Wouldn’t they?
Russ, Hunter, and Mal placed the drink holders on a table under the tent, having already given out two lattes to the photographer and assistant. Hunter handed both Raine and the makeup woman the drinks they’d requested—but Quentin had said he didn’t want anything.
And yet Russ was walking several yards to where Quentin was pacing under the sun. Raine could sense his agitation but felt grateful that, no matter how dumb they both thought this was, he was willing to put up with it for her sake. Mal had come over to the makeup table, but Raine hoped he got the message that she didn’t want to talk and kept her eyes focused on the makeup woman’s necklace while the woman manipulated Raine’s hair.
Russ’s voice carried. “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but we brought a cup of black coffee for you.”
Raine didn’t move her head but shot her eyes that way. Quentin didn’t say a single word but just shook his head. These people had to realize that it didn’t matter how much they made nice; she and Quentin were being coerced and they didn’t like it. How hard was that to understand?
Russ said, “Suit yourself. Anyone want a plain coffee?”
There were a lot of negative responses and Raine found she was amused by Russ’s disappointment despite her general emotional state at the moment.
Russ stood near Mal right behind the makeup woman with Hunter not far off, ready to respond to his boss’s beck and call. “We about ready?”
“Close,” said the woman, spraying a bit of product on Raine’s hair.
“This is going to work beautifully,” Mal said to her. Raine shot him a quick look but wasn’t about to agree with him.
When the woman stood back, she declared Raine to be “perfect.”
“Let’s get this done, people,” Russ said, snapping the thumb and finger of his right hand twice.
Raine glanced over at Quentin whose reluctance was hard to miss. He squared his shoulders before walking over with an air of obligation, and Raine immediately regretted that they had to do any of this. When he got close, she whispered, “We can still tell them to fuck off.”
Without a word, Quentin barely shook his head, telling her he was going to do it, regardless of what he thought.
They moved to the spot where they’d wanted it to take place—just past the driveway near a huge boulder that Raine could have climbed up and sat on had she wanted to. She kept her eyes on the ground, paranoid of the spiders and scorpions Quentin had warned her about, but all she’d seen was a light green lizard darting past the smaller rocks, hoping to get away from the human element. The backdrop for the photo would be a hill and the cloudless blue sky, the environment being the only real thing about it—because even their clothing had been chosen for them. At least Quentin’s clothes looked a lot like what he wore from day to day but Raine’s was “toned down” and soft.
Again…she prayed her fans would notice this bullshit as soon as they saw it—but if it kept the label happy and her album on track, it would be worth it.
When Raine and Quentin took their places, the photographer said, “Good. Now…” he said to Russ, “we want this to look natural, correct?”
“Exactly. So maybe the two of you can just talk to each other and maybe look like we’re all discussing this wonderful news. So there should be a lot of smiling and looking adoringly at each other. Can you do that?”
Quentin tried. But his smile looked so fake that Raine burst into laughter—and that caused Quentin to let out a chuckle as well. She said, “I’m not a plate of liver, you know.”
This time his smile was genuine, but his words were soft. “Yeah, I do.”
The photographer said, “Why don’t you touch her hair at her temple, as if brushing it back from her face, getting lost in her eyes?”
Quentin didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, he said to Raine, “Are you okay with that?”
She gave a quick nod. Out of all the people here, Quentin was the only one she trusted to actually do the right thing. So when he lifted his hand and touched her forehead, she smiled again, but this time it was subtler—because this all felt so strange. Had they been a real couple and this moment hadn’t been staged, this might not have made her feel so off.
The camera continued snapping and Raine tried hard to keep that smile going. The photographer again barked out an order. “Why don’t you hug? It would seem like such a sweet moment.”
Quentin shook his head ever so slightly. “You still okay with this?”
In response, she nodded and wrapped her arms around his torso and flashed the biggest, phoniest smile she could muster at the camera. But Quentin felt solid underneath her arms and the way he wrapped his around her in response made her feel something.
Something like being protected inside a cocoon. In his arms—even surrounded by all the Hollywood pomp and drama—she felt…safe.
So fucking strange.
In that position, she saw Mal and Russ whispering, and Mal didn’t seem to like where the conversation was going—but Russ clearly had the upper hand. Mal’s client had fucked up so royally that the label now had all the power—and they were going to ramrod through anything they desired.
So what Russ said next shouldn’t have come as a surprise. As he stepped away from her manager, he said, “This is all cute, but I’m not buying it—which means your fans and the press won’t either. You need to sell this shit if you want it to work.”
