Chapter 54
fifty-four
It sucks big time that I’ve been stuck in meetings most of the day instead of being inside Lizzy.
Willing my dick to behave, I hit the button for the elevator just as my phone pings.
When I check to see who’s calling, I groan. My agent reaching out on a Sunday morning? Never a good sign.
“What’s up, Hank?” I sigh, stepping into the elevator.
“Where the hell are you?” he barks. Ironically, this is how he sounds when he’s trying not to lose his shit.
“Paramount. About to head into my meeting with Benson. Why?”
“Fuck.” He exhales heavily. “You need to be prepared. They’re not happy.”
The elevator doors closes with a soft ding. “Not happy about what?”
“The gala. The photos. You spent more time posing with Carrie than you did with your girlfriend. It’s all over social media.”
My stomach drops. “Shit. It wasn’t like that.”
“I know, I know,” Hank sighs. “Care to explain anyway?”
I lean against the wall, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Vanity Fair requested Carrie and me specifically. What was I supposed to do?”
“Say no? Bring your girl with you for a group photo? Hell if I know. But now we’ve got a whole hell of a lot of damage control to do. Benson called me this morning. Said he’s having doubts about your commitment to cleaning up your image.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap, my voice echoing in the small empty space. “A few publicity photos and they’re questioning me?”
“This is Hollywood, kid. You know how it works. One whiff of bullshit and they’re ready to cut ties.”
The elevator doors slide open, revealing the executive floor with its sleek modern design and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Stepping out, I lower my voice. “So what am I supposed to do? Walk in there and beg for forgiveness because I took some photos with a friend?”
“Ex-girlfriend as far as they know. And no,” Hank exhales wearily. “Just be ready to sell the hell out of your relationship with Lizzy. Make them believe it’s real. Because if you don’t, you can kiss that director’s gig goodbye.”
I close my eyes and suck in a slow breath in an attempt to center myself. “Got it.”
“And Rowan?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth, the chemistry between you two looked pretty damn real in the red carpet photos. Use that.”
I can’t help but smile, thinking about last night. About Lizzy in my bed. “Don’t worry. I can be convincing.”
“You’d better be. Call me after.”
Straightening my shoulders, I hang up and take a deep breath. More than ready to plead my case, I walk up to the receptionist, who doesn’t so much as bat an eye when she sees me.
“Good morning, Mr. Cole. They’re ready for you.”
Rising from her chair, she motions for me to follow.
She leads me down a hallway lined with framed movie posters—several of them mine—to a sleek conference room where three men in expensive suits are sitting around a polished mahogany table.
Art Benson, head of production and development, rises from his seat with a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Rowan. Good of you to join us.”
I shake his hand firmly. “Thanks for meeting with me on a Sunday.”
“Well, when the studio’s newest potential director has quite the weekend, adjustments to the schedule must be made,” he says, tone clipped as he gestures to the other men. “You remember David Chan, our head of marketing, and Jeffrey Lawson from legal.”
Tension thick in the air, they nod coolly as I take a seat across from them.
“So,” Art begins, folding his hands on the table. “Let’s talk about last night.”
Keeping my expression neutral, I lean back and cross my feet at the ankles. “What about it?”
David slides his tablet across the table.
When I see the headline, I blow out a cleansing breath. Then, when I read the rest of the article, I almost blow a freaking gasket.
ROWAN COLE LOVE TRIANGLE? OR A GOOD OLD SWITCHEROO?
Rowan Cole seems awfully cozy, not only with his current girlfriend, artist Lizzy Cade on the red carpet, but his supermodel ex Carrie Southern at the Crane Gallery Gala last night. But that’s not all, folks! No, siree. It looks like Rowan’s rival, Walker Prince, wants a piece of Lizzy Cade, too!
Tabloid bullshit at its finest.
“This,” Art says, nodding at the screen, “is not what we discussed when we talked about cleaning up your image.”
I swallow my irritation. “With all due respect, those photos are being taken completely out of context. You know as well as I do how these tabloids operate.”
“That’s exactly my point,” he says, leaning forward. “We discussed a complete image overhaul. No more playboy antics, no more tabloid drama. We need you to be seen as serious, stable, and ready to transition behind the camera.”
“And I am,” I insist, meeting his gaze steadily. “Last night was a professional obligation. Carrie and I have been friends for years—you know that.”
“Friends?” David interjects, swiping to another photo on his tablet. “Because this doesn’t look like friendship to me.”
The image shows Carrie with her hand on my chest, leaning in close to whisper in my ear. From this angle, it looks like we’re about to kiss.
I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “She was telling me to relax. That’s all. I was nervous about leaving Lizzy to fend for herself.”
“And what about this?” Art slides his phone across the table. “Your girlfriend and Walker Prince look rather cozy.”
The blood drains from my face as I look at the photo of Lizzy and Walker, his arm draped over her shoulders as he smiles down at her.
“I’d like to know what’s going on with those two,” Art continues, voice deceptively calm. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like she’s Walker Prince’s girlfriend. Not yours.”
I stare at the photo, my heart hammering in my chest. Lizzy’s eyes are bright as she smiles, tilting her face up at my nemesis. She looks stunning. And from the look on his face? He thinks so too.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I explain, voice strained. “Walker and I have history. He was just trying to get under my skin.”
“By cozying up to your girlfriend?” Art raises an eyebrow.
Standing from my chair, I place my palms flat on the table, leaning in to emphasize my point.
“Listen. Lizzy and I have been friends since we were kids. We have history that goes back way before any of this,” I growl, waving a hand at the tablet in irritation.
“What we have is real. It’s always been real.
Last night was just a misunderstanding.”
The three men exchange glances.
“Look,” I continue, softening my tone. “I know what you’re thinking. But Lizzy isn’t like anyone else in this business. She’s genuine. She’s not interested in the spotlight—she’s just an artist who’s more comfortable in her studio than on a red carpet.”
Art interlocks his fingers and places them on the table as I continue.
“I’m also not going to stop being friends with Carrie.
You all know she was never my girlfriend to begin with.
That publicity stunt got way out of hand.
Carrie has been there for me through some tough times.
She asked me for a favor and made a good point about it being good publicity for both of us. That’s it.
“Now. If you’d prefer, I could just finish filming The Treehouse, and then go on my merry way. I’ve also been thinking about what I could do if this doesn’t work out.”
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Starting my own production company.”
My words unexpectedly cut through the air. I hadn’t planned on saying that out loud. It’s been nothing more than a vague thought in the back of my mind, but now that it’s out there, I can’t take it back.
His eyebrows shoot up to his receding hairline. “Is that so?”
“Yep.” I cross my arms over my chest, confident in my decision. “I’ve got the capital. I’ve got the connections. And I’ve got the passion. If you guys don’t want to give me a shot, I’ll just go make my own movies.”
David and Jeffery exchange another look, but Art’s expression remains unreadable.
“Interesting,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I had no idea you were considering such a drastic move.”
My heart races as I shrug. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. The directors gig with Paramount would be ideal, of course, but it’s not my only option.”
Art studies me for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Well, then. I suppose we should get down to business, shouldn’t we?”
For the next hour, we discuss the details of the current project, what to expect going forward, and how to spin my relationship with Lizzy to our favor.
By the time we’re wrapping up, I can tell they’re still not completely sold, but they’re willing to give me a shot.
As I walk out of the building, my phone buzzes in my pocket. When I see who’s calling, I answer immediately.
“Evo. Everything okay?”
“Technically,” he says, voice tight. “But we’ve got a situation. Some paparazzi recognized Lizzy at the Walk of Fame. Things got a little heated.”
My blood runs cold. “Is she hurt?”
“No, but she’s pretty shaken up. We’re about five minutes out. You about finished?”
“Yeah. Just wrapped up. See you in five.”
I’m practically jumping out of my skin until the SUV finally pulls to a stop in front of me.
Rushing over, I yank the door open before Evo has a chance to get out and do it himself.
Arms wrapped around her middle, Lizzy is leaning against the far door, looking pale and shaken.
“Sunshine,” I breathe, quickly sliding in beside her. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but as I look her over, I can see a slight tremor in her hands. “I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting to be ambushed like that.”
I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close. “What happened?”
“Some photographer recognized her at your star,” Evo explains as he pulls away from the curb. “Then more showed up. Started asking questions about Walker Prince and Carrie.”
My jaw clenches. “Fucking assholes.”
“It’s okay,” Lizzy says. Her voice sounds so small. Nothing like the spitfire Izzy I know. “Evo handled it.”
“Handled it how?”
I glance up to see Evo’s meaty fists tighten around the steering wheel. “Paps got to her. Came on us real quick. One of them got too aggressive. Camera hit her shoulder.” He lifts a shoulder. “I made it clear that’s not acceptable behavior.”
“Jesus Christ.” Fury bubbles up as I tighten my arm, tucking her protectively against my side. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she insists, leaning into me. “It was just crazy and unexpected. Evo acted like a human shield and rushed me to the car. Got us out of there pretty quick.”
“Thanks, man.”
He gives a curt nod. “Just doing my job, sir.”
Turning my attention back to my girl, I pull back and gently brush a strand of hair from her face, giving her another once-over.
When I see that her skin is slowly warming back to its normal dusky glow, I sigh in relief. “Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Evo. Let’s go home.”
“Yes, sir.”