Chapter 5
ELIZABETH
There we were: on a fake date at Lakeview Harbor.
I’d never done this with a client before, but something told me Logan needed it. He was a live wire who, to my knowledge, had never once been seen on a calm, normal date. That gap in his “experience portfolio” made me nervous. So, we were on a date.
Not that Logan knew that.
Lakeview Harbor wasn’t the fanciest spot in New Orleans, but it was quiet, relaxed, and best of all, their hamburgers were legendary. Precisely the kind of place where I could trick Logan into practicing being charming without the paparazzi breathing down our necks.
After countless headshots and an exhausting number of pros-and-cons lists, Logan, Mick, and I finally landed on Sophie Hartwell as his fake girlfriend.
She was a starlet on the rise, fresh off her breakout role in a wholesome, feel-good Netflix hit called The Sweet Spot that had made her a household name overnight.
With her honey-blonde waves, all-American dimples, and wide-eyed charm, she had the perfect balance of Midwestern sweetness and budding Hollywood glamour.
I was sitting in the chair opposite Logan.
“Sophie’s team’s thrilled with this arrangement.
I mean, of course, they are. Sophie’s on the cusp of real fame but isn’t quite a superstar yet.
So, dating an international rock god and certified bad boy will catapult her even farther into the public eye.
A carefully crafted romance with you gives her an instant edge, an air of intrigue, without tarnishing her wholesome, girl-next-door image. ”
“Oh, goody for me,” he said.
“It is good for you,” I pressed. “She’s got zero scandal.
No messy exes. Actually, we couldn’t find any exes at all.
First time I’ve seen that. A spotless reputation.
That means no headlines to compete with, no past drama to distract from your redemption arc.
I did pretty well, if I do say so myself. ”
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Tell me again how this helps me?”
“First, it’s the perfect fodder for rebranding.
You’ll be known as the bad boy who turned it around for love.
And that opens up every other door that’s currently closing on you.
Your label will be relieved that love has returned you to respectability.
And your fans? Everyone loves a reformed rock star, and when it’s romance that reformed him… They’ll eat this up.”
Logan didn’t react. This guy was raised on the kind of privilege that let him coast through life without effort. The type who rolled their eyes at rules and then expected someone else to pick up the pieces when everything inevitably exploded.
Luckily, I knew how to handle people like that: Tough love. “I think Sophie Hartwell will be perfect for you.”
Logan shifted in his seat. “Perfect for me?”
“Yes.” I forced my voice to stay light. “Sweet. Charming. A national treasure. The exact opposite of your entire public persona. She’s not your type, but she’s perfect.”
That got his attention. His eyes flashed, like he was flirting with me. He leaned in, slow and deliberate: “My type?”
I ignored the way my stomach dipped. “Oh, you know. Women who make bad decisions. All your exes with trust funds and daddy issues.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
I shrugged. “Just saying, if I ran the numbers, there’d be a strong correlation between your past relationships and women who only date musicians because their therapist told them not to.”
Logan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “And yet, here you are, setting me up with America’s sweetheart.”
I sighed dramatically. “I think it’ll be good for you to date an actual functioning adult for once. Now, practice with me. Pretend I’m Sophie. Ask what looks good to me on the menu.”
He stared at me, utterly baffled. “Why would I do that?”
I kept my tone flat, as if I were clarifying instructions in a training manual. “Just do it.”
“Uh, what looks good to you?”
“I love the steak frites here. They’re crispy, buttery, and irresistible.” I waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, I continued my act. “Now tell me that you loved The Sweet Spot. That I was so convincing in it.”
“You were… convincing in it?” He cocked his head. “You were in it?”
“Of course I wasn’t in it. Sophie was.”
He blinked. “Wait—are we on a fake date to prepare me for fake dating Sophie?”
He was so frustrating in the way that he had to fight me at every turn. I narrowed my eyes. “You’re about to enter a three-month PR relationship, and based on your past dating history, I’d say you could use some pointers.”
“I don’t need pointers.”
I gave him a look. “You absolutely do.”
He smirked. “I think I can handle a date.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Can you, though?”
Logan sighed dramatically. “Fine. Teach me, oh wise one. How does one properly pretend to be smitten with a Hollywood sweetheart?”
I ignored his sarcasm.
“Ask questions. Show interest. Make her feel like the most fascinating person in the world.”
Logan snorted. “She’s an actress. She already thinks that.”
I leveled him with a look. “Logan.”
He sighed. “Fine. Ask questions. Got it.”
“Well… then ask me something about myself.”
Logan looked up and tilted his head. “So, tell me, is it true that you killed Sparky, America’s favorite dog?”
“Very funny.” I set my glass of water down. “You know that I didn’t kill Sparky. Sparky’s very much alive. It was a press release that wasn’t supposed to go out.”
Logan let out a low whistle. “That’s... rough. No pun intended.”
I shot him a look. “Thanks for that.”
“I mean, that press release was paws-itively disastrous.”
I inhaled sharply through my nose. Keep it together, Bailey. “I need you to be serious. Okay, let’s talk strategy.”
Logan squinted. “What strategy?”
“Date strategy. You should bring Sophie something before every date.”
“Okay, you realize that these are fake dates, right?”
“Even for a fake date, you can’t show up empty-handed.”
Logan frowned. “Like, what should I bring? A stuffed animal with a giant heart?”
I sighed. “Nothing over the top. Something small. Something that makes it look like you thought about her before you showed up. Or pick a flower and present it to her.”
He gave me a flat look. “I don’t do flowers.”
Of course he didn’t.
I exhaled, resisting the urge to rub my temples. Logan Richards was the most infuriating client I’d ever had.
He hated being managed and hated being told what to do. Every look, every dismissive shrug, every smirk screamed, You can’t control me. But control was what I did best. It was what made me good at my job. I needed to control the message, the timing, the narrative… and yes, the client.
And I always won.
Logan Richards might fight me every step of the way, but in the end, I would get what I needed from him—his cooperation, his compliance, his face on the cover of a magazine looking like a reformed golden boy.
Because I had no choice. If I couldn’t pull this off, if I couldn’t make him cooperative and redeemable, then I could kiss my career goodbye.
No one would want a publicist who couldn’t even handle a simple fake relationship rollout.