She set her drink on the table. Shifted in her chair. “I’m not sure how I feel about making everyone believe a version of the story that isn’t true. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“I’m pretty tired of those rags exploiting me. I won’t mind exploiting them for a change. Most of what they print about me is no more real than our relationship will be.”
She appeared to weigh that. Did she believe everything she’d read about him? If his fans did, that didn’t bode well for his image or his future in film.
He had to allay her concerns. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen, we’re not hurting anyone, right? Who cares if the public believes we’re a couple? We have to remember the greater good.”
“The movie.”
“Right. The movie.”
A cat hopped up on the couch beside him, making him jump. Not because of its sudden appearance but because of, well... its general appearance. It had a weird smashed-in face, and its yellow coat gave off a recently electrocuted vibe. It arched its back and waved a scrawny tail.
Poor thing. He gave the cat a stroke. “Hey, buddy. Who’s this guy?”
“That’s Buttercup. She’s a rescue kitty.”
You don’t say.Buttercup seemed friendly enough at least. She rubbed her side against his hand, climbed up on his lap, plopped down, and curled into a ball.
“She normally doesn’t take to strangers. Or anyone, really. I guess your Casanova appeal extends to felines.”
“Seems friendly enough to me.” Liam’s nose was suddenly stopped up and his eyes began itching like mad. A sneeze ripped through him.
“Are you allergic?”
“Just a bit.” Another sneeze exploded from him. Tears pooled and trickled from his eyes.
Unbothered, Buttercup lowered her head and closed her eyes.
“I’m so sorry.”
The cat screeched as Chloe removed her from Liam’s lap.
He wiped his eyes. Then remembered he’d touched the cat with that hand. Another sneeze.
“Oh dear.” Chloe handed him a tissue. “Maybe you should wash your hands. I’ll put Buttercup in my room. We’ll find Mousey, won’t we, sweetheart? Where did Mousey go, huh?”
Liam washed his hands in the kitchen sink as he scanned the kitchen out of curiosity. Just who was Chloe Anderson, his new girlfriend? She owned a fancy Breville espresso machine that looked like it might somehow also offer one-hour massages. But her toaster could’ve come from Walmart. Photos of (presumably) family and friends adorned the fridge, held in place by seashell magnets. A box of gourmet chocolates sat on top of the fridge, and a sign above the stove read,Ifyou don’t like my cooking, lower your standards.
“You doing okay?” She entered the kitchen. “Need to leave? We can do this tomorrow if you’d rather.”
“I’m feeling better. Let’s just go over any questions you have so you can get comfortable with all this. I don’t want you up late worrying for nothing.”
They settled in the living room. He could almost breathe through his nose again.
“So what happens next?” she asked.
“Well, basically we make sure we’re seen together in public. Photographers will do the rest.”
“The paparazzi?”
“Or bystanders or the regular press. I didn’t anticipate them being here until the movie started filming at least, but now that word’s out that I’m here and there’s a possible love squeeze in the mix...”
She hurled a pillow at him.
It hit him in the stomach. “Oof,” he said even though it didn’t hurt. “Just kidding, short stuff.”
“Wow, we haven’t been together twenty-four hours, and you’re already hating on my height.”
