Page 3 of Bad Reputation

Trying to hide his wince, Cole gave the fan a sad smile. “It was nice, meeting you today.”

“Oh.” She must’ve just realized their time together was over, and it brought her up short. Trying not to look disappointed, she fished her phone out of her back pocket. “Can we get a selfie?”

“Of course.”

The eighteen inches of folding plastic table between them eliminated the possibility of physical contact, for which Cole was grateful. He knew many fans saw him as a commodity, one they’d paid thirty dollars to meet. But that fee didn’t include pinching his butt or squeezing his biceps. Cole had always struggled to find a nice way of sayingPlease don’t.

After the woman snapped a pic, Cole sent her on her way with a wave, and he finished up with the rest of the people in his line. When the last one was done, Drew materialized with Brett Vaughn, Cole’s PR guy, in tow. Cole’s agent had an almost magical ability to show up at precisely the right moment.Make a big appearance and melt away—it was one of his rules.

Fifteen years ago, what Cole had needed most was a plan, and Drew had one, along with enough confidence to fuel a rocket ship to the moon. Cole had followed every syllable of Drew’s advice. The few times they’d disagreed, Cole had quickly deferred to Drew, and now he was on the edge of what they both hoped was going to be a great comeback.

Brett strung the red velvet rope across the end of the aisle while Drew strolled up to Cole’s table. “How bad was it?”

“Not very.” Having to spend a day marinating in Cody Rhodes was not Cole’s favorite thing, but seeing as how Cody had given Cole everything—even the golden parachute out of the mess he’d made of his own life—it was hard to dislike the guy.

Drew’s nose wrinkled as he regarded the coffee that Cole was gratefully finishing. “I thought we talked about caffeine. Your pores.”

Cole’s pores looked fine to him, but he knew Drew meant well. “Needed an afternoon pick-me-up.” Whatever else these days were, they were exhausting.

“And now you won’t sleep tonight.”

“I’ll put in a few extra miles on the treadmill.”

Drew pursed his lips. “Hmm. How’s the training going?”

Learning to sword fight had been a multimonth commitment, and it was kicking Cole’s ass. “I thought my thighs were in decent shape”—excellent shape, actually—“but this is an entirely different thing. Listen.” Cole leaned his forearms onto the table. “I’m not saying I’m feeling insecure, but can I do this? Can I really play Geordie?”

“What are you talking about?” Brett said, laughing. It was as if the question didn’t make sense to him, because it probably didn’t. “Of course you can.”

Brett was nicer than Drew, too nice for Hollywood. It was why Cole liked him—well, that and the fact that every entertainment reporter in the world was his bestie. Cole knew Brett believed in Cole. But his belief was a penny: easily given and not worth much.

Drew looked up from his phone, lines of disbelief crinkling across his forehead. Someone had missed his latest Botox appointment. “This is what we’ve worked toward for years,” he said. “I wouldn’t have put in all that effort if I didn’t think you could.”

That wasn’t an answer aboutColeat all, but it was comforting. Because at the end of the day, Drew wasn’t lying. He didn’t represent clients who didn’t make money for him.

Years ago, at a party in Los Feliz, Cole had met a caterer who Drew had dumped as a client. “He’ll only keep you around as long as you’re useful to him,” he’d warned.

It had spooked Cole until he’d realized ... of course that was how this worked.

“I always did wonder why you took me on.” It was clear what Cole had gotten out of the relationship, but it had taken a long time for Cole to be worthwhile for Drew. Even now, even withWaverley, the big payoff wasn’t quite there yet. It would come with the next projects—if it came at all.

“I wanted to see how good I was,” Drew said, shooting the cuffs of his shirt. “You were like this undeveloped mountain, and I was fairly convinced there was gold in them thar hills.”

“Jeez, Drew, that’s mercenary,” Brett said. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that part out loud.” Brett certainly wouldn’t. He was far more careful about his words and much gentler with people’s feelings.

Drew’s look of disdain expressed how little he thought of that. “Cole’s a pro. He knows the score. And besides, it’s worked out. It’s only rude to say it if it fails—you can write that down.”

There it was: another Drew Bowen maxim. He ought to put together a book of them, a Hollywood version ofThe Art of War.

Cole wasn’t much for battle himself. These days, he preferred to step lightly and carefully. But he understood where his agent was coming from, and he had benefited from Drew’s ruthlessness.

“Just don’t go telling the press that Cole’s your gold mine,” Brett said. “That’s not the line we’re going for.”

“Cole and I understand each other.” Drew locked eyes with his client. “Don’t we?”

“Yup, boss.”

It was too late to abandon the strategy that had gotten them this far. At the end of the day, if Drew thought Cole was going to be worth the investment, one that he’d paid into for almost twenty years, then Cole’s career was going to take off.

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