Page 22 of Heart Set on You

“My eyes are up here, M.B.”

“I’m aware,” I murmur. My eyes raise to meet hers.

“You need to behave.” She straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, trying to look professional. Behaving is the furthest thing from mind at the moment, when all I can think about is this urge to take her back to my trailer and do filthy things to her.

I smile. This is too much fun. The flirting we’ve fallen into, the sexy back-and-forth – it’s the best form of anticipation. Most women would be begging by now to sleep with me. Rylee is not most women, and it’s driving me insane. “And what fun would that be?”

“No fun at all, but those are my rules,” she says. I usually prefer taking the dominant role but I’m liking this reversal. Waves of arousal wash over me. I’ve kissed a lot of women, but nothing compares to having Rylee’s mouth on mine. I want her so badly I can hardly stand it.

The moment is interrupted when my agent walks past us. “A word. It’s important. I’ll meet you in your trailer in five,” Matthew says to me and I watch Rylee’s whole body stiffen. He’s been a part of my team for years. A stand-up agent and a damn good one too. Matthew has been with me since the beginning. Before the fame, before the paparazzi waiting outside of coffee shops, before my six-figure contracts. He’s good at his job and gives it to me straight. He’s exactly what I need in my life. No nonsense, zero bullshit and always 10 steps ahead of the game.

“Catch you on set?” I say to Rylee and she nods.

My phone vibrates in my pocket while I’m on my way to meet Matthew. It’s my publicist. I notice a missed call from him too. The text reads: The internet is going crazy for this story. They’ve got a photo of you and Violet. It doesn’t look good. You need to call me now.

Fuck. This can’t be good. I make a mental note to call him after my meeting with Matthew. He’s waiting for me when I open the trailer door, his computer open on his lap. He’s on the phone, barking at someone with a scowl on his face.

I open the Twitter app on my phone to see for myself what the hell is going on. And there it is. Photos of Violet and I, my arm around her shoulders, her hand on my forearm, then on my thigh. Her mouth against my ear. It only gets worse. The headline reads: Miles Bennett and Violet Michelson all over each other in a Vancouver restaurant. Where is Violet’s boyfriend?

“Who the hell’s reporting this bullshit?”

My first instinct is to Tweet out a statement, try to put out the fire before it’s a full-blown inferno. But I know better than to defend myself online. Twitter always wins. It always has the last word.

Matthew ends his call then looks at me, dragging a hand down one side of his face. “Miles, level with me. Are you fucking Violet?”

I gape at him. “Hell no. This is absolute bullshit.”

“Well, these photos sure as hell make it look like you’re fucking her. You two are all over the fucking internet. They’re digging out photos of you with every woman you’ve been photographed with in the last two years,” he says, flipping the screen on his laptop in my direction. The page is filled with pictures underneath the headline “Hollywood’s player at it again.”

“Look. Let people think what they want. I don’t give a shit anymore,” I say, taking the seat across from him.

“I’m glad you don’t, but it’s a big fucking part of my job as your agent to give a shit. I just cleaned up your playboy image. This is the biggest role of your life. You cannot fuck it up. The media will crucify you. They’re all but waiting to catch you with your pants down. Literally and figuratively.”

I agree the photo looks bad, but it’s a far stretch from what the tabloids are trying to spin. I’m frustrated that I even have to deal with this bullshit, it’s the side of Hollywood I hate the most. If I was banging every woman they report I am, I would never get out of bed.

“Look, Miles. Whether you’re sleeping with Violet or not—”

“I just told you, I’m not! Why is that so hard to believe?”

He turns his laptop back around, shutting it. “Let’s be clear. Who you do and where you do it is none of my business, but if you like your job and want to keep on working, you need to do whoever you’re doing behind closed doors. Capeesh?”

“I don’t do women anywhere but behind closed doors,” I say, whipping off my jacket and chucking it on the chair behind me. “And I haven’t done anyone in months.”

“Newsflash. It doesn’t matter. You’re the talk of this town today and you will be tomorrow and the day after that. This is exactly what we agreed you would not do,” he says, driving home his point. “What do you think the production company is going to say about this?”

“For the millionth time, I didn’t do anything. Or anyone,” I huff. “As for the production company, I guess we’re going to find out.”

Matthew’s fingers begin to furiously type on his phone. There’s a vein in his neck that is pulsing. He rambles on and on about me not making his life any harder than it needs to be, about a plan to fix this mess. I’ve stopped listening. How the hell does a photo get blown this far out of proportion?

This day started out so good, seeing Rylee first thing after somehow dragging myself away from her hotel room door last night. My mind drifts to her ass in that damn skirt, the buttons of that blouse that I wanted to undo one by one. I want to give a shit that my name is all over the media for sleeping with another man’s girl, but I can’t get Rylee off of my mind long enough to really care. I shift in my seat and wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

Matthew has finally stopped talking and is glaring at me now with an Are we clear? look in his eye.

“Okay,” I say. “I get it.”

Matthew gets up to leave, pausing with his hand on the door. “I’ll speak to PR and see how they want to handle this. In the meantime, stay away from her.”

“That won’t be an issue.”

---