Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Oh…he might just be a little bit fucked.
In the silence that filled the room, the sound of the door opening and slamming was a gunshot; Cillian jerked with a little palpitation in his chest, peering around Brendan’s bulk just in time to catch Newcomb’s back disappearing. The entire cast and crew were staring at them, some of them amused or indulgent, others murmuring to each other, while Sophie watched them with wide eyes and parted lips.
“Whoa,” Sophie breathed. “I don’t think I can compete with that.”
Right before Mr. Anderson came forging through, pushing bodies aside, only to catch both of them by the arm and glare up at them with his black eye snapping hot.
“Dressing room,” he bit off. “Now. Or so help me God, I will end you both.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“EXPLAIN,” Drake demanded, staring down at them both with his face completely alight with fury.
Brendan sprawled on the sofa in Cillian’s dressing room—he’d yet to even see his own, no need—and looked up at Drake. His agent stood over them, glaring with his hands on his hips; at Brendan’s side, Cillian sat in a fidgety restless mess, now and then giving him furtive sidelong glances, his cheeks colored a ruddy pink underneath their paleness.
Sighing, Brendan spread his hands, then let them drop to rest against his thighs. “Explain what?”
“You broke Twitter. The PA I pay to manage your official Twitter account is losing her shit.” Drake thrust his phone at them, the screen lit up with notifications. “Someone on the crew recorded that. Five minutes and it’s already all over Twitter, TikTok—they’re trying to meme your couple name.” He snarled. “You just met each other yesterday. What the fuck was that about?”
“Wait.” Brendan frowned. “I have an official Twitter account? When did you do that?”
“When you put your personal one on lockdown.”
“I did that because I didn’t want to engage on Twitter, Drake.”
“Which is why the PA engages for you, and that is not the point here,” Drake snarled.
Cillian winced. “I…think…he was just trying to make Newcomb back off.”
“There were better ways.” Drake crashed one foot against the floor, huffing.
“No, there weren’t,” Brendan said. “He had blackmail photos of Cillian in a compromising position.”
Recoiling, Drake blinked. “What compromising position, exactly?”
“Not your business,” Cillian strained out. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Leave it,” Brendan said.
Drake threw his hands up, then tossed his phone on the vanity, pacing. “Will someone clue me in as to what the fuck is going on here?”
Brendan sighed, tilting his head back against the sofa and staring at the ceiling. “For fuck’s sake, calm down, Liza Minelli. Look. It was the best way to make Newcomb think twice about pulling anything. Now Cillian isn’t just Cillian; he’s part of Cillian and Brendan, and the whole world has seen it. People will care about that. They’ll be protective of it. Of him. If Newcomb tries to attack Cillian in any way, that bastard won’t survive the court of public opinion. Even if he posts those photos, he’ll just be accused of trying to shame Cillian for things that are his own damned business.”
Cillian jerked his head up, staring at Brendan with wide, strained eyes. “So that kiss…was basically a publicity stunt?”
“It was insurance,” Brendan said, tilting his head toward Cillian. “I’m sorry I had to make it so…ah…real. Once the film’s over, we can say something in public about going our separate ways, you can leave Newcomb behind, and we never speak of this again.”
Drake stopped, frowning, running his thumb beneath his lower lip. “…there’s a point to be had there. Combine your fanbases and it’s like a ten-ton choke chain around Newcomb’s neck. And I did mention the shipping potential.”
Brendan scowled. “I still don’t know what that means. But from the way Cillian’s blushing, it’s apparently a bad thing.”
Cillian spluttered, shaking his head quickly enough to make his hair fly across his face and lash against his cheeks. “It’s not—I mean—I don’t know? I’m so fucking confused right now. So we’re dating…?”
“Pretending to date,” Brendan corrected. “I can’t always be with you to keep his hands off you or keep him in line. But knowing we’re dating will make him think twice. Plus he’s the kind of scum who only respects when someone is ‘owned’ by someone else. It’s shitty, but it’s who he is.”
“…oh,” Cillian said distantly.
“You okay with that, kid?” Drake asked.
“I kind of have to be, unless we want to publicly break up today.” Cillian bowed his head, staring down at his hands, fidgeting them together. “But…it’s a good idea. I’m okay with it. It shouldn’t be that hard to pretend since we’ll be together for filming a lot, won’t we?”
“Hold hands now and then, kisses on the cheek, maybe post a few selfies online,” Brendan said. “It doesn’t need to get deeper than that. I promise I won’t kiss you like that again.”