Behind her, Julian clears his throat. He gives me a cold look, then turns to Mateo, saying, “I’ll be at the bar.”
“You can take the night off, Julian. I’ll ride home with Mateo,” she tells him.
They smile at each other, and he gives Mateo a curt nod before leaving, completely ignoring me like the prick he is.
“What brings you here?” Mateo asks sternly as he scans the room, probably checking if Katarina is on a date like the overprotective fucker he is.
“I had to do a photoshoot. We just wrapped up,” she answers as she settles on the chair beside me.
“Swimsuits? Can I see the photos?” I ask to lighten the mood.
Mateo hisses, and Katarina rolls her eyes. I chuckle.
“Keep it to yourself, asshole.” Mateo quips.
“Wedding gowns, actually. If you really have to know,” she says with a frown, fidgeting with her necklace. A gesture I’ve come to learn she does when she’s anxious or stressed.
“Wedding gowns?” It's Mateo's turn to laugh. “You hate weddings,” he says, and I wonder why.
“I hate my job.” She slumps her shoulders and shakes her head.
Chapter 2
Katarina
“Oh my god.”
I groan as I free my hair from the tight pony-tail that’s been burning my scalp all morning. I massage my poor head for a bit before washing off the thick makeup on my face and yawn.
The photoshoot took longer than expected, even though we started at 3 AM.
God, I miss my bed.
I haven’t gotten enough sleep these past few days, thanks to that awful vlogger who has been spreading nasty rumors about me again. Last time, he told everyone I got fired from a show because of my terrible attitude, when in reality, my contract simply ended because I’m set to do other projects.
Now, he’s accused me of sleeping with a politician named Alfonso Cruz.
Of course, it wasn’t true.
We’ve been photographed together at multiple charity events and afterparties, but that’s about all my interactions with him. The rumor is getting out of hand, though, and it has been everywhere these past few weeks. One tabloid even claimed I might be pregnant with his baby.
It’s freaking ridiculous, really.
But what pisses me off is that my own management team won’t let me address it, saying it should be him to deny it first. Why? Because even bad publicity is publicity.
When I step out of the bathroom, the crew has already packed up and left. Only Sol, my manager, and Julian, my bodyguard, are left in the hotel suite.
“Done for today,” Sol says, knowing that’s my favorite line of hers. She barely looks at me as she keeps busy typing on her phone.
She and I have a weird relationship. She’s done a good job managing my career, I don’t deny that. After all, no one knew my name four years ago. She discovered me after a random post I made went viral. It started with some modeling gigs, and now I have millions of followers on social media, and I get job offers left and right. Three years ago, I made my acting debut, which catapulted me to even greater fame.
Still, I hate it when she forgets I’m human and that these false narratives about me feel like an injustice, even more so when I’m not allowed to defend myself.
“Do you want to have lunch with me at the poolside restaurant?” I ask.
“You go ahead. I need to meet with the publicist, see what we can do with that vlogger,” she says, frowning at her phone.
“I really can just go online and clear it myself,” I say, rummaging through my bag to find my sunglasses.
