Chapter 2 #3
“We’ll mentor a new couple.” The old man’s face grew stormy, and Ethan hastened to add: “A secure one this time. A sure thing. We’ll have them sign NDAs. Make sure they need us just as much—more than—we need them.”
The CEO relaxed slightly, nodding.
“Someone who needs to make sure their movie does well.” An idea came to him. “Or that their sequel doesn’t flop.”
A glint appeared in Henry’s eyes. Perhaps they were on the same train after all.
“Go on.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Ethan stepped out of Fordham’s office with two things he hadn’t been sure he’d have before he’d entered: a job and a plan.
Looking down at his phone, still black and silent, he turned the old man’s words over in his head—about the escape, the setting, the perfect solution.
Europe, Ethan had suggested. A villa. Or a crumbling castle.
He thought of traveling, of the setting of some of the places that came to mind, the composition of the image playing out in his head in a series of mental photographs. It would be perfect.
No, Fordham had insisted. Closer to home. New York, outside the city. A cottage or a bed-and-breakfast.
The word cottage had triggered something in Ethan. A deeply buried memory. A connection.
Are you thinking of something? Fordham had asked, likely seeing the gleam in his eye.
But Ethan hadn’t been ready to commit yet, hadn’t wanted to admit his thoughts at all.
I have a few ideas, he’d confirmed, which was all he’d wanted to say, just hoping it would be enough.
Fordham had nodded, but Ethan knew he’d been left with two instructions: bed-and-breakfast, Upstate New York.
Parting ways with his boss, Ethan had walked out of the office, his feet moving with a purpose, his mind in a daze, and he allowed himself to do something he rarely ever did.
He thought about Julia.
About how they had left things. About what she would say when she saw his name pop up on her phone again after so many years.
Would she still even have his number saved?
Would she know who it was? He felt a pang at the thought, like he always did when he allowed memories of Julia to slip into his mind.
All the plans they had made together that they would never see through—not by each other’s sides, at least. Everything he’d always feared was coming to fruition regardless.
He didn’t want to reach out. But the thought of staying in the city, of the stares and whispers of his coworkers, of the relentless media storm asking about every single celebrity–turned–celebrity couple that had gone through the doors of Fordham PR—the escape was vital.
Not just that, he also needed to rebuild his reputation.
To show the world a couple who was not only represented by Fordham but also polished into the very picture of true love.
He wasn’t just selling stories to the world—he was selling intimacy.
Crafting the narrative that made it all believable.
He was the one who staged the photo ops, prepped them for interviews, Cyrano de Bergerac’d the soundbites that made it all seem effortless and real.
What he sold wasn’t simply a story; it was intimacy made marketable.
An invitation for the public to feel as though they, too, were part of the romance.
That they bore witness to love.
And what better place to do it than an idyllic cottage, an escape by the water?
And who better to take them there than him—the one who knew that cottage, that water, like the back of his hand? And for her to host them.
He knew it was a bad idea on so many levels, but it was a good one, too—to repair his name in the industry, to put together something real.
He’d known that he’d been sloppy with Emily and Greg.
Known that they weren’t quite the right fit.
Still, he’d pushed them together—and look where that had gotten him.
No, this next couple had to be better. Had to be genuine.
Or if not that, there at least had to be a better pretense of sincerity.
He needed both actors on board. And this time, nondisclosure agreements and the like would be signed—no more my word is my bond bullshit. He was going to do this properly.
What he wasn’t going to do was let the whole world keep their eye on him while he did it.
He turned the idea over in his head once more, then twice. Fiddled with the phone in his hands.
Finally, he pushed the side button again until the phone flashed to life.
Scrolling through his contacts before he lost his nerve, he landed on G.
For Gem. The nickname he’d always had for her.
A memory came to him then, unbidden: her father calling her “Jules” when they were kids.
The crinkle of her nose at the unwanted nickname.
Ethan, teasing her with it. Until finally, a compromise:
I’ll call you Gem, because it’s like a jewel, but different.
Despite its questionable origins, the nickname had stuck.
And it was what he had called her for years after—all the years they’d known each other, until they didn’t anymore.
It felt wrong, in a way, not to use it in his text to her.
But using it also felt wrong. Too much had transpired between them.
Too much time had passed. His right to call her that anymore had expired.
Adopting a businesslike demeanor—even just for his own sake—he rapidly tapped out the message.
Hi Julia, it’s Ethan. I know it’s been a while. But I really need your help. Please call me when you get this.
Then he hit Send.