Page 102 of Bad Reputation

“You’re no fun.”

“No, I didn’t mean—yes to guac. But my PR guy just called, and—”

Cole’s phone dinged. Brett had sent a link to a story onBoulevard Babble, the sleazy-blog twin to more serious publications likeVariety.Everyone in Hollywood knew that, slimy or not,Boulevard Babblehad good sources. If you wanted your PR person to start a rumor or drop a blind item, they were your go-to.

Love Triangle on the Waverley Set!the headline screamed, and Cole could’ve puked. He read quickly.

In the first paragraph, he learned that rumors of “Chaos Cole making a comeback” were “overstated” because “romantic drama” had “sunk” his performance. And there it was: his “close and unprofessional relationship with Maggie Niven,” who’d been hired as a “stunt” and “red meat for the woke set,” had left Tasha Russell “brokenhearted.” Oh yes, the middle part of the article went for the jugular. It was all about how the “ice queen” herself had spent the last two weeks “hiding out” in the Azores, “nursing a broken heart,” while Maggie and Cole had whored it up in LA—the same way they’d done all during filming.

What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck.

Cole was sick to his stomach, and he was pissed—so pissed—and he was confused, and he was sad. He’d worked for years, and this, this absurd “story,” might get in the way?

No part of this was true. It stank like three-day-old gym socks. It was comically over the top. But all that made this crap evenstranger.

Whoever had given these lily-livered anonymous quotes hadn’t been content with smacking Cole. They’d gone after Maggie too.

Just why?

Andwho?

Unaware that she’d been shanked, Maggie was setting the table and making bubbly water in the SodaStream and cutting up a mango, all while teasing him about guacamole. Because she didn’t know. All the things she’d worked for, they were on the chopping block too.

“Babe.” Somehow, Cole packed all the pain and anger he was feeling into that one syllable. Maybe Maggie was right, and he was a better actor than he gave himself credit for being.

She stopped. Her back was to him, and every muscle of her body stilled. Quietly she asked, “Is it bad?”

“Yup.”

“How bad?”

“Brett’s putting together a call. I’ll know more in a little bit. Maybe they’ll be able to clean it up fast, or maybe ...” Maybe it would grow legs and multiply.

He’d seen the stupidest stories act like freaking zombies and refuse to die, infecting everything around them and destroying the media landscape. Cole didn’t want to promise Maggie that he’d be able to make this one go away, because he didn’t know if he could.

All Cole’s choices sinceCentral Squarehad been about trying to put himself back into the driver’s seat. To wash off the labels that he’d earned and to show people he was more than they thought he was. If this took hold, he’d be right back at square one. As if the last two decades hadn’t happened at all.

“Is it about Tasha, or you?” Maggie asked.

“It’s about me—and it’s about you.”

Maggie whirled around, pure confusion on her face. “Me? Why the hell did Vincent come after me?”

“You better read it.” He passed her his phone.

After a minute, Maggie’s skin went to ash, and she sank down onto the floor of the kitchen. As if taking the two steps into the living room was entirely too much.

Which was fair.

“What is this?” Her voice was shaky. Every bit of her seemed shaky. Cole dropped to his knees and crawled over to her.

Before he could pull her into his lap, Maggie held up a hand.

She didn’t want him to touch her.

These last few weeks, he’d made up for the months of wanting to hold her. Cole had assumed if he filled their days with casual hugs and nudges and caresses and their nights with orgasms, he could get Maggie as addicted to him as he was to her.

Apparently not.

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