Page 9 of Falling Off Script

The way I see it, I’ve got two options: play defense or offense. And you know what I always choose.

I flip to Tyler’s thread.

ME:

What if we pitched her something? Real collab. Podcast or series. Battle of the sexes but smart.

TYLER:

Risky.

Also baller.

Also horny-coded.

ME:

Horny-coded is the key.

I’m not even sure this is a real plan. It’s more like... momentum. A vibe.

The internet wants a show? Fine. Let’s give them one.

Let them ship us, clip us, overanalyze every glance.

Lean in. Smile for the camera. Let it look like a fling.

Emily won’t love it. But if I play it right, she’ll respond.

And then we’re in business.

Because hate is attention.

And attention?

Is the game.

Game I practically invented.

I smirk, fingers already flying over the keyboard.

Let the next round begin.

5. Emily

After the panel aired, the internet did what the internet does: it lost its mind. Clips went viral—duets, stitches, dramatic readings. Team Adrian. Team Emily. Team 'Please Just Kiss Already.' Apparently, someone had made a thirst edit of us arguing, set to a slowed-down Dua Lipa track. Tragic.

So when I got the invite to a networking mixer hosted by the production company, I knew exactly what it was: orchestrated tension. Optics. PR candy. Put us in a room again and let the cameras hunt for chemistry.

The event is at a rooftop bar in Midtown—the kind of place where everyone pretends they just happened to look amazing. String lights, ambient music, curated cocktails named things like 'The Soft Launch.' Too many men in sneakers and blazers. Just enough sheen to feel important. And then Adrian Zayne strolls in, perfectly timed. Like someone said 'action.'

Adrian is already there when I arrive. Of course he is. Holding court near the bar, laughing at something a woman in a leather jumpsuit says, hand resting lightly on the back of her chair. It's not quite touching. But it's definitely there. Just enough to register.

He sees me. His smile widens.

"Emily," he says, lifting his glass like we’re co-conspirators, not ideological enemies. "Still dangerous, I hope."

I smile back, tight and professional. "Only in heels."

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