Page 27 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“Well, let me know if you want me to post anything,” Brooke says. “Your social media accounts are going crazy, with people leaving comments. I’m trying to delete anything too X-rated, but it’s hard to keep up.”

“Remind me to give you a raise,” I tell her gratefully.

“Count on it!”

I hang up, and grab my bags of pottery and snacks. I thought about bailing on the BBQ altogether and hiding out at the cottage, drowning my sorrows in the rest of that chocolate, but I need the distraction from all the disappointed messages from Max and my team.

Besides, sugar is murder on my complexion. And something tells me, those candid photographers could strike at any time.

I make my way to the front porch, and ring the bell.

“Avery!” Tessa greets me on the doorstep, dressed in a cute pair of denim overalls over her bikini. “You came!”

Her mouth quirks in a grin, and I groan. “Not you, too!”

“Freudian slip, I promise.” She gives me a hug, and ushers me inside. “How are you holding up? I saw the stories,” she adds with a wince.

“You, and fifty million other people,” I reply, trying to sound perky and carefree about the whole thing. “It’s nothing. Just another innocent mishap getting blown out of all proportion. It’s the story of my life, these days.”

“I can’t imagine,” she shakes her head. “Actually, I can. The paparazzi were everywhere, when I started dating Jackson. I was terrified they’d get a picture through my bedroom curtains at night.”

I gulp. “Good point.”

I follow her inside, making a mental note to check which parts of the cottage can be seen from the lane. I wasn’t thinking about security when I booked it, but now, I’m hoping all those brightly-colored drapes don’t turn sheer in direct sunlight.

“Look who made it,” Tessa announces, as we arrive in the kitchen. It’s a hive of activity, with Tessa’s grandfather, Artie, is stirring up some kind of pungent sauce at the stove, while Jackson assembles tableware, and a chic blonde woman sets out drinks. She looks vaguely familiar…

“Hey,” Jackson greets me with a warm bear-hug. He’s let his beard grow in, and is wearing battered denim and a NASA T-shirt, but he’s every inch the off-duty movie star. “Good to see you. Can I get you a drink. We’ve got beer, water, straight vodka, if you need.”

I let out a wry laugh. “Maybe later.”

“You know Artie, and this is Quinn,” he says, introducing the blonde. “Our friend-slash-PR maven.”

“That’s right,” I realize, clocking where I’ve seen her before. She was hanging out on set last summer, guiding Jackson through his own tabloid scandals. “Quinn Michaels Publicity.”

“The one and only,” Quinn gives me a friendly smile, perched at the counter in an elegant halter top and navy pants. “Good to see you looking so well. You know, considering...”

“Why, did something happen?” I make my expression wide-eyed and innocent. “I haven’t been keeping up with the news.”

Jackson snorts with laughter, and hands me a beer. “Atta girl. Although, as compromising positions go, I’ve got to hand it to you guys.”

“It was a snakebite!” I protest loudly. “Duke was just sucking out the venom.”

I take in the row of skeptical expressions. “Really,” I insist. “Come on, do you think I would ever willingly let that insufferable man anywhere near me, if it wasn’t a life or death situation?—”

Someone strolls in the open back door. “Grill’s hot,” Duke announces. His expression is unreadable as he plucks a beer from the counter, grabs a plate of meat, and saunters back out again.

Crap.

I gulp. “Do you think he heard?” I venture in a small voice.

“What? No!” Tessa reassures me – at the same time as Artie and Jackson nod.

“Definitely.”

“For sure.”

Double crap.

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