Page 8 of No Reservations

“Where do they come up with these things?” I muttered and reached for my coffee cup. Despite Brooke telling me a dozen times or more to avoid Thad’s online column, I couldn’t help but click his link. The photo was even grainier and more heavily filtered as if he was trying to deny facts through photo-manipulation alone.

The question on everyone’s lips this morning: who is the ‘ruggedly handsome’ stranger seen dining with boy-band manager Cole Gilliam? Sources suggest Cole is blackmailing him to play the role so he could keep up the lie about his identity. Could Cole stoop any lower? Our team works tirelessly to unearth his true identity. Subscribe now!

My temples began to throb in a familiar rhythm, and I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension in my neck. “Blackmail. What could I possibly blackmail someone about?” In the middle of trying to convince myself that the positive rumors outweighed Thad’s wild suppositions, my phone rang.

“Hello, Brooke.” I drifted over to the couch and slumped down against the cushions.

“Did you see what that asshole wrote?” She barely waited for my grunt before barreling on. “If you do this rent boy thing you better make it seem real.”

My head thumped down on a pillow. “What the hell, Brooke. He’s not a rent boy! Matthew’s just a regular guy.”

“A regular guy who wants to fake date a really rich and successful media icon. Whatever he is, do you think he can pull something like this off? Really?”

I wrapped my arm more tightly around the pillow and squeezed. “I don’t know. What other options do I have? I can’t…” My voice stuttered to a stop, and I clenched my jaw before continuing. “I just want everyone to leave me alone.” She was the only one I could ever admit that to. She was the only one who would listen.

When she spoke next, Brooke’s voice sounded softer and gentler than I’d ever heard it. “If you do this, they’ll hound you about it for weeks or even months. Then, maybe you can put it all behind you and move on with your life.” She sighed. “By the time the tour starts, it could all be over for good. But, Cole, it’ll only work if this random guy can sell it. You have to be sure.”

“Can we ever be sure of anything?”

“Oh fuck, now he quotes philosophy at me.” Brooke snorted. “Call Yair and get the paperwork drawn up. That’s what lawyers are for. If it doesn’t work out, put in a clause about non-payment or something.”

“Goodbye, Brooke.” I disconnected the call and rolled onto my side, trying to stretch out my neck and relax my shoulders. The whole idea sounded insane, but I was tired of dealing with the rumors, the messages, and the questions every time I made a public appearance.

I shifted so I could look out the window at the lake. Two more kayakers paddled by and, further out, a small sailboat skimmed across the blue water. My eyes slipped closed.

***

The hand on my thigh crept higher, fingertips digging in through the lightweight wool pants I wore. I didn’t want the man’s hand on me at all, and I shifted my leg and stepped as far away as the crush at the bar let me “Not interested,” I said and turned back toward the bar to wait for the whiskey I’d ordered.

“Oh, come on, Cole. What’s the matter? Those boys surely taught you how to let loose and have a good time.”

The smarmy words muttered too close to my ear made me step back and spin around to stare at the man who had groped me. He stood a few inches shorter than my six-foot-one, had thin brown hair, and his smudged glasses nearly obscured narrowed eyes.

“Who are you?” It wasn’t what I wanted to know, and I shook my head. Where was that damn bartender? “I’m really not interested. Thank you.”

Sometimes the headaches made it hard to keep my positive public relations face on. It was the first time I’d gone out alone in months. Most of the time, no one recognized me. Even pop fans didn’t know their favorite group’s manager by sight. Obviously, this man did, and he thought he could use the knowledge as some sort of in.

The man sidled closer and leaned into my space. “Tight ass, huh? Just the way I like them. Or maybe we can unwind all that tension in another way. Just pow, pow, pow.” He thumped his fist into his other palm and wiggled his rear. “I’m good either way.”

“No, thank you. Please leave me alone.” The bartender finally returned with my drink. I snatched it up and spun around to push back into the crowd.

Before the noise of the crowd and thumping music could drown them out, his next words reached my ears. “Stuck up asshole. You’ll regret this.”

The plan to maybe find someone to hook up with that night vanished like stage smoke. Three weeks had passed since the man I went on four promising dates with called me late at night. He had asked me to show up at a club to get him and his friends in. When I declined, he insisted I send him money so they could get a car to take them somewhere else. I didn’t answer the text and, when I tried to call the next day, he had blocked my number. Same old story.

All I wanted was a nice, simple hook-up once in a while. The idea of finding a man who would want me for me seemed nothing more than a dream. If all I could attract was creepy guys with roaming hands and dirty mouths, I might as well give up.

I got up the next day to a text from Brooke with a link to an article on a popular gossip content channel, Thad’s Mad Tea, and a photo of the groper from the night before.Cole Gilliam Fakes Gay!the headline said. The post had over four thousand comments by noon and had spread across the web like wildfire.

Chapter 5

Matthew

Ididn’t bring a suit on my vacation. Cole was decked out in a dove gray summer wool jacket and trousers and a white button down. I wore chinos and a green short-sleeve shirt. At least I bought some leather slip-ons on the trip, so I didn’t have to show up at the lawyer’s office in my flip-flops. He looked like a million dollars. I looked like exactly what I was: just some regular guy. There was no way anyone would believe we were together.

The hotel in the city had a business center with private offices. People in business suits hovered over laptops or sipped coffee behind the etched glass walls. I followed Cole through adoor at the end of the hall into a small, wood-paneled space with a broad desk and two chairs.

A serious-looking man with dark curls sat on the other side. “Cole.” He stood and offered his hand to shake before turning in my direction. “Yair Cantor. Nice to meet you.”

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