“Okay, this is your brainchild. What is it we’re supposed to do?” Jake asked Hailey, feeling weird about the whole thing. He still wasn’t quite sure why he was trusting this relative stranger to do his publicity when he didn’t trust top A-list Hollywood power publicists to do so. Maybe it was because she wasn’t from Hollywood. On the other hand, she was a self-confessed con artist.

That ought to give him pause.

Hell, maybe it was just to entertain himself. After all, it looked like his connection with the show was going down the toilet and he didn’t have any other work lined up—by his own choice. He might as well do something to get his mind off of the pain in the ass his professional life was turning out to be.

Why not explore the real reason you’re giving this woman a chance, huh?

He frowned at himself. The problem was, there was no logical reason. Yes, she was smokin’ hot, but you couldn’t swing a cat in L.A. without hitting some sculpted, manufactured “hot girl.” It was more than that. Her personality. Her humor. Her intelligence and savvy. Whatever the hell it was, it was both potent and compelling.

And above all: he trusted her, when he rarely trusted anyone. The fact that he did after knowing her for such a short time unnerved him when he thought about it too much. Consequently, he didn’t think about it at all.

“I did some research last night,” Hailey said, breaking through his train of thought. They were sitting in his hotel room. She was drinking a large coffee with a metric crapton of sugar and whipped cream and stuff, while he manfully drank his black and wished he’d gotten a mocha-frappa-whatsit, so he, too, could enjoy something sweet. Especially watching the way she licked the whipped cream off her lips . . .

No, he chastised himself. Stay focused.

“Research?” he said, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat. “On what? Publicity stunts?”

“No, the convention,” she said, rolling her eyes a little. Her eyes were very expressive. Especially with that bat-wing eyeliner she had going on. They were huge and a dark, almost purplish blue. “I know fans. And I hate to put it this way, but I know marks, and right now, the audience is our mark. We want them to spread the word that you’re dating a fan. The goal is to get people talking, right?”

He nodded, still not sure where she was going.

She took a deep breath. “The mark is going to act in her own self-interest. Why does anyone gossip?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “I hate gossip.” He’d lived with enough of it in his life, being born a bastard son of a famous actor. And Hollywood was just one big grapevine of rumors and innuendo.

She leaned back against the cream-colored sofa, propping her booted feet up on the black lacquer coffee table. “People gossip because information has value. They want to show that they know something that other people don’t know. Then they share because they want to show that they’re not missing out on anything. Finally, they share with people who will care about the information—it makes them feel good to know they made someone else happy, because it improves their friendship level.”

He stared at her. “You sound like a professor.”

“I learned from the best,” she said, and her expression turned hazy, almost sad. Then she sighed. “Anyway, we want to tell the story that you, hot studly actor, have gotten involved with a normal fangirl. The thing is, if we want people to talk about it, then we have to look like we’re hiding it.”

“Why?” he asked, puzzled. “If we want people to find out about it, shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, flaunting it or something?”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “Oh, my sweet summer child,” she murmured. “That’s the clearest way to tell people it’s a fraud. This is classic misdirection. You want them to believe something? Let them think they figured it out on their own.”

“Okay, Houdini,” he said, sipping his coffee and wincing. “So, how do we do that?”

She bit her lip. She had great lips. He wished he could bite that full lower lip of hers.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do that.”

He blinked. “Do what? I’m just sitting here.”

Her smile was slow and scorchingly sexy, and he felt his body tighten.

“You were sitting there looking like you wondered what I’d taste like dipped in chocolate,” she purred, and it was like a punch in the chest. “You keep staring at me like that, and people will know something’s going on.”

“And where will you be?”

“In the audience, like any good fan,” she said. “When’s your next panel?”

He glanced at his watch. “Um . . . in an hour or so. What do you want to do till then?”

She shot a quick look at the bed, then gave a tiny head shake, one she probably wasn’t even aware of. “We should probably leave the hotel room,” she said quickly.

Taking in the bed—and remembering the last time they were together on one—made his body start to tense painfully. “That’s probably a good idea. Where to?”

“We can’t be too obvious, so wandering the convention floor holding hands is out.” She got up, started to pace. “But we do need to be seen together. And we’ll want to set up a couple of situations where we almost get caught doing something compromising. Get somebody to take a picture of us kissing, that kind of thing.”

He frowned. “My publicist once wanted me to do stuff like that with a starlet,” he said, feeling that gross sensation in the pit of his stomach. “I didn’t even know the girl. She looked like she was a teenager. It was awkward.”

“Well, I think I can say that nobody’s going to mistake me for a teenager,” she said, and he did it again . . . his gaze sliding over her.

Today, she was wearing a black pencil skirt and four-inch heels that looked like the world’s sexiest 1940s secretary would wear them. She matched that with a sweater that was soft and fuzzy and matched her eyes, a perfect shade of midnight.

Damn, the woman was hot.

“There you go again,” she said, and her eyes were gleaming. “That’s the look. Want to go downstairs and give it a try? See if we can spark some attention?”

He was nodding before he knew what to do with himself.

They left the room, heading to the elevators. As the elevator doors closed, she surprised him by taking his hand. “This is how it would be, if you were really dating a fan and wanted to keep it quiet,” she murmured, and he found himself riveted. “In public, we couldn’t stop looking at each other, but we’d know we’d have to keep a lid on it. But when other people were around, we’d have to keep it hidden, just wrap it up.”

“But we’d be so attracted to each other,” he finished, finally getting it, “we’d do a really bad job of it.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Really, a good con job is just like acting. You’re playing a role, and getting other people to believe it.”

“What exactly did you con people out of? And how’d you do it?”

There was more sadness in the pools of her midnight eyes, and she just shook her head slightly.

“Not now,” she murmured, sidling up next to him. “We’re on the job.”

Just like that, he was riveted. She was tall and curvy and pressed against him. She smelled like jasmine again, exotic, sweet, and sharp. She nuzzled his ear, squeezing his hand.

“Nobody’s here,” he pointed out, noticing that his voice sounded a little strangled.

“Just getting you in the right place,” she said, her breath tickling his ear, her chest pressed against his bicep. God, the feel of her . . .

Focus! He mentally slapped himself. This was business. A transaction. Hell, she’d drawn up a game plan like a goddamned football coach. She didn’t feel anything.

He took a deep breath, his bloodstream rushing as he felt the heat coming off of her. Did she feel anything for him beyond the con?

The elevator door dinged, and she quickly stepped away. There was a slight touch of flush on her pale cheeks, and she stared at the elevator numbers like her life depended on it, as he stared at her.

Some giggling women stepped in, then gasped as they recognized him. “Are you . . . aren’t you Jake Reese?”

He nodded, still looking at Hailey. She shot him a glance, then shook her head, nodding at the girls. He cleared his throat again.

“Yes! Yeah, I’m Jake,” he said, smiling.

The girls gave Hailey a curious glance, but then focused on him, asking questions. He accompanied them out of the elevators. He answered a few questions, and signed a photo and a small journal. Then he glanced around.

Hailey was standing off to one side, smirking. She winked at him. He grinned back, walking over to her. She shook her head again, and he froze. What was he supposed to do now? They hadn’t discussed past the initial “get noticed” step.

He watched as she weaved through the crowd, then went off to one side, to a hallway. He looked around, trying to be casual. He was stopped by fans every few steps. He signed dozens of autographs. “Sorry,” he finally said. “I’ll be at the panel in a minute though. I just need to, um, prep,” he improvised.

God, he hated improv. He probably should’ve remembered that before agreeing to this idiocy.

He finally escaped to the hallway where Hailey was waiting. “How was that?”

“Not bad,” she said, biting her lip again thoughtfully. “I think we’ve gotten some attention. Now, we just need to start that powder keg off.”

“How do we do that?”

“By being obvious,” she said. “But not being obvious.”

“Obviously,” he muttered. “Man, you’re the worst director I’ve ever worked with.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, and he grinned.

“No, we just have to . . .” She stopped, tilting her head. “Okay, here’s our shot. Kiss me.”

“Wha—”

Before he could do anything, she grabbed him, putting those pillowy lips right on his. His body, thankfully, wasn’t as slow as his brain. It didn’t care why this gorgeous creature was kissing him. It just wanted more, and it wanted it now.

He tilted his head, taking her lips in a strong, firm kiss just as she’d opened her mouth for a breath. He swept his tongue in, gliding along the soft satin of her inner lips. Her tongue moved forward, tangling with his, as he crushed her chest against him, pulling her hips taut to his where things were definitely getting harder.

“Um, Mr. Reese . . .” a girl’s voice said. “Jake . . . I just . . . oh, my God! Oops!”

He barely registered it. Hailey tried to jerk away.

“Oh,” she said, starting to turn.

“Not done with you yet,” he growled softly, kissing her a few more times, feeling her fingers curl in his hair.

“Jake,” Hailey said, looking embarrassed. Even blushing a little.

He turned to see three girls in Mystics T-shirts quickly clicking photos with their cell phones. “Is this your girlfriend?” one asked.

“Um . . .” He turned to Hailey, still feeling punch-drunk from the kiss. Aching to do it again. He tried desperately to get his head back in the game. Was this the way it was supposed to happen?

Hailey turned red. She truly looked like she was blushing right to the roots of her hair. Did she really think she wasn’t a good actress? She was better than many of his previous co-stars.

“It’s not . . . we’re just . . .” she stammered, then glanced at him. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked uncertain. “Listen, nobody’s supposed to know about us. Can you guys keep a secret?”

The girls giggled again, eyes wide.

“We just started, well . . .” Hailey trailed off. “It’s new. And I don’t know how his agent or publicist or anything is going to feel about this, so we’re just trying to keep it quiet, you know?”

“Why?” one girl asked.

Hailey shifted her weight. “Just . . . can you help us?” she pleaded.

They nodded immediately—well, two of them did. The third one looked just a little bit shrewd.

“So she’s just somebody you’re sleeping with,” the third one said, sounding way older than she looked. And bitter. Surprisingly bitter.

“Absolutely not,” Jake said, putting his arm protectively around Hailey’s waist. She curled against him, snuggling in, as if taking comfort. What the hell kind of comment is that? Who says something like that? “It’s not like that. I care about her.”

The other two girls made a little “aww” sound. If possible, Hailey turned redder.

“Well . . . you’d better go, erm, get ready for your panel,” Hailey said to him, then turned back to the girls. “Thanks for keeping this just between us.”

They walked away, the girls quickly giggling off in the other direction.

When they were out of sight, Hailey’s blush slowly vanished. “Where’s your green room or whatever?” she said. “That’s enough public for now. We’ll get you ready for that panel, and I’ll be sure to be out front or something . . .”

He stopped, stunned by how quickly she was able to recover. “You just . . . wow. That was all the con, huh?”

She sighed. “Well, yes. That’s the point.”

He didn’t know why that upset him as much as it did. But it did upset him. She was turning it on and off like tap water. How was she able to do that so effortlessly?

Maybe the better question was—why couldn’t he? His heart was still racing.

“It’s not personal, Jake,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I have to ask.” He swallowed, unsure of how to proceed. “The cons you ran—were they on men? Were they . . . like this?”

Now she looked at him like he’d slapped her. “No,” she said sharply. “Not like this. I was thirteen when I stopped, for Christ’s sake.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said. “I mean, we don’t know each other very well, do we?” He grimaced. “Like you said: it’s not personal. I was just wondering about your background.”

Now she crossed her arms, her midnight eyes glinting. “I guess this is our first fight, sweetie,” she said, her tone like poison mixed in honey. “Because we struck this deal, and if you’re going to get judgy, maybe I just take a walk and you deal with your Q Score your own way.”

“You’re the one who wants to help your sister,” he pointed out defensively.

He saw the expression drain away. Her normally expressive face became a careful mask.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m . . . sorry. I—It’s a touchy subject. I was a grifter, not a sex worker.”

The suppressed pain in her words tugged at him. She obviously cared about her sister, enough to put up with being accused of being some kind of hooker. He’d bet she’d probably punch any man who suggested otherwise—but not if her sister’s well-being was on the line.

Maybe it’s an act, though, his rational brain counseled him. After all, she was one helluva liar. She was able to brush off their kiss while he was still gasping for breath.

If she could convince him that easily, without feeling anything—God, was he wrong to trust her? Was it all just lust on his end?

“What if there wasn’t an audience?” he heard himself ask, surprising himself.

She blinked.

He leaned in, slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, not crowding her, not grabbing her. His lips barely brushed hers, a whisper of softness.

“If it isn’t for show, how do you feel?”

She swayed toward him, her own lips brushing his, a mere slide of silk.

“You know I’m attracted, Jake,” she said, and all he wanted to do was sink into that mouth and stay for a while.

She pulled away before he had the chance. “And you know that you’re the one that made the rules. No sex,” she said, her voice brisk again, the heat slowly ebbing away. “Because this is business. And as you just pointed out, I’m doing this to help my sisters. And I’d walk through fire to help them, so I’m not screwing that up . . . which means I’m not crossing any lines, and neither are you.”

He winced. She was right. What the hell was he doing?

She smiled, but it didn’t make it to her eyes.

“See you out there,” she said, her voice rough. “Sweetie.”

* * *

Jesus, Hailey, get yourself together.

Hailey sat in the third row at the panel. She was in a standard hotel room chair, the stackable kind, not the plushest seats in the world. But that wasn’t the reason for her discomfort. No, the squirming was all her, still remembering Jake’s kiss, the way he’d held her tight against him . . . the feel of that growing bulge, pressing against her stomach. Yeah, baby.

Was it hot in here, or was it just him?

She looked at her cell phone for the third time, and still forgot to really check what time it was. That’s how flustered the man had her.

When was the last time she’d been truly flustered by a man?

Never. This was a first. That made her somewhat nervous.

It’s just a con, she told herself. The guy himself knew it was strictly business. She was doing this for her sister, Cressida. And yeah, as noble as that sounded, and as important as Cressida was, she knew that it was also a bit of a cop-out. She was interested in this guy.

The crowd was predominantly women, all talking and laughing, waiting for the guys to come out. It was just going to be the brothers today—Jake, Simon, and Miles—in a more intimate talk. Different women were talking about which one they thought was the hottest. She grinned as she heard various lines from the show quoted back and forth to each other.

She sat close to the end of her row—near enough to the front of the crowd that Jake should see her, but far enough that she could walk out if she needed to. There were some photographers lined up against the wall by the door, cameras ready, angled toward the panel stage. Because this room was smaller than the big auditorium they’d been in yesterday, the rows were crammed, putting Hailey only a few feet away from the cameras. One of the photographers was a woman in jeans who looked very irritated and very bored.

“Do you even know what they’re talking about?” Hailey heard the woman say, not too discreetly, to another cameraman.

He shrugged. “I don’t watch the show.”

“Neither do I,” the woman said, then got on her cell phone. “Phil, listen, there’s nothing here. I don’t care if he is Kurt Windlass’s kid, this is boring! This is one step above pet fashion shows and sweet sixteens. And I’m up here in the middle of nowhere. I hear Ciara’s up with Russell Wilson. I’m sure if I . . .”

She trailed off, looking pissed.

“Fine, fine, I’ll take pictures of Kurt’s choirboy kid,” the photographer said, rolling her eyes. “But I swear to God, if I get something worth publishing, I’m going to sell it to the highest bidder and screw your job, Phil. I’m tired of being stuck out in the sticks.”

The photographer was still cursing as she hung up. Hailey felt the tingle of prescience. This. This was an opportunity. Any good con woman worth her salt would see the same.

When the crowd burst into cheers, hoots, and applause, she got to her feet as well, clapping. The guys were all dressed casually, but all looked good. Simon looked almost predatory, turning on his charm like a spotlight. Miles was more withdrawn, shy. And then there was Jake, his eyes scanning the crowd as he grinned, this adorable lopsided grin that made him look boyishly handsome, almost mischievous.

His eyes met hers, and he nodded. Not warming up, she realized. He was still pissed about the whole job thing.

Damn it. There was paparazzi here. This was not a time for him to be prissy. He needed to sell the story—to set up the con. She couldn’t do this by herself.

She’d have to loosen him up. Not easy, but not impossible, either, she thought, willing him to look at her.

The crowd started asking questions again . . . stuff about the show. “Simon, do you think your character is ever going to get a girlfriend?”

He shrugged. “Girlfriend, boyfriend, I’m open-minded,” he said, to more whistles and catcalls. He winked, obviously playing to the slash crowd. “But you know how it is. Significant others don’t last long on the show.”

This brought up muted booing as they remembered his love interest in the first season had died brutally—drowning, for him to find. He made a sad face. The next question was for Miles, something about whether he was as bookish as his character.

As he answered it, Jake looked over at her, just for a second. She stared at him like her eyes were a tractor beam, and she was calling him in.

Get over it, she thought, taking a deep breath that put the girls up to their best advantage.

She noticed his glance slowed a little . . . and heated a little. Better, she thought. But again, she couldn’t be too obvious. Damn it, she should’ve prepped him better. But how was she supposed to know the paparazzi would be following him here?

She had to get him to play along.

She cleared her throat, just a tiny bit. The audience by and large ignored her. But he caught it, she noticed. He stared, just a little longer.

“Sorry,” she mouthed slowly, feeling a little stubborn.

She noticed him shrugging a little. Apparently sexy looks and apologies weren’t going to get her anywhere. While the other guys were loose limbed and easygoing, he looked like a stick in the mud, a carved-out-of-marble tough guy with his arms crossed.

Well, screw that.

When next he looked at her, he paused, startled, then took a second glance. At least, she thought so. It was hard to tell . . . probably because she was crossing her eyes and doing fish lips. When she straightened her eyes out, he was staring at her like she was insane.

She grinned, stuck her tongue out at him, and winked.

He looked startled, and then covered his mouth. She could see from his eyes that he was grinning.

“Jake,” a voice asked, and he quickly shifted his attention. He was looking looser, though. Well, that was something, she thought.

“Yes?” he asked, a hint of warmth and a chuckle in his tone.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

The crowd chuckled. “No. We’re all single,” he said, his tone suggesting it was obviously the standard line.

“Are you sure?”

Now the crowd turned and looked at the person asking. It was the girl—the one from the hallway. She was grinning, a little cruel, somewhat smug, even as her friend hissed at her to sit down.

“Um . . .” Jake shot another glance at Hailey. Hailey quickly schooled her face to look surprised, maybe even a little panicked. “Yeeessss,” he said slowly.

The moderator laughed. “You sure you’re sure about that?” he asked.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Um . . . let’s just go with it’s complicated,” he said, and the crowd started whispering . . . and then he looked at Hailey again.

She could’ve sworn she’d seen all his sexy looks, but this . . . holy hell, the guy went straight to a DEFCON 1 smolder. She could feel it all the way to the toes of her Mary Jane stilettos.

She swallowed hard, even as she felt her nipples go hard against her bra. The guy needed to be registered as a dangerous weapon, she thought. He was a panty destroyer.

He winked at her.

Too obvious! She looked away.

The paparazzo had noticed, though, and was looking at Hailey thoughtfully. Hailey looked to the other side of the room.

Well, at least that was done . . . the photographer had taken the bait. Now, to reel her in.

She waited until the end of the panel, and stayed in her seat for a second as the crowd milled around. She saw people shooting her curious glances, but ignored them, keeping a casual, unnoticeable bead on the photographer. When most of the crowd had exited, she walked over to the green room door, where the bouncer was.

“Here to see Jake again?” he asked with a grin.

“I’ll, um, wait for him here,” she said, forcing herself to sound tentative. The bouncer spoke into the walkie-talkie thing attached to his shoulder, announcing her presence. The paparazzo was a few feet away, trying to blend in with a potted plant from the looks of it.

No wonder Phil doesn’t trust you with bigger assignments, Hailey thought derisively.

Jake came out, giving her a hug that she shrugged off. “How’d I do?” he whispered in her ear.

“Not bad, but . . . come on,” she said, tugging him away, toward the kitchens. He followed easily.

“Listen, I’m sorry I was hard on you earlier,” he said. “I was just . . .”

“Shh,” she said. “Play along.”

Thankfully, he didn’t need to be told twice. She kissed him hard, and he responded immediately.

It was getting easier, she realized. The way their bodies met and molded against each other. It was . . . God, she wasn’t going to think something cheesy and cliché, like it was like coming home.

But it felt really, really good. Warm, and cozy, not just all flash and heat.

That is, until he gripped her ass and tugged her against the length of iron he appeared to have in the front of his pants, causing her to moan into his open mouth.

OH. MY. GOD.

She had meant to make sure that the paparazzi had followed them, but now, she could barely keep her head above water. His kiss was honest-to-God making her dizzy.

She felt his hand creep up under her sweater, his broad, hot palm flat against the skin of her back. She shimmied her hips a little as his mouth went to work on hers, then moved up her jawline, finding the sweet spot just where her jaw met her ear.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Jake.”

He sucked, with gentle but relentless pressure. She couldn’t help it. She shifted against him, her hands in his hair, pulling him tight against her.

He spun her, his body pressing her against the wall. She felt as one denim-covered leg moved between her thighs, pressing against her skirt. She knew she was already damp.

He bit her earlobe, and she let out another moan.

“Anything else I should be doing?” he whispered.

“God, whatever you want, just don’t stop,” she said around a ragged breath as she clutched his shoulders. His chuckle was like dark chocolate, rich and sinful and delicious.

“We’re in a hallway, baby,” he said, trailing more kisses along her throat until she shivered against him. “But God, if we were in a room . . .”

She was ready to pass out. Yes. Yes, they need to get to his room, immediately.

Then, just like a switch, he pulled away.

“She left,” he said.

She blinked heavily. “She . . . what? Who?”

He stared at Hailey for a long moment, then his smile was pure sunshine.

“The paparazzi. The one that was trailing you,” he said. “I’ve seen her around a few times. That was why you dragged me in here, right?”

It took longer than she wanted to get her head together. “The . . . right! Right.” She nodded, too emphatically. “That was the plan. Yes. The whole time.”

“You okay?”

She shook herself. “Yeah. I have to go, though,” she said. “I’ve got to, um, get to work. At the casino.”

He stroked her cheek. “Okay. See you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” she said, then almost stumbled as she took a step away.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Don’t get cocky, kid,” she muttered, “Bye.” Then she was strutting back through the lobby, feeling people’s eyes on her.

But she wasn’t thinking about maintaining the con, or even upholding her image. He’d shaken her. All she could imagine was them in bed together. Then, he could be as cocky as he wanted. Hell, she’d encourage it . . .

No, she chastised herself. They’d already struck the deal. She wasn’t going to fuck this up.

God, woman, get yourself sorted out!

* * *

The next morning, Jake was already on his computer. The room was nice—Susie had made management grovel, and he had a suite—but he was still having trouble sleeping. He didn’t have to do anything until that afternoon, when he and the other guys would be judging a costume competition. He decided to take advantage of the break to see how his performance with Hailey went over. Just skimming TMZ and Perez Hilton, the photos had definitely been picked up—and they made his blood heat. The gossip sites had noticed as well. “Va va voom! Who’s headed for Jake’s room?” one article said. “Jake Reese has a new lady friend” another pointed out—rather obviously, given the clinch that the two of them were in.

If that didn’t boost his damned Q Score, he didn’t know what would.

He picked up his cell phone, dialing Susie. He doubted it would change the producers’ minds immediately—although God, wouldn’t that be nice?—but he wanted to make sure he was on the same track.

“Jake, sweetie,” she said immediately. “How is everything? That hotel treating you right?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at the huge basket by his bed. “They even gave me this giant assortment of all my favorite candies. You put them on to that, I guess?”

“Are you kidding? I’m trying to keep your weight down, kid,” she said, and he could picture her rolling her eyes.

“If not you, then . . .”

“Guess they must’ve talked to somebody in the convention,” she said, “or one of those nutty fangirls . . .”

He suddenly felt a pang, and looked at the basket with more suspicion. Then he dumped it in the trash.

“But I bet you’ve got more on your mind than your accommodations,” Susie said, now with a trace of smugness. “Somebody’s been busy, I see.”

“That’s why I’m calling,” Jake said, stretching out on his hotel bed and crossing his ankles. “Well? Is this what the doctor ordered? Will this boost my Q Score?”

She took a deep breath. “It’s definitely a step in the right direction,” she said, but something in her voice sounded hesitant, sticking a pin in Jake’s balloon of cheer.

“What’s the problem now? I thought the idea was to become better known with the public,” he said, trying not to sound petulant. “You told me yourself to get a girlfriend.”

“There’s a right way and a wrong way to do that, though. There’s a big difference between a bankable star, somebody who can move you up the ladder, and . . .” Susie’s voice sounded tight, tense for some reason. “Who is that woman, anyway? I know she’s not an actress.”

“How do you know she’s not an actress?” Jake asked, knowing he was being difficult, but feeling incensed on Hailey’s behalf.

Susie’s chuckle was patronizing, and his hackles rose. “Hon, at that size? That age? Unless she’s a comedian I’m not aware of, she’s not going anywhere in Hollywood, and you know it.”

He made a low growling sound. He had been going to let Susie in on their plan, but her attitude was grating on him. “She’s sexy as hell.”

“That is abundantly clear,” Susie agreed, irritating him even more. “But again—we’re thinking bankable. Your sexy girl isn’t . . . well . . .”

“Isn’t what?” Jake said, his voice low.

Another voice cut across Susie’s, gruff and impatient. “Let me talk to him. Susie, give me the phone, let me talk to him.”

Just like that, Jake’s stomach dropped and his shoulders rose, pinching his blades together like he’d just been handcuffed.

Damn it.

“Jake,” the voice growled. “What the hell have you gotten into this time?”

“Hi, Dad,” Jake said, trying not to sound like the rueful fourteen-year-old he suddenly felt like.

His father was larger than life. A box office legend. Hollywood royalty, but not in a golden-boy sort of way. No, he’d been a hell-raising “man’s man,” an action anti-hero with plenty of rough edges. He’d successfully transferred from shoot-’em-up Westerns and cop dramas to psychological thrillers and political statement-makers, even garnering a few Oscar nods. When it came to the industry, few people were as revered—or feared—as Kurt Windlass.

Which made it hard to just look at him and see “Dad.” Not, Jake supposed, that Kurt Windlass wanted to be a TV sitcom–styled father figure.

“Saw the pictures of you getting frisky with the bimbo,” his father said sharply. “Did you pay her, or what?”

“Did I . . . No!” Jake snapped. “God, Dad. We’re dating.”

“You don’t date women that look like that, kid,” his father scoffed. “You don’t kiss women you date like that, either.”

“How do you know?” Jake asked, getting up and pacing. His muscles started tensing: fight or flight. Funny, how often his father provoked this response. “This is the twenty-first century. Women that look like that? Really? What kind of judgment is that?”

“Oh, don’t pull that politically correct crap with me,” his father answered, verbally waving away Jake’s protests. “As far as Hollywood business is concerned, they’re firmly in the fifties or possibly the forties, don’t kid yourself. The reason that you hook up with young starlets is because Hollywood runs on sex, and people find young starlets sexy. You hook up with an actress that’s recognizable because you multiply the star power. Christ’s sake, son, this is Hollywood 101.” He said it with evident disgust. “While I’m glad that you’re finally getting your head out of your ass and trying to do something to boost your career, you’re screwing it up. Why don’t you let me hire Sheila back? Or some other publicist who actually knows what the hell’s going on?”

Jake felt his stomach roil. He gripped the phone tighter. “The woman I’m seeing is a fan,” he pointed out.

“Well, obviously,” his father said. “Although I would’ve guessed pro, too. That chick—damn. Good to see a woman with actual curves, not those sticks the studio keeps pumping out.”

“Watch it,” Jake growled.

“So you hooked up with a groupie. Who hasn’t? But that’s not the stuff you want plastered all over the internet, kid.”

“She’s not a groupie. She’s a fan of the show,” Jake snarled.

“What show? That dinky sci-fi thing you’re on?”

Now Jake had to fight not to throw the phone out the goddamned window. “Mystics, yeah. Anyway, we met here before the convention, sort of a funny story. I asked her to dinner, and we just clicked.” Which was all very true. He smiled at the memory. “We’re getting publicity, I admit, but hopefully that’ll just help boost my profile enough to get the contract renewed.”

His father went silent for a moment, and Jake wondered if he’d finally gotten through to the old man. As soon as Kurt opened his mouth again, though, Jake knew just how stupid he’d been to get his hopes up.

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me you’re actually trying to stay on that third-rate piece of crap? Are you kidding me? Susie, is he kidding me?”

Jake didn’t hear Susie’s reply, because his father was bulldozing forward regardless.

“Listen up, kid. You can do a hell of a lot better than a TV series on basic cable.” His voice was the gravelly rasp that threatened bad guys in multimillion-dollar blockbusters. “Stop fucking around with groupies, and get it together, would you? Susie, see if you can talk some sense into him!”

With that, the phone was duly transferred over as Jake seethed.

“Jake?” Susie said tentatively, even as Jake heard a door slam in the background. “I am so sorry. He was just stopping by to talk about a new film that he’s thinking of producing, and . . . well, you know how he is.”

“Oh, I know,” Jake ground out.

“That said—Jake, sweetie, he’s got a point.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It just looks like you partied, maybe, and found a groupie to hook up with,” Susie said apologetically. “A distinctive-looking one, very beautiful, and I’m sure she’s, erm, sweet and all that. But the narrative’s just ‘Jake is having sex with strange women’ rather than anything we can work with.”

Jake grimaced. Goddamn it.

“I genuinely like this girl,” Jake said, and he meant it. “I’m not going to hook up with some twenty-year-old blonde whose star is ascending because she’s on some high school drama on the CW. I like this woman.”

“Enough to give up the show for her?” Susie snapped.

It was like a slap with a cold, wet towel.

“I see.” Jake took a slow breath. “Got it.”

“Sorry. That was blunt.” Susie sighed, and he could hear papers rustling. Then she cleared her throat. “Your father means well, you know.”

“Don’t, Susie,” he warned. “Just . . . don’t.”

Another pause, another sigh. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything from the producers,” she said. “In the meantime—you might want to start thinking about plan B. I’m going to get some scripts together, see where I can have you audition, okay?”

Jake clicked off the phone. So much for Hailey’s idea, he thought, then ground his teeth. No, that was unfair. The idea was to get him publicity, and she’d done that in spades. It was hardly her fault that people like his dad were painting her as a groupie. That it just looked like Jake was having sex promiscuously—that the story was becoming Jake partying, rather than falling for a fan.

He frowned.

Maybe that was the answer. Change the narrative.

Emphasis on falling.

He’d show them, he thought, quickly dialing Hailey’s number. He’d show Susie, the producers. He’d shove it right down his father’s throat.

Didn’t think he could act? Thought that he needed some sleazy Hollywood publicist to create a fake story? He had the narrative. He knew just what the fans would eat up.

“Hey, Jake,” Hailey said. He could hear the clattering of customers—she was at the coffee shop, he remembered. “What’s up?”

“I figured out the problem,” Jake said, without preamble.

“Oh? What problem is that?”

“We need to be in love.”