no one’s ever claimed Ana Barlow’s intellect is what’s driving her success. ”

Emily pauses to scroll, and I get a sinking feeling. “Let me guess . . .”

“They inserted a photo.” She rolls her eyes—she’s my best friend, after all, not just my manager. “You in that bikini.”

I know which one. I got rid of the swimsuit the same day that particular privacy violation surfaced.

She exhales and then reads: “It’s certainly ironic that ahead of playing the titular ‘virgin goddess’ in Athena’s War, Barlow can’t seem to keep her hands to herself.”

I sink further into the soft wool beneath me, bringing my forehead to rest on my knees while I knead the muscles at the tops of my shoulders.

They’re tight, wound up with the weight of being a woman who’s constantly reduced to a nice pair of tits.

Or maybe the tension is due to my crappy ligaments that struggle to hold up said tits.

Emily plops down on the couch and brings her hands under her chin, her elbows on her knees. She’s thinking.

When I press up to my feet to join her, my right ankle collapses and sends me careening back toward the floor before I can get my bearings. “What the hell?” Emily startles. “Are you OK?”

“It’s nothing. Just thought this current shit show could use a rolled ankle for comic relief.

” The laugh I attempt to force out is strained.

It’s not funny. There’s nothing funny about being unable to trust my connective tissues to hold my joints together, or about the dizziness that greets me when I stand up too fast.

Emily bites the corner of her lip. She’s used to my evasiveness, particularly about my body, and she’s learned not to push me into sharing more.

She makes a move to speak, but I jump in.

“God, Em, what’d they say again? Can’t keep my hands to myself?

Like I’d mess around with Colt, especially right before we start filming. I’m not an idiot.”

Emily slides down to the rug next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You know how this goes.” Her voice is calm after years of talking me through the ups and downs of my growing public presence. “Tomorrow they’ll be on to the next thing.”

“But will Francesca? What if she does want me off the project? What if this is what it comes down to? Another ‘Ana Barlow Sleeps Her Way to the Top’ rumor?”

“Hey, remember when someone overheard Rebecca Stone calling you a bitch and it was everywhere, and you were sure your career was ruined? It wasn’t then, and it won’t be now.

I’ll ask Marie to start seeding people in the comment section to cast doubt.

That’ll buy us time until we can meet with Francesca. ”

I start to sift through all the information I have, like a toddler dumping a bin of toys to see everything at once—noise and mess be damned. All the people involved in this movie. What I know about the filming schedule and location. An idea starts to take shape.

“OK, this is probably a ridiculous thought, but what if . . .” I pause for a moment, trying to sort through the pieces to assemble the plan in earnest. There’s a growing dampness under my arms as I consider it, my nerves firing.

I know publicity relationships happen all the time.

It’s part of being in this business. I’d just never considered one for myself before this moment.

“What if . . . ?” Emily replies, drawing out the last word with pinched eyebrows and lips slightly parted.

“What if instead of worrying about the truth, maybe we just feed them another lie? What if we involve Colt’s stunt double?

” I blurt it out, and Emily raises an eyebrow.

My fingers drum on the tops of my thighs.

My thoughts dart back and forth between relief and abject fear like a ping-pong ball, unable to find rest. “I could pretend to date him.”

In the past, I’ve avoided making any big decisions in response to press vitriol.

But with the stakes of this role, I have to wonder if it’s different.

And though it probably should feel unsettling to cast myself in an acting role in my own life, it feels natural enough.

All the lines are blurry, and at this point, it feels harder to try to keep them in focus than to just give in.

Emily looks at me like I have two heads. Definitely confused, certainly concerned. “Your grand plan is to fake date Levi Stephens?”

“I know. I know. But hear me out. Anytime I’ve been with Colt, Levi’s been there too.

He’s green, completely unproblematic, with no actress exes that I’m aware of.

And he and Colt obviously look alike. Maybe I was cozying up to this Hollywood newbie instead.

Then it’s like a redemption story. I could go from homewrecker to wholesome. ”

Emily nods and twists a thread from the bottom of her shirt around her finger.

She blows out a breath. “OK, so let’s talk this through.

All the way through,” she starts. “It’s .

. . I guess it’s honestly not a bad idea.

You’d get out from under the Colt rumor, and it could soften your image, which is good.

They couldn’t call you heartless anymore, and if you can convince Francesca, maybe she’ll keep you on the project. But you’d also need to convince Levi.”

“If Francesca’s on board, I can get Levi.”

“But if you’re found out, they’ll say you’re whoring yourself out for the sake of your career. That . . . I’m not sure you come back from that.”

“They’re already saying that, Em. I think it’s worth the risk.”