27. Matt
TWENTY-SEVEN
Matt
Last day of filming should be exciting. Not just in honor of another project wrapping up, but for the small break that usually comes after.
I’d already been making plans in my head, researching all these places I could take Emma.
Some relaxing, most adventure packed to satisfy her never-ending itch.
One headline and that’s ruined.
I haven’t spoken to Jennifer—yet. I’m sure she’s waiting for me to finish up so whatever crisis she sends me into doesn’t affect the social media material she’s got her minions gathering today. Either way, it’s a bomb ready to explode in my face.
My head’s been a mess, disconnected enough it feels like I’m operating half a second behind myself. Focus keeps slipping, drifting back to that email, the note, her messages… back to how peaceful she looked before I left.
Maybe I should’ve stayed. Taken things slow. But I didn’t trust myself not to let my insecurities trample over everything, her included.
Emma’s been calling and texting. I stare at my phone for longer than I should.
Her name’s right there. It’d be so easy to give in.
There’s nothing I crave more than to hear her voice, but I need to get through today first. I don’t understand what’s happening.
The evidence is there, clear in the way that headline has been burning into me since first thing this morning.
It’s hard to believe it. Might be na?ve, but I don’t want to believe it. Doesn’t sound like her.
At some point in the day, I’m intercepted on my way to our last team interview before we’re off to celebrate. Everything happens so fast, I’m not aware that someone’s dropped a Walkie-Talkie into my hand until Frank’s voice comes through.
“Mr. Hunt, do you have a couple of minutes to spare? Miss Emma is here but doesn’t have authorization on file to enter today.”
Damn. I want to see her, I just need… a little more time. My thoughts need organizing, my emotions need control. I can’t risk saying something I’ll regret, and I still have the rest of the day to get through.
“Hey Frank,” I say, pressing down on the button. “I really can’t right now.”
They don’t give me time to over-explain. To a degree I’m thankful for it. I can’t allow myself to fall apart. That would mean Emma’s capable of trying to ruin my career—and I refuse to believe that.
By the time I get home, I’m drained. It’s been hours of fake, practiced-to-perfection PR smiles, scripted exit interviews, and too many hugs I didn’t really care for. I sit in the garage, staring at nothing. Eventually, the motion-activated lights turn off.
Then, I force myself to move. My feet stop in the hallway, as if there’s something stopping me from going further—away from her. I push through to the bedroom, undress, and drop onto the mattress. For a moment I lie there, wondering how one person can make a house feel like something’s missing.
I sigh and reach for my pants that were discarded by the foot of the bed, my phone still tucked into the pocket.
My fingers hover over her contact, my chest tightening with every breath.
I want to reach out. Truth is, I’m scared I don’t know which version of Emma I’m talking to.
The one I love, or the most ruthless gossip columnist in the city.
No matter what the answer is, I can’t bear the thought of her hurting. Of her thinking I’m like all the other guys she’s dated who never call her back. Her voice would be the end of me right now, but a text I can do.
I need a minute. I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I will talk to you, I just can’t do it over the phone.
I fall asleep hoping she understands, and my heart feels a little stronger when I wake up to her reply.
Mills
Let me know when you’re ready. You waited for two years; now it’s my turn. Don’t give up on me.
She gives me exactly what I asked for without pushing. Space, patience, no pressure. And when it starts to feel like this might not be cracked beyond repair, the devil on my shoulder wakes up with a grin.
He keeps whispering that she’s been using me for the past three weeks. Only interested in the mask, not the man underneath. Like every other woman in my life.
I feel like screaming, physically shaking the thought out of my head. Fuck. She could’ve told me if this was the agenda they were pushing on her. The fact that she didn’t has to mean she was in on it… right?
Nothing lines up. Nothing fits.
To make matters worse, my phone starts ringing, Jennifer’s name flashes across the screen. At least she let me sleep in, I’ll give her that.
“Hey, Jen.” I sigh, bracing for what’s coming.
“This is a disaster, Matt. I’ve got the whole team on standby for damage control,” Jennifer says, her voice on edge. “People are already latching onto that headline, tugging, and twisting it into contradictions of all kinds.”
“This is not the first time this has happened,” I remind her. “We’ll deal with it like we always do. Let it cool off, then counter it with some good, charming press.”
“That would be fine… if it wasn’t about to cost you the role, Matt!” Jennifer’s trying to hold it together and not yell.
I get it. It’s her job. She takes it really seriously. It’s why she’s the best. But right now, I can’t bring myself to give a shit about What We Carry.
“We have to put out a statement. Today. I can have someone over at your place in a half hour,” she says, powering ahead. “You’ll have to explain what’s happened for the past three weeks. Any signs you might have noticed while she was following you around. We have time to turn this around on her.”
What? Are people completely losing their minds?
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Matt, I know you. You’re smitten, and that’s fine,” Jennifer says, “but this is your life they’re playing around with.”
I refuse to believe it’s Emma pulling the strings here. Something’s off here. I’m not issuing anything until I’ve spoken to her.
“I’m not smitten.” I sigh. I’m way past that.
Jennifer goes silent. I assume she’s reading between the lines, processing the information. Eventually, she sighs too.
“How could this happen? She had fun in New York, didn’t she?” Alright, maybe my feelings aren’t that obvious. “I thought you knew her, Matt.”
“Yeah, so did I.”
She curses under her breath, and I can practically sense her gears turning.
“Look, give me a couple of days before you mobilize your team of social media crazies.”
“Fine,” Jen mutters. “Stay inside. There are a million cameras all over your place. I mean it.”
My head turns toward the windows. Sure enough, just outside of property lines there are at least three paparazzi trying to catch a glimpse past the privacy fence.
“Got it.”
Harrison braves the swarm of paparazzi outside my gate later that afternoon. Unannounced, but not unwelcome. I already know why he’s here. Julia’s probably taken Emma’s front and he’s stuck with me, doing damage control.
Fine by me. I could use a sounding board right about now.
There’s no small talk. Harrison doesn’t even bother saying hi. He pats me on the back and plops down on the couch, settling into the situation with a quiet nod that needs no explanation. Hollywood’s had its share of fun with him too. This is nothing new for either of us.
Moments like these make me feel weirdly grateful that we managed to stay in touch through the ups and downs. Through the distance. He doesn’t realize what a huge pillar he’s been in my life. We should all be a little more like Harrison.
“Alright,” I tell him. “What do you know?”
“Everything.”
“Tell me off, then,” I say. My split-second decision to leave has been eating at me since her door shut behind me. “Rip the Band-Aid.”
“Emma stayed with us last night. Julia didn’t want her to be alone,” Harrison says, a little too casual for me to believe she’s okay.
That hurts more than anything he could’ve said about me. I hate that she’s upset, knowing I’m the reason she needed somewhere else to sleep. The toxic part of my job is spilling into every aspect of my life, corroding it before it has a chance to stick.
“You assumed the worst,” he continues, gently.
My head drops. I exhale and drag a hand through my hair. My feet move on their own, pacing in front of him. Two steps left. Turn. Two steps right.
“I didn’t,” I say. It sounds weak the second it leaves my mouth. “I’m not. But this—Emma, the article… it hit a little too close to home. I opened up to her. Thought she saw me.”
“How do you know she doesn’t?”
At this point, I don’t know anything anymore.
“My life’s been like a chain reaction since my dad died.
Not long after, I realized being myself wasn’t enough.
I adapted. Survival of the fittest, and all that,” I say.
Harrison hums in understanding. “It’s crazy how quickly attention turns transactional.
I started being valued not for who I am as a person, but for what I represent.
Action star, playboy bachelor, sex God—”
“Absolutely no one has ever called you that,” Harrison cuts in.
Ask Emma, I think. Our current position slips out of my mind only to hit back harder. I expect her to be here, where she belongs. But she’s not.
“There’s a version that sells and one that doesn’t. And in my life, it’s pretty clear which one’s worth something.”
Harrison huffs so sharply I stop and turn to him.
“Sit.”
Oh. No.
He’s angry.
“The industry doesn’t determine your worth, Matt,” he says. “If anything, the people closest to you prefer the shy, nerdy version of you a hell of a lot more.”
“Yeah, you, my mom, and Julia.” I scoff. “Everyone else I’ve ever met, men or women, has only been interested in fame.”
“Then the problem’s not you, it’s the people you surround yourself with,” he shoots back. “Tell me, do you actually think Emma fits that category?”
Harrison’s voice is slightly bitter as he spits out the question. I should feel offended, but I’m not. I’m glad she has people like him in her corner. A support system willing to defend her no matter what. I want to be in it too.
“No,” I say, my jaw tightening. “But you’ve read the headline. Maybe that’s all I was to her. Someone interesting to write about, another story… like she does for The Go—”
I stop myself just in time. No matter how much this hurts, it’s not my secret to tell.
“The Golden Scoop?” Harrison finishes for me.
Wait.
“You know?”
He nods. “She slipped a while back, but she’s under contract. Not even her family knows. Pretty sure it’s just Julia and me.”
“Alright… I guess that makes it a tiny bit better. Can’t say I’ve read much, but I’ve come across it a couple of times,” I mumble. “It’s pretty ruthless.”
Harrison doesn’t dismiss it, but he doesn’t let me linger on it either.
“Maybe you should read them. There’s one thing about those articles: they’re always true.”
Right. Emma doesn’t do fake. She does brutal, inconvenient truth even when it might blow back into her face—like with her cousin. Then maybe that headline twisting the truth… it’s not hers.
“Let me ask you something,” Harrison cuts in. “Did you actually think she’d do something like that… or did you hit a problem and decide it was safer to pull back before giving her everything?”
It would’ve destroyed me if I’d told her I loved her, only to find out she still hated me and it was all an act. Classic Matt—coward away, pull back before it gets real. Harrison might be right.
“Great. Like I didn’t already have enough to overthink about.”
He doesn’t stop there.
“What do you think Emma would say right now,” he asks, “if you told her how you felt about her?”
She’d probably scoff. Call me a liar. Accuse me, jokingly, that I’m trying to get her into bed. Then, after I insisted, she’d call me out. Tell me I’m being an idiot.
My heart hopes she’d feel the same. My mind is lining up reasons why she wouldn’t, because without my career, I can’t be worthy of something like that.
It’s hours after Harrison leaves, and I’m still in the living room. The house is back to being quiet, but it’s less lonely and more investigative journalism, courtesy of Emma.
I take out my phone and pull up The Golden Scoop. Harrison’s words echo in my head. About truth, patterns, the way she approaches her assignments. Pieces click when I remember how mad she got when she thought everyone on set was lying for me.
Column after column, I read. The things everyone pretends not to see, and how chaotic the industry really is.
Perspective really comes in when it’s all put together in one place. Most of the rumors, I know are true from interacting with these people myself. Others, I have to look up.
I scroll all the way back to last year. There’s not a single lie.
The headline… an article full of drama, when the only thing that’s passed between us these past three weeks is honesty and—
Love.
It doesn’t add up. It can’t be Emma.