Page 9 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

The new Cody wears pink suits and stars in dystopian royal romances.

Paparazzi not invited to the event snap pictures as I step out of the car. Questions fire at me in rapid succession from different photographers.

“Cody, are you alone at the premiere tonight?”

“Is Calista James joining you?”

“Are you the reason she and Billie Francom are getting a divorce?”

“Cody, have you been in rehab?”

I will never understand the rehab question whenever I disappear from the public eye. For the last month, I was in the Maldives, soaking up the sun, escaping from my real-life problems and the recent Calista James rumors. If there’s anything I do well, it’s avoid real feelings. When the going gets tough, I don’t get tougher. I run while looking tough. It makes for a way less complicated life.

I’m surprised none of the paparazzi notice my tan. Where are their sleuthing skills on that one? A better question would’ve been, ‘Cody, did you use Hawaiian Tropic lotion to get a bronze that deep?’ That’s the real story here.

Dallas steps forward, shielding me as I drop my head and move toward the safety of the celebrity tent. Water and fans keep the A-list guests cool inside as they wait for their turn to walk the red carpet.

“You showing up solo tonight doesn’t help with the Calista James story.” Dallas shoves a cold water bottle into my hand.

“I already told you. There is no Calista James story.”

I mean, there is, but not in the way Dallas thinks.

“I really don’t care if there is or isn’t. I just care what the public thinks, and a relationship with a married Calista James is not going to help you, especially if people think you’re the reason she’s separated from her husband. What we need is a decoy relationship with a good girl.”

“A decoy relationship?” I’m not even trying to hide my annoyance with this idea.

“Yeah, something to take the buzz off you and Calista, just for now, until her divorce is finalized.”

“There’s no buzz,” I say again. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“No, you don’t need to worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.”

I’m starting to get annoyed. “There’s nothing to take care of.”

He looks me over with a frown. “Why are you still wearing your sunglasses? Please don't tell me you’ve already started drinking for the night, and now your eyes are too bloodshot for pictures.”

I slowly turn my neck, looking at him through my glasses. I extend my arm out and raise my hand to the rims, dramatically pulling the sunglasses off my face. My gaze narrows, giving him a good look at my sober and clear blue eyes before I hold the sunglasses out for him to take.

“Phew! We just can’t make any mistakes today. This red-carpet event is big for your image.” He grabs the sunglasses, tucking them inside his suit pocket. “But you know I had to ask. It wouldn’t be the first time you showed up to a premiere drunk.” He offers that last part as an excuse for jumping to conclusions.

One time.

I showed up drunk to a premiere one time, three years ago, and it wasn’t even my movie premiere, but the moment lives in infamy. And it’s not like I did anything crazy. I stumbled a few times and yelled across the red carpet to Stacy Starrey, but my speech was so slurred that no one knew what I was trying to say.

Britney, Lindsay, and Paris did waayy worse stuff than that during their destructive prime.

But the tabloids blamed my drunken outburst on reckless, all-day-and-all-night partying. Not true unless you consider clearing out a storage facility after your estranged mother’s death a party.

I do not.

Dallas Mikesell means well. His efforts would mean more if he actually believed I was a good guy or at least believed I could change into a good guy. But I guess I need to prove that to him first.

“Well”—I slap him on the back, a cue that I’m ditching this conversation—“that’s why I pay you the big bucks. To make me look good no matter what.”

I leave him and walk around the star-studded holding tent, greeting people.

“Cody.” Teague Morrow nods at me, then drops his eyes down my suit. A small smile touches his lips. “Pink? Interesting choice. I wouldn’t have worn it, but you always do your own thing.”

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