“We should head inside,” he finally says, guiding me toward the theatre entrance. “Don’t want to miss our own movie.”
The crowd parts for him—because of course it does, alphas generally get their way and I’ve never heard of anyone saying no to Atticus for any reason at all—and I let him steer me through the chaos, past the velvet ropes and security guards, into the relative quiet of the theatre lobby.
The second we’re out of sight of the cameras, I wrench away from him so hard I nearly trip over my own dress.
“What thehellwas that?”
Atticus straightens his cufflinks, completely unbothered by my fury. He looks good in his tux, and I hate that I notice. The jacket fits him perfectly, emphasizing broad shoulders that don’t need emphasizing, and his closely cropped hair is just long enough to still be neat while giving a hint to the tight curls it has when longer.
“That,” he says calmly, “was me doing you a favor, doll.”
“A favor?” My voice rises an octave. “You just implied we’retogether!”
“I implied nothing. I let them draw their own conclusions.”
“Oh, please.Life-changing?Could you be any more obvious?”
He shrugs, the movement elegant even in its casualness. “Look, Phoenix. This is the first stop on a twelve-city presstour. We’re going to be stuck together for the next three weeks whether we like it or not.” His green eyes hold mine, unblinking. “And nothing sells tickets like the rumor that two famous people might be fucking.”
My jaw drops. The crude word sounds wrong coming from his pretty mouth, like hearing a choirboy swear.
“Besides,” he continues, adjusting his platinum cufflinks again, one of his few nervous habits. “We’re going to need all the good press we can get once the reviews start rolling in.”
Red floods my vision. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Phoenix.” His voice softens, almost pitying, which makes it worse. “You spend seventy percent of the movie’s runtime in a bikini. The entire second act is you running around a yacht in slow motion while the camera lovingly caresses every inch of exposed skin.”
My hands curl into fists. The Versace gown suddenly feels too tight, too revealing, like it’s proving his point.
“It’s alpha-gaze schlock,” he continues, each word precise as a scalpel. “The kind of film that’ll make most of its money back in overseas markets where they don’t care about plot as long as the omega lead is pretty enough. It’ll be on streaming within a month of release, forgotten in two.”
“You’re in it too,” I snap back, desperate to wound him the way his words are flaying me alive.
“Which is how I know what I’m talking about,” Atticus says, stepping closer. His scent wraps around me, that maddening jasmine-plum sweetness that makes my omega instincts purr even as I want to claw his eyes out. “I’m doing you a favor. A few weeks of will-they-won’t-they speculation, some carefully staged photos of us looking cozy, and suddenly the narrative shifts. You’re not the party girl who can’t transition to adult roles—you’re the woman who caught Atticus Sloan.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity. It’s business.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch my face, then thinks better of it. Smart man. “And it was your camp’s idea. Your mother’s been calling my manager every day for a week trying to set this up.”
The blood drains from my face. “Shewhat?”
“Oh.” Something flickers across his expression—surprise? Regret? “You didn’t know.”
Of course Mom’s been scheming behind my back. Of course she’d sell me to the highest bidder, package me up with whatever alpha might boost my market value. Just like when I was fifteen and she practically gift-wrapped me for the studio exec that gave me first big break.
My stomach churns. The lobby suddenly feels too small, too bright, too full of Atticus’s overwhelming presence.
“I need air.”
I turn toward the exit, but his hand catches my wrist. Gentle, but firm enough to stop me.
“Phoenix—”
“Don’t.” I jerk free, the motion violent enough that heads turn our way. “Just… don’t.”
“Wait.” His fingers wrap around my wrist again, and this time his grip holds steady when I try to pull away. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” I glare up at him, hating how he towers over me even in my four-inch heels. “Because it sounded exactly how you meant it.”
