Willow throws her head back, laughing obnoxiously loud at something Connor said, or didn’t say—it’s hard to tell. All her actions seem carefully staged for social media. Watching her is like seeing a reality show unfold live. I half expect her to turn to the nearest camera and start giving a confessional.
Now she’s hand-feeding Connor a bite of food, giggling loudly as he nips at her fingers. It’s so cliché it’s painful. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
I spot a blogger angling greedily for the money shot.
I take a cautious sip of my champagne, scared in case the dress decides to pop further. Expensive bubbles or not, I’m going to need it. This is going to be a long, tortuous, excruciatingly well-documented night.
TWENTY-TWO
Lexi
An hour later, after I’ve ninja’d my way through the bloggers and press hounds, I return to find a champagne-trashed Kayla, blissfully oblivious to the world around her.
“Mistake,” I mutter to myself, snagging her abandoned water glass and taking a hefty swig. “Hey, party animal, maybe try matching that with some water?” I suggest, throwing her aGet your shit togetherlook.
She just gives me a sloppy shrug. “What do you expect? I was bored out of my mind. Had to make my own fun.”
“Hey there,” an unfamiliar male voice asks from over my shoulder.
I turn and nearly choke as I take in Michelangelo’s blond David statue come to life behind me, all chiseled muscle and tousled hair. His eyes glint with amusement. I wonder if it’s at my bug-eyed reaction to him or the fact I’m wearing a man’s belt holding my dress disaster together.
I eloquently reply, “Are you talking to me?” Smooth. Nailing the first impression as always.
He chuckles. “Yeah, I was talking to you, Lexi.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Wait, he knows my name?
He catches the look of utter confusion on my face and nods to the happy couple. “Relax, I’m a buddy of Connor’s. I know about your PR stunt tonight.”
“Oh.” Act cool. Don’t drool.
Easier said than done.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Please do.” A smile slinks onto my lips. Don’t mind if I do. Let’s hope he didn’t catch the Great Zipper Incident earlier. Or maybe that’s why he’s here?
“So, how do you know Connor?” I ask.
“We’re old drinking buddies. I produceHello, New York,” he says casually.
Oh, just the producer of one of the biggest talk shows in the city, no big deal.
Connor’s all set for his charade on New York’s sensationalist gossip show in a few days’ time, ready to play up his “reformed bad boy” image for the cameras. Meanwhile, Willow’s been laying it on thick on social media, dubbing Connor asthe oneandher soulmate—much to the delight of her followers who lap up this overly sweet narrative. He has to keep his side of the bargain.
Hot Producer settles in beside me and Kayla. Suddenly, Connor’s interview just got way more interesting.
“I’m a huge fan,” I lie with a poker face. Truth is, his show is gossip TV’s version of Vallure PR, showcasing celebrities who are famous for being famous.
The last episode featured the Butt Buildr queen herself, Gina Malone. No need to burst Hot Producer’s bubble, though.
Connor wasn’t exactly thrilled about headlining the show, but it’s pure gold for Willow. Her demographic devours this kind of shit.
Hot Producer chuckles. “Don’t think I’m buying the flattery, but thanks for the ego boost. I’m Mason, by the way.”
“Hello, Mason,” I purr, ignoring Kayla’s impatient demand for another round in the background. I’ll make it up to her.
“You’re handling PR for Connor’s latest drama?” Mason asks, a teasing glint in those chestnut eyes. “That must be a true test of wills.”
