Page 80 of The Villain Edit

I made it clear to Kate and her team that while Kate and I shared a few kisses in the movie, we won’t be doing it now. Kate agreed.

My workout helps burn off some of the frustration and nervous energy, and I’m even feeling good after my shower. Like I can do this. Fake it with Kate and keep Ashley happy. Do the job I need to do on set. Be Gabriel Sinclair in public and myself in private.

I dress in the dark-washed jeans and cream-colored Henley my stylist picked out for me, fastening Michael’s watch—the one I once tried to steal, which he gave me with Cora’s blessing for my eighteenth birthday—around my wrist for good luck. He believed in making a good impression during interviews. Putting people at ease and being genuine.

For the next two days in New York, and for two days after that in London, and two more days in Tokyo, I have to be America’s golden boy, star of the heartwarming rom-comThe Last Best Man, and possible love interest of America’s Sweetheart Kate Van Sandt. Definite love interest, according to everyone.

My relationship with Ashley, and my relationship with Kate, thank god, are both off the list of approved topics for the interviews. Not that a few entertainment reporters won’t hint around it, but these people aren’t the paparazzi. They want to be invited back to the studio’s press tours, so they’ll play ball.

There’s a sharp, impatient rap on my door and I open it to a visibly panicked David. He pushes past me, slamming the door and handing me his phone. “We have a problem.”

I glance down at the screen and my blood goes cold.

GABRIEL SINCLAIR CAUGHT CHEATING WITH EX.

A close-up from a long-range lens of me, kissing Ash in her doorway, my hand the only thing covering her breast after I’d tugged the top of her pantsuit down. A photo insert in the bottom corner of me still on my motorcycle—it’s hard to tell that’s me, except I’m wearing the same thing they caught me leaving in. And boy did they catch me leaving, Ash watching me walk away. That photo is close enough to catch the satisfied smile on my face. The unhappy look on hers.

“So this isn’t great,” David says in the understatement of the fucking century, helping himself to a bottle of water from my mini-fridge and taking a long drink. “And I can’t get a hold of Rose.”

The story broke ten minutes ago. Christ.

“We need Kate,” David says, putting down his water and pacing the room. “We need the two of you in photographs together like nothing is wrong. Then we need her to keep being that happy sunshine person throughout this whole junket, and—”

I’m not listening anymore. The words in the article etch themselves into my skin like acid.Cheater. No golden boy. What else is he hiding?My stomach roils, empty and burning. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built, and it’s all crashing down. Now the bastards are looking critically at me and my closet is full of skeletons. Mine. My uncle’s.

I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. If Emma was right before—and she’s always right—my career will be fine. But what’s the point of winning an Oscar if I can’t hold it with pride? Michael would—

A new alert pops up.

Kate, sitting in a café, shoulders hunched and crying while her assistant gently comforts her.

KATE VAN SANDT’S BROKEN HEART.

“I’m fucked.” I drop the phone back into David’s hand and sink into the nearest chair, cradling my head in my hands. Kate is loved by everyone and her fans—SuperVans—are a force of nature. Thanks to the lies we sold them, it won’t matter that Kate’s not my girlfriend and Ashley is. They’ll come for me.

“Oh, this is not good.” David says, staring at the screen. His phone rings and the circus begins. He thrusts it to me. “Rose.”

Rose is already talking as I hold the phone to my ear. “I told you to break up with her. If you can’t hold your side of the bargain, I can’t help you.”

“I’m sorry. What do we do?”

“Gabe, you didn’t just cheat on a girlfriend,” Rose explains, the patience in her voice thin as paper. “You broke the heart ofKate Van Sandt, America’s favorite actress, so you could fuck your ex, who happens to be America’s most hated bitch.”

I bristle. “Ashley’s not—”

“That’s how the public sees her,” Rose says. “The truth of who Ashley is doesn’t matter. She isn’t my client. You are. So this is what we’re going to do. We’re putting out a statement that you and Kate enjoy a close friendship and the flirty nature of it was turned into something it’s not by the press and fans. She was crying because she just found out from her mother that her dog is unwell. It’s true, I just got off the phone with her publicist. Kate’s going to issue a statement, and post her dog’s recovery on her social media.”

“What do I need to do?”

Rose hesitates, just for a second, but it’s enough to tell me there’s nothing I can do. “I want you to take some time and figure out what you want. Because it looks like you want Ashley, and if you do, I think we need to stop tilting at windmills and let this go. Okay?”

“Yeah,” I manage.

“It’s going to be okay, Gabe. Put this out of your mind and get through the next few days. We’ll do our best to clean the mess.”

Clean the mess. They’ve never had to clean my mess because I’ve never left one before Ashley.

There’s a knock at the door, and Kate walks into my room, tears streaming down her face, apologizing. I hug her and reassure her everything will be okay. But when I ask about her dog, she bursts into loud sobs. Her assistant and entourage follow, and we’re joined by several reps from the PR firm running the junket. Everyone is talking, trying to put out fires, all while I stare at the coffee David hands me.

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