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Since our encounter with the photographers last night, it never crossed my mind that the pictures would be printed anywhere. I’ve been too consumed with thoughts of Henry and our evening. When I look up at Henry, his brows are creased with concern.
“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. We have been working so hard to paint an image of a family man who spends his weekends with his kids or at home reading. Now, I’ve ruined it for him, and people or, more importantly, the production company will think he is back to his playboy ways.
“You’re sorry?” He looks from the papers back up to me. “Why are you sorry? I put you in this position. I know how much you value your private life.”
I hadn’t thought of that. I look at the picture again. There are a few photos where my full face is visible and others where I’m looking at Henry with more emotion than I want to admit at this moment. In every single picture, Henry has his arm around me, some I’m holding onto his jacket looking forward. But the most incriminating are the ones when we are speaking to one another or making eye contact, “gazing into each other’s eyes,” as the caption states.
Henry continues while I am lost in the photos. “I am very sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
No need for him to apologize. I needed this slap of reality more than I realized. “It’s fine. I’m just sorry if this jeopardizes your chance with the movie.”
“Quite the opposite actually…” he says quietly, as if to himself more than me.
I allow my hands to loosen from their grip on the papers, dropping them on the table in front of me. I take a few sips of my hot chocolate before turning to Henry. “How so?”
“Well, I was with my family. It wasn’t the typical night in town for me. Every publication includes photos of Oliver, Finn, and the girls.”
Relief settles in me. I’m glad I didn’t cause too much damage. “Well, that’s a relief.” Looking back at the papers, I ask, “Do you think these will be published in the States? How famous are you?”
“Apparently not that famous—you didn’t know me before we met. Just my work.” He leans back on the sofa, coffee in hand, while the other arm takes its place on the back of the loveseat.
“Good point.” I risk another glance at the photos but don’t let my eyes linger.
“My agent called this morning—he was the one who alerted me to all this.” He waves his hand in the direction of the papers and magazines. “He feels we could expedite the studio’s decision if I, we, were to…lean into it.”
“I don’t follow.”
Henry adjusts his position as he places his coffee back on the table. Then begins running his hands down his thighs. I’m briefly distracted by the action but am pulledout of it when he blurts out, “What if we didn’t deny this.”
“Denying would imply that people are even asking.” Could this be a bigger ordeal than I realize? “Are people asking?”
“Well, Mark, my agent…”
“Yes, I remember. Keep going.” I shouldn’t be so short with him. He rubs the back of his neck, and the view of his muscular arm makes my stomach twist.
“Yes, the publicist Mark recently employed for me since our social media plan began said that this is getting a lot of traction from my recent rise in popularity.” He stands and begins to pace behind the chair that separates my living room from the kitchen. “Mark asked if you were…if we were…together.”
“And what did you tell him?” His answer doesn’t mean anything. He must have told him the truth. Surely the cocky Henry Brooks didn’t date women like me. Why would Mark even question it? He must not know his client very well.
“Mark suggested a solid, committed relationship, broadcasted on social media, of course, could be the final push we need to get Viewmont Productions to give me the role.”More like the final nail in my coffin.
“Did you tell him we are together?” He avoided the answer once—I will not let him do it again.
He stops and leans over the back of the chair. I begin to assume the worst as he is putting a large piece of furniture between us before answering. “I told him that it’s still new.”
“What’s still new?”
“Our relationship.”
Standing but not making the move to be any closer to him, I say, “Our relationship? Funny, I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.” I can barely contain the emotions at odds within me. The less intelligent half gets delighted at the idea of us being in a relationship, lying about being in a relationship,but the far more rational side is furious over the fact that he feels he can say such things about me for his own selfish needs. Without my knowledge!
Henry stands up straight, readying himself for this argument. “It’s not a bad idea. You have to admit that.”
“Sure, I suppose if you were to get into a relationship and post endless romantic dates, it would gain the attention of your target audience, but you don’t want a relationship.”
“Correct. It would be unfair and unkind of me to find someone to date just to use them for my own personal gain. Which is why this might be the perfect solution. You would be the perfect solution. You are aware of how I feel about love, and you are the creator of this persona that has been so successful and most of all, you aren’t looking for a relationship either.”
He’s right.I don’t want a relationship, but do I necessarily want to pretend to be in one with him, either?It could have some perksbut also can turn into a disaster. “What are you suggesting?”
