“What kind of post?” I asked, hating the guy more with every passing second.
She shrugged, shaking her head. “Just a photo of him looking all heroic on the set of that war movie, but the caption…” Her fists clenched. “It said, ‘Nice to be working on a film with actual stakes. Can’t wait to see howEvery Day Is Sundayholds up against real grit and passion.’”
A muscle in her cheek twitched. What the hell had she ever seen in this guy? “I think he’s trying to use the competition between our films to get in my head.” She gave me a tiny smile. “Anyway, I can’t let his movie win over ours.”
First of all, screw Trey for trying to publicly undermine her work even now.
But second of all, that worked out perfectly for me. “In that case,” I said. “Sounds like I’m the one doingyouthe favor.” This time I wouldn’t have to offer up life and limb or any more of that goddamn RevX energy drink to get Sierra on board. “So let’s stick it to him.”
“Oh, too late,” Sierra said, shooting me a smug grin. “I’m totally holding you to that deal for Ro. If I have to lie and endure a fake relationship, I should get something good out of it.”
“Something good?” I said. “You’re going to be moving into my penthouse. What could be better?”
“Excuse me?” Sierra said, her eyebrows arching. “Who said anything about moving? That wasn’t part of Jillian’s email.”
“Not yet, but I’ve been working with her long enough to know the moment we say yes, that will be next on her agenda.”
“I’m still not hearing any reason why that would be necessary.”
I leveled her with a challenging look. “It’s all about optics, Sierra. Why would any fiancée of mine be living in some middling place in Beverlywood?”
“Middling?” she said, taking immediate offense. “Are you calling my place?—”
“Plain, unexceptional, second-rate?” I said, smirking at her annoyed face. “Not at all, fiancée.”
12
SIERRA
“You never know,” Ro said from the passenger seat of my old beater as we followed the moving truck Finn had sent to pack up my things this morning. “Living together might not be that bad. Maybe you and Finn will hit it off.”
“In close quarters?” I said, rolling my eyes. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t kill each other.”
I’d managed to put off the move to Finn’s condo until this weekend, but according to Jillian and her magical PR plan, I couldn’t put it off anymore. If we really wanted to sell this engagement to the tabloids, we needed to curate opportunities for Finn and me to be seen together, and apparently—horribly—that would be easier to do if we were living together.
“I’m still trying to process the fact that you got caught up in an engagement scandal with the Behind-the-Scenes Beefcake,” Ro said. “How come I’m never tabloid fodder? I’d enjoy it so much more than you! I need to start hanging around after hours.”
“I wasn’t trying to get caught up in anything,” I insisted. “Not this engagement. And definitely not moving in with him.”
“Where’s he live again?” Ro asked as we turned onto the freeway.
“Silver Lake,” I said, drumming my thumb against the steering wheel. In his big, swanky penthouse condo. I’d looked it up the moment he gave me the address. “I probably couldn’t even afford the dust in his place.”
“He probably doesn’t evenhavedust in his place,” Ro said.
“True. He has people for that.”
She laughed. “I guess you’re one of his people now.”
“I amnothis people. Or his person. Or whatever.”
“You’re going to be living in his place,” Ro pointed out. “That makes you something. His roommate at the very least.”
I groaned, changing lanes to stay with the movers. “I know! It’s so freaking weird!”
“But hey…” Ro said. “There are pluses. You’re closer to work, so you’ll spend less money on gas and less time stuck in traffic.”
“Right.”