Page 60 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Should she let him have that? Just roll with it?

Oh hell, it was the middle of the night, and she was Gemma Stanton.

“Thatwasn’t the dick move, Mason.”

He hesitated, as if replaying her words, trying to make it fit a narrative where she was telling him he hadn’t screwed up.

“What was the dick move then?” he said slowly, as if sure he didn’t want the answer.

Okay, she was doing this. “You told me our fake date was all about helping me, and it wasn’t. You were getting PR from it, too.”

His mouth opened, but she barreled on.

“I wouldn’t have minded that,” she said. “You just needed to be honest. But you weren’t. Then you promised me the date of my dreams, whatever I wanted… and arranged everything yourself. The gift cards were—sorry—insulting.”

His mouth opened and shut. Then he said, voice strangled, “How?”

“Because you don’t know me well enough to offer that. If we were dating, you could treat me to a new dress and a spa day. Without that connection, it felt as if you were saying Ineededa new dress—and salon-fresh hair and a manicure—to be your date.”

“What? No. I just… it’s what I do.”

“For every woman you go out with.”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t see how that makes it worse? Like Laird Argyle having a box of necklaces, pull out one for every woman?” She waved off his response. “The date and the cards are minor offenses. Making me think the PR stunt was all for me is a bigger one. And what you did today? Just as big. Maybe even bigger.”

“Today?”

“I thought we were just spending some time together. Two old classmates hanging out. Yes, we discussed releasing photos, andI was fine with that, but I asked to approve any photos you sent. Hell, before that, you literally said, ‘No personal pics without your consent,’ and I thanked you for it.”

He went still. Very still.

“Did someone hack your phone and release those beach selfies of us, Mason?”

He hovered there. Then he sunk back down. “Shit.”

“You released them.”

“My publicist asked for photos, and I sent them.”

“Without my approval?”

He slumped into the chair. “It wasn’t like that, Gem. I swear. I took the photos for myself, and he asked for more, and you looked really good in it, so I… I forgot what we’d said earlier.”

She stood. “I really need to get back to bed. And you need to go home and sleep for the game tonight.”

“I can’t. Not until I’ve fixed this.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “There’s nothing to fix.”

“Yeah, there is. Me.” He looked up. “I need your help.”

“What?”

He pushed to his feet. “Like in high school, when you helped me with my writing. Only now, you’d be teaching me how not to be an asshole.”

“How?”

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