Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
You don’t need everyone to fawn over you—you’re not a damn teddy bear.
—From Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations
Remy
As it happened, Sebastian didn’t need to call his publicist. Or his agent, Slash.
Odd nickname. Within seconds of entering her house via the garage, Sebastian’s phone lit up like the Fourth of July.
He looked at his screen and back to Remy.
She motioned for him to take the call and he tapped the display, putting it on speaker.
“Do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?” A peeved male voice filled her living room.
She bent to remove Chicane from his house, pulling him to her chest and rubbing her nose against his fur as she collapsed onto her couch. Her legs shook, whether from paparazzi or that kiss, she couldn’t discern.
“I assume you’re referring to my lunch date.” Sebastian settled in diagonal to her on one of the overstuffed chairs, watching her as he spoke.
“Ding ding ding. Jesus, Bash. You pose for a photo with some woman I’ve never seen before. And then all of a sudden, I’ve got alerts pinging like a row of slot machines in a casino.”
“How marvelously descriptive, Slash.” His words were teasing but the line between his brows deepened as he frowned. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. ‘You need anything? Water?’ he mouthed.
She shook her head. ‘I’m ok. Promise,’ she mouthed back, smiling at him and feeling an odd sense of comfort when he smiled back, the corners of his eyes creasing. Small wrinkles. Yep, even they were practically pornographic on Sebastian.
“Yes, Arabella and I ran into Jerome on our way to lunch, so I agreed to two pictures and no questions as long as he left us alone during our meal.”
“Smart thinking,” a female voice chimed in. “Jerome works quickly. The photos are all over every entertainment site and speculation is flying about,” she paused, “this nameless woman.”
“Her name is Arabella Remington. And let them speculate. We can provide a statement later, but not yet.”
He reached over and absently stroked a hand along Chicane’s back. Her lop purred and chattered in pleasure at his touch. Sort of like Remy just a few minutes ago in her driveway.
Her cheeks burned at the memory, while desire that had been smothered by the paparazzi reignited in a burst of achy flame. Remy clenched her thighs. If not for that ardor-cooling intrusion, how far would they have taken things? How far would she have allowed it to go?
Remy was stunned and disturbed that her honest response was…all the way.
“A statement about what, Bash?” The barked question thankfully yanked her attention back to the conversation happening around her.
“I’ll get to that in a bit. Tell me what they’re saying.”
“I’ll send you a sample,” the woman responded and Bash’s phone chimed a few times. He tapped the screen, his face frustratingly neutral.
‘Show me,’ Remy pantomimed, and Sebastian moved to sit next to her, handing her his phone.
Fuck my life. In vivid color was a photo of her choking—mouth open, her face white, and eyes practically bulging out of her head.
Sebastian was behind her, a look of fierce concentration on his handsome face as his arms wrapped around her body.
It was a hideous picture of her, but Sebastian looked like a freaking bespectacled action hero.
The headline read, ‘Life imitates art: Bad Boy Bash saves mystery girlfriend.’
She caught his eyes as she swiped to the next photo. He had his arm protectively around her, guiding her to her car. Below it was the caption, ‘Who is the mystery woman?’
And the final one was the pièce de résistance. She gasped aloud and covered her mouth, Chicane announcing his discontent with her sudden movement.
The picture was clearly taken from Lila’s yard and it told no lies.
Jerome had caught her and Sebastian during their passionate embrace.
Remy’s face heated at the memory. Only the back of her head was visible, but Sebastian’s strong hands were cradling her head, strands of her hair woven through his fingers.
Another headline. ‘Bash breaks the blonde mold with older woman.’
She dropped the phone into Sebastian’s lap, horror suffusing her body. Of course Remy knew he was a famous celebrity, but she failed to anticipate the harsh kick of the media.
“Who was that? Is it the chick?”
“Her name is Arabella, dickcrud, and she’s not a chick. She’s a badass surgeon. So watch your damn mouth.” Tension radiated off Sebastian’s body and he gripped her free hand.
“You’re fucking a doctor?”
“I’m not—” Sebastian began and sighed, dropping back against the couch as he released her hand to run his hand through the loose waves of his tousled hair.
She’d initially assumed he preened for ages with hair product to achieve that style, but all it took was one—eventful—lunch with him and its after-effects to realize it was just his natural look. “I’m not fucking her. I’m dating her.”
“You sure looked mighty comfortable with your tongue down her throat.”
“Shut it, Slash. You’re pissing me off.”
Remy could see Sebastian’s frustration starting to boil over into anger.
She braced herself out of hardwired habit, then relaxed.
She didn’t really know Sebastian from Adam, yet despite the clear physical signs of growing temper—taut body, clenched fist, increased breathing rate—Remy had a gut-deep instinct that she was safe with him.
Sebastian caught her eye and winked, a soft smile playing on his lips, somehow telegraphing to her that everything would be alright. She found herself returning the smile—and for such a rare expression, it felt perfectly natural aimed at the man next to her.
“I’m with Slash in his office,” The woman cut in. “I’d just gotten out of hot yoga down the street when he called, and I came flying over. We need to address this, Bash. You’re about to sign for that four-part comic book-based franchise, and we need to carefully control your exposure.”
Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Working on a Sunday, Slash?”
“Days of the week don’t matter when you’re repping Hollywood’s biggest star. I’m going over the contract from the studio so you can sign it when you get here tomorrow.”
Sebastian leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his legs as he spoke into the phone he’d placed on her reclaimed wood coffee table. “I’m not signing that contract, Slash.” His voice was eerily calm, belying the anger coming off him in waves.
“The fuck?” Slash countered.
Remy was not having a favorable first impression. In fact, if he were one of her residents, she’d have already eviscerated him with a tongue lashing for his assholery.
“I’ve verbally committed to the role in Paradise. I talked with Walter Pennyrose yesterday.”
“You what?” Slash’s roar burst from the speaker. “You talked with that arty-farty old dude about his pissant film without speaking with me first?”
Remy instinctively flinched at the burst of anger, pressing herself into the corner of the couch, wanting to get as far away from the source as physically possible.
Her logical brain knew Ass-Slash wasn’t a physical threat to her, but her PTSD didn’t give a fuck.
Even Chicane squeaked, burrowing into her.
Sebastian clocked her intense reaction and cocked his head, clearly surprised by it.
“Arabella,” he whispered, “are you alright?”
Remy managed a nod, and Sebastian studied her skeptically for a moment. She put on a blank face and gave two thumbs up. Ok. Maybe that was overkill.
Frowning, he grabbed the phone and took it off speaker, bringing it to his ear as he cast an apologetic look to her and rubbed a circle on Chicane’s head.
“Can you please calm the fuck down? I’ve told you eight ways from Sunday that I want this role with Walter, and I haven’t deviated from that decision.
” He ran a hand through his hair again, which now stuck up on one side.
It would have been adorable in a different situation.
Remy wasn’t sure what unknown force compelled the action, but she watched as one of her hands floated toward Sebastian, coming to rest between his shoulder blades.
He shot her a look, one side of his full lips tipping in a half smile. Her breath caught at the warmth in his eyes.
Remy heard the woman’s voice now, but couldn’t discern any words. Just a calm tone.
“I hear you, Melody. I do. But I never gave either of you leave to plant any stories about me taking that part. I’m tired of playing the same role over and over again. Been there, done that, have the T-shirt—”
“And the millions in the bank.” She heard Slash’s loud snark through the phone.
“Enough, Slash. Just…enough.” Sebastian’s jaw was clenched, the side visible to her popping. Poor man was going to get TMJ if he didn’t stop.
“But the payday on this franchise is exponentially higher.” Again, she heard every word. Bash would need hearing aids to compensate for hearing loss if Slash didn’t lower his voice.
“And the professional reward of playing Bram McLaughlin in Paradise is priceless,” he rejoined, his voice ratcheting.
“Jesus, Bash. This is about Honor’s Oscar, isn’t it? You’re thinking like an envious big brother and not the leading action actor of his generation.”
“Fuck you, Slash. This is my dream role. I want to stretch as an actor. I’m fucking bored out of my mind with the parts I’m taking.
” He inhaled a steadying breath before he continued, his voice filled with anger.
“And another thing. Walter Pennyrose told me he had trouble reaching me because you wouldn’t get back in touch with him. True?”
There was a beat of silence and Ass-Slash spoke. “Yes, it’s true. I’m trying to save you from making a bad decision.”
“Not your job. You can advise me, but decisions are mine and mine alone. You had no right to gatekeep Walter like that.” He breathed in and out a few times, and Remy reflexively rubbed soothing circles on his back, a gesture identical to what he’d done for her in the restaurant.