Grey smirked to herself and said nothing.
“What? What’s funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just…I can’t remember the last time someone called me young. Last week I auditioned to play the wife of a guy my dad’s age. I’ll probably be playing your mother next year.”
Ethan laughed again, surprised this time. “How oldareyou?” Grey opened her mouth to protest. He held his hands up defensively. “I know that’s a touchy question in this business. But if you’re going to be my girlfriend, I should probably know something besides your name.”
Grey’s blood rushed in her ears.She was going to be his girlfriend.Fake girlfriend. Fake girlfriend.
“Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight in a couple of months.”
“At least we can use your senior discount.”
Grey laughed, despite herself. “Your next wife probably hasn’t even been born yet. Ten years is nothing.”
Ethan held his hands up. “Excuse me. Eleven. Don’t undermine my seniority.”
She laughed again, feeling herself loosen up. “I don’t get why you even need me,” she admitted. “Can’t you just make a comeback on your own if you want to? I thought once you get to a certain tier of rich white guy you’re basically uncancelable. I mean, even Mel Gibson still gets hired.”
Ethan’s face fell. He didn’t look at her. Grey’s stomach clenched. Had she gone too far?
Ethan picked up his veggie burger and took a giant bite. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed.
“If I want to play nice with the studio and star in a big dumb Christmas blockbuster that’s fun for the whole family, sure. Or pour my own money into some vanity project that no one will ever see. But according to our good friend Audrey, if I want to do anything real again, I need to prove I’m…what’s the word?” He sipped his sparkling water. “Stable? Dependable? Sane?”
Grey was silent. The unspoken subtext hung heavy between them.
It was unthinkable that the Ethan of a decade ago would’ve ended up in this position. By the time he’d turned thirty, he was untouchable, both personally and professionally. She shouldn’t have worried about skeletons in the closet: for most of his career, his reputation had been pristine. He’d liked to party in his early days, sure, but he’d exchanged that image for Devoted Husband and Father by the time he became a household name.
He’d risen to fame alongside Sam Tanner—childhood best friends made good. The two of them cowrote and starred in four movies together, each better received than the last. Ethan’s solo career had blossomed, too, seamlessly transitioning back and forthfrom being in front of the camera to behind it. He’d had his share of flops and missteps, like anyone, but nothing that couldn’t be written off in the face of the next smashing success.
But then, five years ago, Sam was killed in a car accident and Ethan fell apart.
He’d been in the middle of shooting a gritty, big-budget reboot of theLone Sentinelsuperhero franchise when it happened. Rumors swirled that he’d tried to drop out, but the studio had him locked in an ironclad contract. He began showing up to the set late, wasted, and then not at all, until they had no choice but to fire him. The tabloids ate it up, publishing picture after picture of him stumbling out of clubs at 4a.m., bleary-eyed and greasy.
Then he’d wound up in court: first when the photographer he’d knocked out at Sam’s funeral had decided to press charges, then again for the prolonged custody battle with his (now ex-) wife during their very ugly and very public divorce. Once both cases were settled and out of the news, Ethan had barely been seen since.
Until now.
The man who had, for the last few years, only been glimpsed in blurry long-lens paparazzi shots like the goddamn Loch Ness Monster was sitting right in front of her, clear as day, eating a veggie burger.
She looked him dead in the eye. “Are you?”
He stared right back.
“I’m not sure. I think I’m ready to find out, though.”
Grey didn’t know how to respond to that. She gave a noncommittal shrug and returned to her salad. They ate in silence for a few moments. She was surprised when he spoke again, unprompted.
“This is a pretty sweet deal for you, though, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, all you have to do is be photographed with me a fewtimes and your star is on the rise. You get to just skip the line, you don’t have to do any work at all. That’s pretty exciting, right?” His tone dripped with condescension.
Grey dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter and her face flushed.
She knew she shouldn’t take it personally. She shouldn’t have been surprised he would have misogynistic preconceptions about the type of woman who would agree to this. He clearly despised himself for having to resort to it; why would she be excluded from that judgment?
