Chapter 23
Scott found out about the Daily Mail article during the premiere.
Honestly, he should have expected it. The moment he stepped onto the red carpet, cameras had started flashing harder than usual, reporters suddenly far more interested in him than the actual film. At first he’d assumed it was because Palmer Corp had financed part of the production.
Now he realized they’d probably already smelled blood in the water.
He was halfway through his second champagne flute when his old friend, Tony, appeared at his side with the grin of a man about to deliver gossip he considered hilarious.
“There you are,” Tony said, slinging an arm around Scott’s shoulders. “You slut.”
Scott blinked. “Excuse me?”
Tony shoved his phone into Scott’s face, laughing. “You’re apparently fucking Cameron Richter now.”
For one disorienting second, Scott genuinely stopped breathing, his body going completely still.
Tony, oblivious, kept laughing as Scott stared at the giant Daily Mail headline on the screen.
DOUBLE WORLD CHAMPION CAMERON RICHTER IN SECRET ROMANCE SCANDAL WITH BILLIONAIRE HEIR?
The blood drained from Scott’s face so quickly it made him dizzy, fear knotting his stomach up. Not for himself. For Cam. His first coherent thought was: Oh god. His career.
Meanwhile Tony was scrolling through the article with delighted fascination. “This is incredible,” he said. “They’re acting like you two are having some tragic forbidden affair in a Victorian novel.”
Scott forced a weak laugh, his fingers tightening around the stem of his champagne glass.
“It’s such bullshit,” Tony scoffed, grinning. “If the Daily Mail bothered to do some basic research, they’d know Richter isn’t even your type.”
Scott’s throat felt tight. “Oh yeah?”
“Please.” Tony waved a dismissive hand. “Far too masculine. You like skinny little disaster twinks.”
Under different circumstances, Scott might have laughed, but cold dread curled tighter in his stomach with every passing second. Because if the Daily Mail had this much information, then someone else might have the photographs. And if the photographs leaked—
Cam could lose everything.
Scott barely heard the rest of Tony’s teasing.
Something about Cam “looking annoyingly good in race suits” and whether Scott got to keep the trophies if they got married.
Scott smiled and laughed automatically when appropriate, years of social training carrying him through the interaction on pure instinct, but his thoughts were already spiraling somewhere else entirely.
Was Cam okay? Had his team seen the article yet? Was Daniel screaming at him right now? Was Cam angry at Scott for this somehow?
That last thought lodged itself under Scott’s ribs painfully. It was bad enough that things between them had felt wrong for weeks now, strained, distant, and brittle, and painfully unlike what they used to be. He couldn’t bear the thought of Cam hating him for ruining his life.
Tony finally noticed Scott’s silence. “Hey,” he said, his laughter fading slightly. “You okay?”
Scott forced another smile. “Yeah, of course. Just tired.”
It was a terrible lie, and Tony looked unconvinced, but he let it go.
Scott made his excuses ten minutes later and left the premiere far earlier than planned.
The moment he got into the backseat of the car, he pulled out his phone.
His notifications were a disaster.
Messages from friends. Messages from acquaintances. Messages from people he hadn’t spoken to in years. Most of them were teasing.
holy shit, you and richter??
scotty/world champion wasn’t on my bingo card
bro your taste improved dramatically
The good news was that nobody seemed to actually believe it. Most people were treating it like ridiculous tabloid nonsense.
Scott exhaled shakily for the first time all evening.
By the time he got home, he’d already read the article three times.
Curled into the corner of his sofa with his tie loosened, Scott read every line carefully, forcing himself to think rationally. It could have been much worse. The Daily Mail didn’t have the photos. Without the photos, it was just gossip. Cam’s career wouldn’t be destroyed by this.
Not unless the photographs surfaced later.
Scott pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
The solution came to him slowly. Cam’s PR team had already planted the idea publicly: Scott supposedly had a boyfriend who looked like Cam.
Scott could give the world one.
His stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought. God, he hated this, hated that Cam’s career depended on lies and careful staging and plausible deniability, hated that the easiest way to protect Cam’s career was to publicly imply he was sleeping with someone else.
But if it kept Cam safe…
Scott swallowed and grabbed his phone again. After a moment’s hesitation, he scrolled through his contacts until he found an old friend from university.
Nico Laurent. He was handsome, dark-haired, and his build was similar to Cam’s. From a distance, especially in blurry paparazzi photos, the resemblance was close enough.
Scott stared at the contact for several long seconds before pressing call.
The line rang twice.
“Scott?” Nico sounded startled. “Holy shit, it’s been forever.”
Scott leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes briefly.
“Hey, man,” he said quietly. “I need a favor. How do you feel about being my plus one at the Las Vegas Grand Prix?”