Page 4 of The Expiration Date

“Yeah, I was just about to text you that I was heading that way as well. How could I forget? Our calendars are synched, remember?”

She gives me a small smirk as I extend my hand out to have her walk in front of me.

Haley has always been real with me. Since I became an actor, she is probably the only girl who treats me like a normal person. Other than the first time we met, I have never seen her act differently in my presence. She has always been unapologetically herself. I appreciate that about her. Today, though, she does seem a little distracted. Is it because of me and last night’s headline?

As we exit the studio, I am almost blinded by the intense sunlight. This is not helping my throbbing head. I see that my driver’s car is parked and ready to go. When we climb into the car, I notice there is a coffee waiting for me in the cupholder. Haley is an angel sent from heaven. I’m about to say thank you, but the wrinkle in between Haley’s eyebrows is very prominent. She is obviously worried about something. Probably me. I’m making her life a living hell, I know I am. I’m surprised she hasn’t quit on me after my behavior these past six months. I’m sure she’s applied for other means of employment and is too nice to tell me. That’s the thing about Haley, she is the most genuinely nice person I’ve ever met. Genuine is hard to come by in L.A., let alone this industry.

“So, how has your morning been, Hales?”

The crease between her eyebrows almost disappears as she looks at me. “It’s been okay. Kind of weird, but okay.” She immediately looks back at her phone and I don’t press any further.

We listen to Leon Bridges on the drive. I doom-scroll on Instagram and look at all the terrible comments that accompany the photo from last night that US Weekly so generously tagged me in. Nothing happened between me and those two women. I went home by myself. The shitty thing is–the photo doesn’t tell that story. It only confirms the picture the media has painted of me. A picture I want to tear up and throw in the trash bin. I click the side of my phone and look over at Haley, who is looking out the window. I wonder why her day has been kind of weird. By some divine intervention, there is not a ton of traffic and my driver pulls up to the curb with a couple minutes to spare.

Haley and I walk into my publicist’s office, Johnson & Associates. Samantha Johnson is the best in the business and has been for the past twenty-five years–part of the reason I wanted to work with her. She was a trailblazer in the industry when she started her own public relations company when she was thirty years old. Samantha’s larger than life personality is reflected in her appearance, as she almost reaches my height with her stilettos and loves to wear bright neon suits and dresses. On all occasions, her bleached-blonde hair is styled perfectly, her lipstick pristine and her nails manicured. Despite her feminine appearance, she didn’t make it to where she is without a very dominating energy–she takes no prisoners. Even though she is almost twice my age, I don’t want to ever cross her. She scares the hell out of me sometimes, but I will never admit that to her.

“Ms. Johnson will see you now.”

I open the door to Samantha’s office and gesture to Haley to walk in before me.

Samantha is on the phone with someone. “Well, tell your client that wasn’t a part of our contract.” She holds her finger up to Haley and me and then gestures for us to sit down.

Haley takes her usual place in the chair located in the back corner of the room. I told her once that she could sit next to me, but she said she never wants to be in the line of fire with Samantha. Honestly, I don’t blame her. I don’t want to be in the line of the inevitable fire that is heading my way in about a minute. I hear the door open and my agent, Chris, walks in. I stand up and shake his hand. Instead of sitting in the chair next to me, he backs away and stands next to Haley in the back of the room.

Sam hangs up on her call and jumps right into the meeting without so much as a greeting. That is one thing about Samantha, she knows how to get shit done. She’s always professional when she is dealing with clients and their own publicists, but she is a no bullshit type of person and since she has a tight schedule, there’s really no time for small talk with her. I appreciate her approach, and I suppose being a woman in this industry has been difficult for her and she has definitely fought many battles to be one of the best publicists out there. That’s why I chose to work with her, because I know that she will always have my career’s best interest at the end of the day.

“Okay, the main item on the agenda is the upcoming premiere of your movie in NYC next week and then you jet off to do a European tour a few weeks after that. Ms. Swann, do you have everything booked for those trips?”

Haley adjusts her glasses and looks at her phone. “Yes, I do. Everything is set. Flights, hotels, car service. All of it. I am forwarding all of you the information as we speak. And obviously the driver is ready for the premiere next week.”

“Excellent. Now, the next matter.” Samantha’s hard gaze turns to me and she flashes her phone in my face. It displays a photo from last night. Dammit. “Your dating life.”

Ugh. I knew this was going to come up. I furrow my brow and pretend ignorance. “What about my dating life?”

“Well, Aidan, you haven’t been with anyone officially since Natasha. When was it that you two broke up? Six months ago?”

Why should this matter? I clear my throat, hopefully signaling to Samantha that I don’t want to talk about this. “Just about, yeah.”

Unphased by my discomfort, Samantha stood up, crossed her arms and continued, “You know how important image is for public relations. And that old adage, ‘All press is good press,’ is fading fast. People are speculating about your love life. You’ve been spotted with numerous women these past six months. Last night I even got this Google Alert saying something to the effect of ‘Aidan Stone spotted with two women leaving a club’ but you have not brought any of these women to any press event, have you?”

“No,” I mumble.

“You have obviously not started a true relationship with any of these women.”

“So?”

Samantha starts walking around her desk; the sound of her stilettos fill the silence. “So, you are America’s Sweetheart, Aidan. You don’t want to be seen as a playboy. You want to be wanted, even desired, but in a classy way. You are the upstanding guy in all of the movies. Young boys are looking up to you, young girls are looking at you as their perfect example of how a guy should act. I know it’s a lot of responsibility, but it comes with the territory of being a famous actor–and an actor who, I might add, has generated quite the Instagram following. I just want to make sure we maintain the ‘good guy’ image because I know that you are–also, it’s the brand you have established. You are my favorite client, and I say that sincerely.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses one foot over the other.

“Thank you.”

“But your personal presence on social media has been minimal these past six months. Everything has been through tabloids. We need to change that. We need to take back control.”

Is a guy not able to process a breakup at all? Are we just supposed to move on to the next “love of our life”? Because that’s who I thought Natasha was before she pulled the rug from under me and started screwing that asshole from her new hit TV show. Doesn’t Samantha know that every time I see a tabloid with those two on the front, I want to rip it up or throw my phone across the room? Those women were my way of trying to move on. It may not have been the healthiest way possible, but I needed to take my mind off the whole situation. All those women just wanted their fifteen minutes of fame, anyway. I knew they were not going to last. They knew I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. For once in my life, I was just having a good time… and now I’m being punished for it. Unfortunately, I do have a conscience and I do actually care about my fans, and I know the huge responsibility that comes with that. I haven’t tried to find my next girlfriend because I really want to focus on my career.

“I get it, Sam. I just needed some time to blow off steam. To heal. To try to get over the girl that proverbially ripped out my heart.” Sam starts to respond, but I hold up my hand. “With that being said, I want to maintain the trust I have with my fans and I know that a lot of that trust is based solely on image and what is perceived to be true.” I sigh. “So what were you thinking?”

Sam exhales, as if she is about to deliver the worst news ever. “Well, I know it’s short notice, but I think you need to bring a date to the premiere next week and you need to make it seem like you are absolutely smitten with this person. I am not going to lie to you, Aidan– studios don’t want to be associated with negative press. And if their main star, such as yourself, is galavanting around L.A. with someone new every week, they will find someone else who is not going to attach drama to their name. Do you understand what I am saying?”

My chest constricts. I can feel my ears getting hot as I process what Sam is telling me. It is like I am a puppet and society is controlling the marionette strings. I feel completely out of control. “So you want me to find a fake girlfriend in less than a week.”

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