No one should lookthatgood as a default. That kind of attractiveness should take some serious effort. It wasn’t fair to the rest of us mortals.
I swallowed my pride, but crossed my arms in a move of self-preservation. “I appreciate you coming up with the dating game to get me out of the hole I dug. It was clever. But we don’t actually have to do it.”
There was a flicker of defiance in his eyes that cut through the sunshine. “You called me a fraud, Willow. Whether you like it or not, my subscription program, one-on-one coaching, and podcast are my livelihood. And now I have to defend that because you called me a con-artist in front of a hell of a lot of people.”
“I’ll bet no one even remembers this morning,” I countered.
“Oh, they remember.”
Ryan and I turned and looked at the open door. Whitney and Wander waltzed in, phones in hand.
“You should stop making bets,” Wander said. “You’re great at a lot of things, but gambling isnotone of them.”
Alona, Whitney’s scary security detail, lingered in the hallway.
I massaged my temples, trying to will the headache away. “What are you talking about?”
Whitney handed me her phone. The screen was open to a forum for all the attendees from the conference.
I watched in horror as hundreds of people debated whether my showdown with Ryan had been a publicity stunt, an actual snafu, or a legitimate rivalry.
I handed Whitney her phone back and grabbed my own. The forum conversations had gone public and were bleeding into every social media feed I was on. My inboxes were being flooded with messages. My notification count rolled like a slot machine as I was tagged in video after video of Ryan and me going back and forth on stage.
“Oh my God,” I groaned as reality sunk in.
I hadreallyfucked up.
I could feel Ryan’s gaze boring into me, as the weight of it all settled between the four of us.
“What if you went on a few public dates, then made a mutual post on your social media accounts that, while the bet was fun, your schedules aren’t compatible enough to pull it off for three months?” Whitney suggested.
“Like a divorce post where they say they have love and respect for each other, but everyone knows it’s bullshit?” Wander asked.
I looked at Ryan. “I’m good with a divorce post.”
“I’m not,” he countered. “And I’m not cleaning up your mess on my own. You called my reputation into question.”
Wander grimaced. “He has a point.”
“I don’t care if he has a point!” I shouted, then immediately regretted it when the hangover hammered my head again. “I am not dating him. I am not kissing him. And I am not having sex with him.” I let out a caustic laugh. “Sorry,programmedsex.”
“Don’t worry, cupcake. I won’t touch you like that. Well, not unless you beg for it,” Ryan said with a smirk.
I seared him with a glare more intense than the summer sun.
Ryan raised his hands in defense. “I’m serious,” he said, much more gently. “My program has nothing to do with sex.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. “Or kissing. Nothing physical.”
“Dammit,” Wander whispered.
I gave her a sharp glare.
Whitney offered me a forlorn look. “You kind of owe him, Wills.”
I growled.
Wander nodded. Her phone rang, and she patted her pockets to find it. “Hello?” There was a pause. “Hey. Yeah. I’m actually with both of them right now.” Another heavy pause as her gaze flicked from Ryan to me. “Uh—we’ll see. They’re figuring out . . . logistics.” She smiled. “Yeah, I’ll let you know what happens. All right. Talk to you later.” She laughed as she hung up. “That was Lucia. She wants the dirt on what happened yesterday.”
I groaned. If Wander’s agent knew what had happened at Rom-Con, that meant the tall tales of the onstage showdown were moving faster than I could attempt to contain them.
