3. Matt
THREE
Matt
My feet whoosh against the rubber belt, thumping with every step as the treadmill growls under the speed I’m forcing out of it.
I need to sweat out every ounce of alcohol from this weekend and get my focus back.
A three a.m. filming call to start the week is never ideal, especially after a wedding, and even though the make-up works miracles, they had a real challenge covering the bags under my eyes this morning.
I’d had everything under control. A couple glasses of wine, champagne for the toast, then plain soda disguised as mixed drinks. Until her. The only woman who hates me enough to make my blood boil to the point of no return.
Her little outburst during our dance left me standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, looking like a fool, and ready for something strong enough to numb its way through my body. Her comment about my speech threw me off so much, my brain to speech connection got fried.
Fucking idiot. I would’ve left me standing there on my own as well. Worst part is, Emma’s ‘too much’ is exactly what makes her so unique.
She didn’t say another word to me for the rest of the evening, but every time our eyes met, my shot glass refilled. She drives me crazy—and she doesn’t even know it.
“…basically, I need you on your best behavior when she’s around.
Everyone reads their gossip column, and we can’t risk giving them some extra material for that too.
I’ve heard back from What We Carry. They love your charisma, but they’re not sure whether you have the depth to play a grieving single dad. ”
I hold onto the rails and jump off the treadmill, turning to face Jen. She’s typing furiously on her phone. I take advantage of the few seconds she’s not throwing information at me and chug half of my water.
“I haven’t been listening,” I admit, wiping my face with my gym towel. “I stopped somewhere between how my hair needs to look shinier and today’s performance on set.”
She huffs, shoves her phone back into her purse, and pulls out her absurdly large agenda. From the look of it, you’d think each year has about 630 days, but no, it’s just my life crammed into color-coded paper. And judging by her expression, she’s about to add something else to the chaos.
“Fine. I’ll repeat it,” she says, “only because you’re my favorite client.”
Her only client.
Jennifer Brawn has been a manager in the industry for many years, long before I showed up, and for reasons I still don’t understand, she took a chance on me when nobody else would. And at least now I can pay her enough to only take me on.
“I’ve set up a feature interview with Golden Magazine,” she begins, and my mind instantly flashes to Emma. I still remember the first time we met as clearly as every other thing she’s ever said to me since then.
“Hi, I’m Matt. And you are?” I’d held out my hand.
“Emma Miller,” she said, not making the slightest move to shake it. Julia elbowed her, and she reluctantly took my hand in hers.
I remember frowning. It was the first time a woman reacted that way to seeing me in the flesh.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
She rolled her eyes and stuffed her hand back into the pocket of her overalls. “We’ve met before.”
We had? “I’m sorry—”
“I don’t expect you to remember me.” Her tone was sharp. “You were too busy charming some dynamic girl duo to pay attention. You assumed I was staff and asked me for a drink.”
“Did I at least say please?” I’d joked, trying to lighten the mood.
She scoffed. “You would never. It’d ruin this bad-boy-slash-playboy thing you’ve got going.
“It’ll be front cover, and right now the exposure will do us good,” Jen continues.
“We’ve agreed to a three-week shadow assignment, hence you needing to be on your A-game.
She’ll be around almost every day. We’re talking filming, gym time, outings…
If she delivers a heartfelt piece, the part’s in the bag. ”
“No problem.” I’ve done this plenty of times. Never for three weeks, but I’ve stayed in character longer.
“They’re sending over that girl you know.”
I pause. “I don’t know any reporters from Golden.”
“Yes, you do. It’s that girl from the wedding.”
“Wait. You mean Emma Miller?” My confusion must show, because Jen nods. “Emma’s an editor at Golden. Why would she be writing an article?”
The real question is: Why would she willingly take a three-week assignment with the man she claims to despise the most?
“I didn’t ask.” Jen shrugs. “All they said was she’s very capable. The girl’s probably tired of being behind the scenes and used already knowing you as her leverage to get a chance to write.”
Emma has never once said she was unhappy editing. She’s never mentioned wanting to write. And don’t get me wrong, I know she’ll do great—after all, her ‘secret’ blog entries are phenomenal—but it’s strange. Sudden. Out of nowhere.
“Is that a problem?” she wonders, mistaking my silence for hesitation. “I can have them send someone else. But to be honest, I thought the less field experience she has, the lower the chance she’ll dig up something… inconvenient.”
If anyone on this planet could dig up a never-heard-before story about me, it’s Emma.
“Not at all,” I say, letting confidence coat my voice. More than okay with it, actually. Three weeks in close quarters with her? It feels like the perfect plan has fallen into my lap. “When does she start?”
“Tomorrow,” Jen states, packing up her bag. “I suggest you take the rest of the day to relax, lie outside for a while, keep the tan going. We want you looking your best. This could be the most important project of your career. I’m talking Oscar-worthy. You need the good press.”
“You don’t have to fuss. When have I ever given you any problems?”
Despite what everyone thinks, I’m actually pretty sensible when it comes to my responsibilities. Even more now it involves Emma. Jen waves me off, because she knows I’m right, and starts heading upstairs.
“Call me if you need anything!”
Heels clink across my floor until the front door shuts above me. And as soon as she’s gone, my mask drops.
Three weeks with Emma? The more I think about it, the more adrenaline starts pumping through my body. I can’t tell if it’s excitement or pure nerves. I won’t admit it to anyone, maybe not even to myself until I see her, but I’ve been waiting for a chance to show her who I really am.
At first, I thought the wedding would work. Emotions are always high at weddings, and I figured we could reset things. But being stuck there with me only seemed to make her even more annoyed. And of course, my inability to give her a compliment was the match that lit the fire.
I drop my head against the treadmill. Seriously.
“Unexpected”? Not a single woman on this planet would take that nicely.
There were so many other things I could’ve said to her.
She looked stunning. I’d never seen her like that.
I’m used to her typical overalls and worn-out Vans, that effortless, carefree style—and I was not ready for that dress.
The way it clung to every curve, with her perfectly golden waves framing her face…
Even the fire in her eyes, probably wishing I’d disappear from her life, made me want her more.
For the past two days, I’ve been trying to forget the way she smelled, like sweet flowers with a hint of ocean she somehow always carries.
It’s like the less interested she is, the stronger my need becomes to impress her. I hate that she thinks the worst of me, but I hate even more how much I care. I know a relationship would destroy my bad-boy image, and yet I can’t help imagining her being mine.
And maybe this is my chance. If I play my cards right and stop acting like a hormonal teenager who can’t put two sentences together, maybe I can finally earn her respect. This article can be her shining moment. I can help her get this win.
Ideally, landing the role in What We Carry would mean ‘fake Matt’ could be buried forever.
But the truth is, if it comes down to it, I’d rather Emma gets what she wants.
And if that’s writing? So be it. She might not realize how good she already is, but I can show her.
For the first time, it’s in my hands to make her see I’m capable of giving her something real.
I open the glass sliding doors and head out to the pool. I need to cool down before I overthink my plan. I strip down to my boxers and dive into the water. It’s refreshing, exactly what I need to get my head straight. Honesty, access, cooperation… and maybe a little fun.