CHAPTER FIVE
SYLVIA WATCHED Greg go and curled both hands over her almost empty glass of juice. The phone call broke their cozy little bubble, and now the reality hit her once again. When she braved a glance through the window, the guy with the big camera was still on the other side of the street, and there were a few different people with their cell phones out.
Great.
She let her hair fall onto her face. She knew being photographed was the plan—knew it was what they were counting on—but it was still hard not to jump out of her seat and run away to hide. And now that she was here alone, it seemed even more difficult than before.
To distract herself, she pulled out her own phone. There were a bunch of texts and a few calls, and Sylvia realized she had forgotten to turn the sound in her phone back on this morning when she woke up. Judging from the number of the notifications, she could guess the story had broken, but she decided not to check what it turned out being. She would learn all about it when they got to the office.
Or when Greg came back to the table.
Sylvia glanced at the bathroom door. She hoped it wouldn't be bad news. And sure, a part of it was her own desire to see him on stage, but she also wanted it for Greg. It was important to him, if the way he smiled as he talked about it was any indication, and she could understand that. She knew how it felt to try to do something for herself against other people's opinions.
She would agree to much more than pretend dating to help make it work for Greg.
That was a realization that needed a close inspection—and possibly a lot of denial—but for now, she had to push it aside for later, since her phone vibrated in her hand. Nate was calling.
"Hello, big brother." She tried to put as much cheerfulness in her voice as possible, but she winced at the results.
"Hey. You still suck at acting, so don't bother," Nate told her dryly.
"Shut up. I'm playing the role of my life right now." Sylvia glanced at the bathroom door. Still nothing.
"Yeah, I'm sure playing Greg Abrams's girlfriend is a hardship."
Nate got her there.
"Listen," he went on, dropping the teasing, "the photos are out, but it's not as bad as it could've been. In print, it's out in Seen Out, and online sites are picking it up, but Kevin has already found a few amateur photos of your breakfast date, too, so it's going well."
"Already?" Sylvia glanced through the window. The paparazzo was gone, and only a couple of teenage girls were still standing on the other side of the street, staring at her without shame. Their phones were pointed right in her direction, and the girls were probably waiting for Greg to reappear.
"Social media is both the cure and the cause of a lot of problems of today's world." Nate's dry tone in her ear stopped her from getting anxious again. "Let's be glad it's on our side for now."
Sylvia sighed. "I'll take it."
"How's Greg?"
She stared at the bathroom door, willing it to open and dreading it at the same time. "Went to take the call a few minutes ago and hasn't come back yet. What do we do if they tell him to return to L.A.?"
"Don't stress over it right now. They shouldn't make any sudden decisions. They're well aware that if he ran back home now, it would look worse. That's not what they want. If they care about his reputation backfiring at them at all and the whole thing isn't just a power play, of course."
If. Sylvia didn't like the alternative. Greg mentioned someone having it out for him, but it couldn't be this bad, could it?
"They should have no problems buying the girlfriend story," Nate continued. "Media will move on from the photos from last night to the ones from your dates, and then Dot should let it go. They're difficult, but they don't want to be too difficult either. They know the actors talk, and if the word gets around that they're being unreasonable, they may not get people they want in the future."
"I hope you're right." Sylvia sat back in her chair. "Otherwise, this whole thing would be a waste of time."
Nate snorted. "As I said, it's hard for me to believe you're suffering that much."
"We're only pretending," she reminded him in a low tone to make sure no one would overhear.
She got a laugh and "See you in a bit" in response before Nate disconnected the call, but before the irritation could settle in, the bathroom door finally opened and Greg walked out.
His face was blank and Sylvia couldn't read him. As she watched him move through the café, various scenarios ran through her head, and most of them involved some guy in a suit on the other side of the country, screaming for Greg to get on the next plane to L.A.
She waited until he sat down before asking, "And?"
Greg shrugged and tilted his head. "It's not as bad as I was afraid it would be, which is great. But they're watching closely now, so we'll see."
"And how are you doing?" she asked, looking at him carefully. At some point between last night and now, Greg had stopped being a movie star, a surreal occurrence in her life, and had become just a man—with his own feelings, hopes, and frustrations. A man whom Sylvia felt drawn to, despite all the pep talks she'd been giving herself.
"I'm okay." He finished his coffee. "Maybe it's time we head out to the office, though?"
Sylvia nodded but couldn't help being disappointed. Their bubble from earlier was gone, and it was hard to come back to reality, even if the photos hadn't become a disaster after all.
When they left the café, Greg caught her hand in his and tangled their fingers together, squeezing them for a moment. Sylvia wasn't used to holding hands in the street—even if any of her ex-boyfriends had been inclined to do it, the fast-moving crowd made it difficult a lot of the time—but she relaxed into it and enjoyed it. Greg's hand was warm and solid, and she only hoped she wasn't blushing as she squashed the giddy feeling in her stomach at that simple touch.
"I talked through most of the breakfast," she finally said when they came to the first light stop right as it changed to red. "Now it's your turn. Tell me something you're passionate about."
"Well, acting, but I guess that answer would be a cop-out." He nodded right after she did. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I love music, too."
"Do you play any instruments? Or sing?" She figured he had to have a good enough voice if he was going to be in a musical on Broadway. Sometimes a theater would bring in a big name for more publicity, but holding a tune was still a basic requirement.
"Both, but I play better than I sing," he said with a self-deprecating smirk as they were crossing the street. "Mostly guitar, but I can also play piano and some drums. I sing sometimes to accompany my guitar, but I've never sung in front of a big audience."
"You're brave to come to New York for your first performance, then."
He chuckled. "Brave or stupid. But I admit the challenge part was yet another reason to say yes to this."
She squeezed his fingers and smiled. "I can't wait to see you out there," she said before she could stop herself. Oh God. She could feel her cheeks heat up, so she looked down. You weren't supposed to talk about it, she told herself. Get a grip.
But Greg only shrugged, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I hope you will. I really want to do it." He frowned, his expression turning somber. "I don't want to get my hopes up too much, though."
"Isn't there a way to fight this if they pull the plug?"
He shook his head. "No. They knew it was important to me, and that gave them the upper hand in the negotiations. There's little wiggle room—they wouldn't be able to just pull the plug without a cause—but the list of reasons is pretty extensive and the morality clause is broad."
Judging from the ease and honesty of some of the theater stars on social media and beyond, it didn't seem like the Broadway actors had anything like Greg described, to Sylvia's relief. She understood some restrictions, but that seemed much too excessive.
"Do all contracts look like this in Hollywood?" she asked him.
"No, no." He shook his head quickly. "The ones for a big franchise are the trickiest, because you're not selling the movie alone. You're the face of the entire brand, and probably the future movies, as well, so they want to make sure you're not going to jeopardize anything."
"Is it worth it?" Sylvia asked. It was definitely not her business, but that didn't stop her from being curious.
Greg sighed. "It depends. When I was signing the contract five years ago, it was worth it. I liked the franchise, the right people were involved on the creative side, and it wasn't like I had scripts sent to me left and right." He shrugged. "And I'm not going to lie—the money was important, too. It was going to buy me a lot of time if I ever wanted to take a break or work on something low-budget."
Sylvia tried to remember what she knew about Greg's career. He'd had a few great roles before Collectibles, including the supporting role in Torment that had earned him an Oscar nomination six years ago. Then the first Collectibles movie had come out, and Greg's character—a SEAL that left the military behind until it came knocking when the world was falling apart—gained him instant star status and recognition.
And a paparazzi escort whenever he went, apparently.
"So it was worth it then, but isn't now?" Sylvia grimaced right after the words came out of her mouth. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"It's fine. I don't think you'll sell it to the press." He sent her a dry smile and she snorted. Yeah, there has to be a special brand of trust when we're both lying to other people. "But an answer is more complex than a simple yes or no," he went on. "Would I sign a contract like that today? No. But I'm in a totally different place in my career now, and I know that I wouldn't be here without these movies—not now and maybe not ever—so I don't regret signing it back then."
He stopped talking as he quickened his pace when they were passing a group of tourists who had their phones out and pointed at them. Sylvia lowered her head and hurried as well, tightening her grip on his hand.
When they were safe from the prying eyes again—or as safe as they could be, given the circumstances—Greg picked up their conversation as if nothing happened. "All in all, it's not so bad. I was able to do a few projects in between where I didn't have to worry about money. I actually like the Collectibles movies, so I won't have to wince for the rest of my career when someone mentions them, which, believe me, is a relief." He quirked up a smile. "I'm lucky only die-hard fans have seen the movies I'd done when I was starting out. Nobody's going to ask about them twenty times a day for six months to a year."
She tried to muster up a smile, too, but she was still fighting the urge to look back and check no one was following them. She finally took a deep breath and let Greg's words wash over her, temporarily pushing the worry away.
"If that happened, I bet I would break at some point and start answering honestly," he went on. "Then the producers would sue me, and it would become a terrible mess."
"Lucky you, huh?" she offered with a dry smile. "Apparently, your situation could have been worse than it is now."
He snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, lucky me, indeed."
The way he looked at her as he said it did not send shivers down her back. It did not.