Page 229 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

I end the call, my gut churning like a blender. With a deep sense of dread, I click on the website.

You got fooled, and you got fooled, and you got fooled!

In a storyline ripped straight from romance novels, Oscar-nominated actor Jude Fox and bestselling author TJ Hardman were playing make-believe all along with their supposed love affair.

Turns out that the epic romance, complete with kisses on Broadway red carpets, appearances at restaurant openings, and sightings at charity concerts was all a ruse.

This intrepid blogger has learned the actor and writer have been faking their romance all along. The reason? To boost Fox’s Oscar image after his rep took a hit from dating the rocker who recently went to rehab. (Here’s hoping it lasts, William.)

Now the high-profile pair is primed to break up their fake romance, per their “orders” from whoever is orchestrating this whole fable. My bet? Their agency is pulling the strings since CTM reps both men.

Why Hardman needs a fake boyfriend remains a mystery to me, but my money is on... money. I suspect TJ was paid to pose as Jude’s beau.

And it worked! They’re the toast of the town and they’ve been shipped.

Mark my words. It’s only a matter of time before “FoxMan” posts a “we’re parting ways and please respect our privacy” breakup letter. Straight from their publicists’ pen.

Ta-ta for now!

My face is red and hot. Shame creeps up my neck. Embarrassment crawls over my skin. I want to point out every detail that’s wrong with this piece.

Starting with the suggestion I got paid.

And . . .

Well . . .

That’s the only part Rikki Finch got wrong.

Malcolm must have taken a wild guess and planted the bug in her ear. The irony that the bloviator should be right about the one thing that can ruin my life. He probably told her I would stage a breakupagain, and then she ran with that tip and figuredout the rest. I can’t even blame the Man’s Man for tipping her off and sharing his theory.

This is allmyfault. I agreed to this farce, knowing I’d be hoodwinking my readers. I deserve whatever consequences come my way.

Like I’m walking to my execution, I let Mason into my apartment a few minutes later. He’ll be the witness to the death of my career.

He’s all business. “Holly’s at the airport to pick up Jude and bring him here. Slade’s on his way. It’s crisis time, and your place is now the war room.”

And here I’d been hoping it’d be the reunion sex palace.

I sit on the couch with my agent. He whips off his glasses, a sign he’s about to tell it like it is. But Mason looks tired. Like this has been a long week. Hell, it’s been a long year for him dealing with me. I haven’t been the easiest client. He’s managed the hell out of my writer’s block. He’s also looked out for me for my entire career, and writing is everything to me.

Sure, he gets fifteen percent for his work, but he’s also a friend, and I owe him the truth. Before he can start in on his plans, I stop him and say, “Listen, I want you to know something.”

As I tell him the truth about Jude and me, I care less and less about what happens to me and more and more about the people in my life.

Especially the guy on his way to my home.

When Jude arrives, I’m a dog rushing the door. I swing it open, and it takes all my self-control not to jump up and down.

Then bring him in for a hug.

Ask how he’s doing. If the piece freaked him out. What he needs from me. How the hell I can help.

But we’re not alone, and his eyes are tired. For a few seconds, all my fears swim up. Will Rikki exposing us send him running from me? Will he want to cool things off till the press dies down?

Then I lecture myself. Of course, his eyes are tired. He’s been up for hours.

And fuck my fears. We didn’t go through the last few weeks of opening up, letting each other in, and learning to trust just to toss it all away when shit gets hard.

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