Page 57 of Faking It

“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

“That’s what you said when they banned me from the set.”

“They didn’t ban you. Cheryl just wants to keep information from getting out there. The fewer outsiders around, the more unlikely that will be.”

Her face scrunches into a scowl. “So, I’m an outsider now?”

“You know what I mean. You’re not a part of the crew. She just wants to keep things private, I guess.”

The scowl remains in place. I take her arm, shaking it. “Don’t be mad, please. If I had my way—”

“It’s fine.” Her words come out a little sharp, though she’s smiling. “You’re already late, so let’s get going. I’ll go have a drink somewhere until you’re ready to leave.”

Relieved, I throw my arms around her. “Thank you for understanding, and I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she replies, hugging me back.

I follow her out, and she drops me off at Cheryl’s mansion in Beverly Hills, where the party is already in full swing. A butler escorts me to the second floor to a large room filled with people I immediately recognize from the industry. Important people. Celebrities. Connections. I’m literally standing in a gold mine.

It’s a quiet affair, the room beautifully decorated with long-stemmed vases at each corner of the room, filled with pink and white flowers. Crystal chandeliers adorn the ceiling. A six-tier cake stands at the front of the room, right beside a small band playing classical music low enough to accommodate the conversations going on. White-gloved servers move through the crowd, serving what I’m sure is high end liquor. Although I’m late, it seems the guest of honor hasn’t made an appearance yet.

Glancing around, I see no sign of Gideon, either. He wanted us to show up together, but I disagreed, and he expressed that it might trigger negative rumors. I disagreed with that statement, too. Being Hollywood’s new ‘it’ couple doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip. I’m sure no one raised their brows when I entered the venue alone. Any suspicion of a breakup won’t matter once he gets here, and people see us cozied up. I just wanted some control over the entire situation. Keeping that line bold and clear.

At least, I’m trying.

I soon spot Jared and join his circle. He introduces me to a notable film producer who takes my card—thank you, Tori, for reminding me—and mentions he might have a role in mind for me. It’s not an outright offer, but it’s more than I’d hoped to achieve tonight. All I expected were some simple conversations where I’d leave a memorable mark.

Jared leads me around the room and makes a few more introductions while I sip lemonade after lemonade until my bladder prompts me. I bid my excuse and hurry to the restroom. When I get back, I spot Jared in a corner, engrossed in a heated conversation with a tall, tattooed guy.

Okay… I’m definitely not going over there.

I turn to head to the lower deck where it’s quieter and there’s more space, when someone steps in my path.

Michael Galanos.

Liquid fear fills my insides. The memory of his groping hands, his hot breath, the harsh command on his lips, makes me stumble back, bumping into a passing gentleman, whose drink spills and covers my entire back.

Gasping from the icy dousing, I mumble my apology and step off, intending to get as far from Michael as I can. A grip on my wrist stops me. The scream remains stuck in my throat as my eyes lock with Gideon’s.

He’s pissed. The tight grip on my arm confirms it. It’s right there in his eyes, too. When he pulls me to his side and faces Michael, I realize he’s not angry with me. I feel the energy pouring out of him, too. If Michael had any sense at all, he wouldn’t be smirking like that.

“I told you to stay away from her,” Gideon seethes. “Didn’t you get the message, or do I need to make it even clearer?”

“It’s a free country. Last time I checked, I can go wherever I want.” He directs the smirk at me, the nasty look making me want to crawl into myself. “Keep your bitch on a leash, and we won’t have that problem.”

Within a split second, Gideon releases my arm. In the next second, I hear a sickening crunch, and Michael goes down, taking a long-stemmed vase with him. It lands on the floor, splintering with a crash that draws the attention of the nearby crowd. The band stops playing, which draws even more attention to our side.

Jesus. If only the ground could open and take me now.

I came here for attention, but not this kind. Not the negative press—

“Gideon, no!” I cry out, as he crouches over Michael, his hand curled in a fist. There’s a bruise already formed on Michael’s cheek. Enough damage has already been done.

“You should listen to your girlfriend,” Michael snarls. “Can’t afford to fuck with what’s left of your career, can you?”

Hearing the muffled chatter around us, I tug on the back of Gideon’s shirt. “No more. Please. He’s not worth it.”

Michael scoffs. “You’re the one not worth it, sweetie. You fucking washed-up piece of trash. Everyone knows you fucked James to get the role—”

---