I was hungover. And while it wasn’t that unusual of an occurrence, I wasn’t often woken from my attempt to sleep off said hangover by my irate PR guru, Stella, aka the queen of mean. Who hated when I called her that. But waking someone up early on a Friday morning when they had spent the entire night in dive bar drinking cheap whiskey was basically the definition of mean.

And Stella didn’t even care.

“You care to explain this?” she asked, standing at the foot of my bed, holding up her tablet.

“It’s an iPad, Stella.” I flashed a smile before throwing my pillow over my head, hoping that she’d get the hint and go away.

“I’m talking about what’s on the iPad.” She yanked at the bottom of my blankets.

For a moment, I worried about my modesty, until I realized I was still fully dressed from the night before. Ugh. No wonder everything still smelled of whiskey. Had I even managed to get my shoes off before climbing into bed? I wiggled my feet. Nope. I was still wearing the expensive leather shoes that some designer had sent over to my hotel room the night before in hopes that I would be photographed wearing them.

Well, I had definitely been photographed last night, but I doubted that any of the paparazzi had gotten a good shot of my shoes.

Bugger.

I sat up, realizing that those paparazzi shots were likely the reason Stella was here at this ungodly hour.

Then I looked at the clock next to my bed and saw that it was well past noon.

Double bugger.

“Let me see.” I gestured for the iPad, which Stella handed over.

“I want an explanation and a name,” Stella demanded. “Please tell me you at least have a name.”

I peered at the screen, waiting for my eyesight to focus. Yep. It was a picture of me and Penny in the bar. We were standing close together, and it was clear from our body language that we knew each other. I was smiling and she was smiling. It was actually a pretty cute picture. Or at least, it would have been if it wasn’t sitting side-by-side with photos from when I had entered the bar with several blonde models that I had met at the photoshoot the previous afternoon. The headline for the website read:

Jax Hawthorne: The British Playboy Explores All New York Has to Offer. And Then Some.

Triple bugger.

For months now, the tabloids had created this man-whore persona for me, one that they backed up with pictures of women I dated. Sure, I liked beautiful women, and I was lucky enough to meet plenty, but they made it seem like all I did was fuck anything that moved.

“That’s Penny.” I handed the iPad back to Stella and flopped back onto my pillows, closing my eyes, wishing my hangover and resulting headache would go away. My PR manager as well.

“And?” Stella prompted.

“And, she’s a friend from childhood,” I told her. “We ran into each other last night.” I opened one eye. “Nothing happened.”

“So this isn’t her jacket?” Stella held up a jean jacket.

I groaned and closed my eyes again.

“She left it at the bar.”

No surprise that Penny had forgotten it, since she had gotten out of there as quickly as humanly possible. Not that I blamed her. Naked texts from other women weren’t exactly the best thing to see when you were on a date with someone. Not that we had been on a date; we had just been two friends. Catching up and having fun.

And it had been fun. More fun than I’d had in a long time. Because Penny was pretty much the same girl she had been at twelve. OK, not exactly the same. She was still thoughtful, and sweet, and with a wicked sharp tongue, but she had obviously grown up.

She was all woman now.

I remembered the feel of her body under that super-sensible outfit. Damn. I hadn’t been lying when I told her that I was attracted to her—but part of that was her complete lack of artifice, something I desperately missed after years in Hollywood, where pretending was literally everyone’s job. I got that feeling that Penny never pretended about anything. And it was terribly refreshing.

Also refreshing was her lack of polish when it came to her looks. I was used to Hollywood starlets and models who were shellacked within an inch of their lives—thick makeup standing between me and their actual skin, complete with fake tans and giant, glued-on eyelashes.

Penny was completely natural. I had been able to see her freckles last night, even in the dim light of the bar, and I had a hard time keeping from imagining if they were all over her body, or just her face and shoulders. She was tall and slim, her auburn hair left loose at her shoulders, begging to be touched. And her mouth was full and lush, covered in just a thin layer of lip gloss. Even her clothes had been relatively modest.

Except for her shoes.

When I had caught a glimpse of those stilettos, all the blood in my brain had rushed downward. Because Penny had a great pair of legs and her shoes showcased them to perfection. It told me that despite her shy exterior, there was something in Penny that wanted to be noticed.

And I’d definitely noticed her.

“Is that it?” Stella asked, interrupting my thoughts. “Just that she’s an old friend and that’s all?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” I said.

Stella threw up her hands. “I don’t want you to tell me anything, Jax,” she sighed. “I want you to stop ending up in the tabloids with a different girl every single night.”

I ran my hand through my hair, uncomfortable.

“You know that the Captain Atom people aren’t going to like this.” Stella waved the iPad at me. “They specifically said that your personal antics are the reason they’re unsure about offering you the part.”

I flashed another grin. “Can’t you just tell them that I’m method acting?”

But Stella was immune to my charms. “They just don’t want your personal life overshadowing the role,” Stella reminded me. “They want you to be more of a blank slate. Boring in real life so you can be exciting on the screen. You’re a long shot as it is, compared to the Chrises, or Leo, or Matt, but if you keep up this bullshit . . . You won’t even make the shortlist! Anyone would think you don’t want the role.”

“I want it.” I rubbed my aching head.

“It doesn’t look that way to me.”

“So look harder!” I felt frustrated. The studio had been dangling the part for months now, always just out of reach. I’d done screen test after screen test, met the director, even done chemistry reads with the actresses up for the other lead role. I wanted it, and I wanted it bad. It wasn’t just that it was a massive superhero movie, the one that would put me on billboards across the globe and take my career to the next level, it was because it was good.

Really good. The script had blown me away: funny, dramatic, and with the kind of flawed, nuanced hero any actor would kill to play. The line of A-list actors stretched around the block, but rumor had it, they were looking for a fresh face, and I was determined for that face to be mine.

Except every time I thought I was coming close, all that gossip bullshit got in the way.

“It’s bollocks,” I told her. “My personal life shouldn’t have anything to do with my professional life.”

“Then do a better job keeping your personal life private,” Stella shot back. “Besides, if you want the Captain Atom role, you’re going to have to deal with a lot more attention then you’re getting now.”

I sighed, and Stella’s face softened.

“I know it sucks,” she said. “But it’s the price we pay for glory.” She patted my foot. “Now come on, you need to get dressed. We’ve got a press junket to get you to.”

Unlike every other actor in town, I actually liked press junkets. Sure, I was trapped in a room for eight hours giving sound bites to a revolving parade of reporters, but I was always excited to talk about the work I was doing, and the actors and directors I had worked with.

Plus, all that time in the spotlight didn’t hurt, either.

“OK.” Stella slid into the town car and buckled up next to me. “Let’s go over our plan of attack for getting the Captain Atom people’s attention.”

“Stripping naked and running through Times Square?” I suggested, putting my shades on.

“Very funny.” Stella shot me a look. “I think we need to change your narrative,” she said. “We need to remake you. Playboy to doting boyfriend. You need a serious relationship to get people to take you seriously.”

“I’m going to be on location in the English countryside for the next few months,” I pointed out. “Surely, we’ll be able to avoid the paparazzi during that.”

Stella laughed. “You’re the newest Mr. Darcy in the latest Pride and Prejudice remake,” she reminded me. “There’s no way you’ll be able to avoid paparazzi. They might be banned from the set, but you can guarantee they’ll all be holed up in the same small town that we’ll be staying at. It’s invasive, but it’s also the perfect opportunity to show your grown-up side.” She gave me a sideways look. “You do have a grown-up side, don’t you?”

”Sure,” I quipped. “I keep it in my closet next to my Batman outfit. But the whole point of a secret identity is that nobody knows it’s me.”

“Is there anyone you could see yourself dating?” Stella asked. “At least for the duration of the shoot?”

I immediately thought of Penny. At least she’d be fun to be around.

“I’m not faking a relationship,” I told Stella.

“I’m not saying fake it,” she argued. “Just . . . give something a chance. More than three dates. Get to know somebody.”

Thankfully, I didn’t have a chance to answer before we arrived at the hotel where the junket was taking place. Immediately I was shepherded out of the town car and sent upstairs, where I was set in front of a poster for my last movie, with cameras and microphones set up all around.

I settled in, getting comfortable for the day ahead. Thanks to a quick once-over from the makeup artist, all hints of my hangover were magicked away, and an intern quickly came running with my regular rider: bottled water, fresh fruit, and coffee. Lots of coffee. “Thank you, Jane,” I said, flashing her a smile.

She blinked, looking surprised I even knew her name. But I make it a rule never to be an asshole to the assistants. They’re the ones who make my day bearable, and I hate those wankers who think that just because they make the A-list, they can treat people like shit.

“I, um, thank you, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Jax, please.”

She blushed harder. “OK . . . Jax.”

“And Jane? If you keep these coffees coming, I’ll love you forever.”

“Yes, Mr.— Jax.” She rushed out, almost bumping into the first interviewer—someone from Entertainment Weekly. I quickly checked my phone to remind myself who the reporter was—and what they’d written about my last movie. That was the other thing I liked to do, so I knew what they were interested in, and could have a real conversation—instead of repeating the same old lines all over again.

This one was a Jane Austen junkie—and I’d heard from my actor buddies that she liked getting personal. Very personal.

“It’s been a busy year for you,” the reporter said, crossing her legs slowly, her voice sultry.

“I’ve been very lucky,” I said. “Great opportunities have come my way.”

“It’s more than just luck, isn’t it?” she cooed. “Your Oscar nomination last year really put you on the map.”

It had been a war drama that I had been damn proud of. My first real, serious acting gig after years of paying my dues playing second fiddle to action stars and being the best friend in romantic comedies. It had been a supporting role, but it had been a good one, and I couldn’t believe it when I’d heard my name announced on the nomination shortlist.

I hadn’t won, but I didn’t mind at all. One day, that trophy would be mine.

“It was a really special part,” I told her. “I was grateful to have the opportunity to work with such an acclaimed director.”

“And now you’re reteaming to work on a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice,” she commented, leaning forward and showing off some impressive cleavage. I did my best not to look.

“When Declan Rogers calls, you answer,” I said.

The war drama had been Declan’s first big feature and it had been a risk. He had a gritty, edgy style, and Stella had warned me that it might not go anywhere. But during my audition, we got along like gangbusters and I could see that he knew what he was doing. I trusted him, and so far, he hadn’t steered me wrong.

“So what drew you to Mr. Darcy?” she asked. “He’s an iconic character, and those are some big boots to fill.”

“Britches, more like,” I quipped, and she laughed.

“No, the truth is, I wasn’t really familiar with the role before Declan reached out. But when I sat down and read the book, I saw what an incredible part this is. Darcy is someone who’s pulled between duty and love, trying to resist Elizabeth while also painfully aware of the social structures of the era . . .”

The reporter looked surprised, but quickly started taking notes. At first, that used to piss me off, how everyone expected me to be some dumb pretty-boy, reciting scripts I knew nothing about, but after a while, I realized it was an opportunity. They would always walk into the room with low expectations, but I had the chance to change their minds, and show them that I cared about my work.

I was lucky to be there, and I wasn’t going to forget it.

The next few hours were a blur. All of the reporters started to look the same, and I was doing my best to keep my answers fresh and interesting, which wasn’t easy.

“Who are you dating?”

“What do you think of your reputation?”

“What do your parents think about your reputation?”

I tried to make it clear that the tabloids weren’t an accurate representation of my life. That they exaggerated. That I was young and dating, but I wasn’t as cavalier with women as people were led to believe. And my parents wanted me to be happy.

That last part, of course, was complete and utter bollocks. My parents had no interest in my happiness. I was pretty sure it was because they didn’t even remember what the sensation felt like. They were both motivated by revenge and reputation. Those were the two things they cared about, and happiness never really mattered with either.

They were the whole reason I made that promise with Penny all those years ago. To marry a friend had always seemed like the best option. I wanted a family—at some point—but it seemed like a foolish idea to make such an important lifelong decision based on something as unstable as love. Friendship was solid. Love wasn’t.

My parents were perfect examples of that. They had been in love, or so they told me. My mum had gotten pregnant after a whirlwind courtship, and they had gotten married. They shouldn’t have. They had been miserable ever since, and the only reason they were still together was that they eventually realized it was cheaper for them to stay married than to get a divorce. But their marriage was in name only. I knew my dad had a girlfriend in Paris, and my mum’s ever revolving parade of personal trainers was a lousy front for her own cheating.

The only thing they could agree on was how much of a disappointment I was. They had been against my acting ambitions since the beginning. It wasn’t a suitable way to make a living, they said over and over again. Even though they were both extremely wealthy in their own right, they had refused to pay for acting school, and I had only been able to go because of the scholarships I had been rewarded.

As far as I knew they’d never seen one of my films.

So I lied when people asked me about them. If anyone asked, they were over-the-moon thrilled about my success—couldn’t be prouder. Thankfully no one ever tried to seek them out to confirm this.

I took a drink of water and waited for the next reporter. When she came in, I realized she looked vaguely familiar. Dark brown hair and long legs.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” she said, reaching out and shaking my hand. “Mia Anderson from FastFeed.”

The name didn’t ring any bells.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “And please, call me Jax.”

The cameraman was still outside.

“Can I ask you something?” Mia wanted to know. “Off the record?”

I never trusted a reporter that asked for information off the record.

“Sure,” I said slowly, watching her cautiously.

“What are your intentions towards Penny?” Mia asked bluntly.

“Excuse me?” I was taken aback.

How did she know Penny’s name? It hadn’t been in the tabloids, and I knew that Stella wasn’t going to be passing that information around. Unless Penny had gone to the press at some point today, but that didn’t seem like her at all.

“I’m a friend,” Mia clarified. “Her best friend, actually.”

Suddenly I realized why Mia looked familiar. She had been at the bar last night. I hadn’t interacted with her, and it had been before I bumped into Penny, but I had remembered a brunette in a short skirt walking past me at some point. I had a decent memory when it came to pretty girls.

“I’m a friend, too,” I told her. “An old friend.”

Mia gave me a thorough once over. “Just friends?” she demanded.

“Just friends,” I confirmed. “Unless she’s interested in something more,” I pressed.

Mia shot me a look. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “But you’re not her type.”

“I think I met her type,” I commented, remembering my interaction with Penny’s ex. “Greg someone-or-other?”

Mia’s eyes widened. “Greg was at the bar last night?”

“With his new girlfriend.”

Mia sucked in a breath. “And Penny saw them?”

I nodded.

“He’s a shit,” she said, and I readily agreed.

“What did she see in him?” I asked, remembering what a fucking wanker that guy had been. And it had been immediately apparent to me. Who knew how long it had taken Penny to figure it out.

Mia shrugged. “He was nice to her, I guess. She doesn’t like to take risks. And he wasn’t a risk. At least, not when they first met.”

“She’s too good for him,” I said, and Mia nodded.

“She’s too good for you, too,” she told me.

I was surprised. “Pardon?”

“I’m just saying.” She gestured to the room—all the lights and the still-unmanned camera. “This is not her scene. She’s not a starfucker. She’s looking for something real.”

“Are you saying I’m not real?” I asked, strangely offended.

“You know what I mean,” Mia sighed. “She wants something serious. Do you?”

Just then the camera man re-entered and our off-the-record conversation became on-the-record once again. Mia asked me the same type of questions that I had been answering all day, and while I tried my best to give her something good, I couldn’t help that my mind kept wandering to Penny. To Penny and her ex-boyfriend, and my current predicament.

By the time the junket was over, I was exhausted. I was a social person and I liked meeting new people and spending time getting know strangers, but it was pretty draining. As soon as it was done, I headed back to my hotel for an evening of chilling out in front of the TV.

Except my day didn’t end there.

Stella was waiting, putting my agent on speakerphone so we could discuss the latest development with the Captain Atom role. Apparently they had seen the photos from last night and were not pleased.

“This is a problem,” my agent, Tyler said.

Stella was holding the phone and made an I-told-you-so gesture. I ignored her.

“It was nothing,” I insisted.

“Which part?” Tyler asked. “Entering a club with half a dozen blondes and leaving with one redhead? It doesn’t look good, Jax. It doesn’t look good at all.”

“Define ‘not good,’ ” Stella demanded.

“They’re considering taking Jax off of the shortlist for the role.”

I swore.

“Because of some stupid paparazzi photos?” I asked, feeling panicked. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not just a few photos, Jax,” Tyler told me. “It’s months of these kinds of photos. Of the press seeing you with a different woman—or multiple women—constantly. And you’re not doing anything to counteract those narratives. If anything, your little sound bites make you sound even more like a man-whore. You’re just having fun? Come on, Jax! You have to know how that sounds!”

“That’s not fair!” I argued. “I shouldn’t have to talk about my personal life.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Stella reminded me with a laugh. “Go cry into your five-star pillows, poor little Hollywood star.”

I snorted with laughter. OK, she had a point. As far as first-world problems went, this was a doozy. For a moment, I wondered what Penny would say. She would be blunt, I was sure: I was lucky to be here—with an amazing team, all devoted to getting me the job of a lifetime. The least I could do was try to help.

“OK,” I said, sitting down. “What do we do?”

“We change the narrative,” Tyler argued.

“That’s exactly what I told him,” Stella agreed. “You need to start presenting yourself as someone serious. Someone respectable.”

“You need to be in a relationship,” Tyler said.

“No,” I told them.

“It doesn’t have to be real,” Stella added.

“That’s a great idea,” Tyler chimed in. “Someone solid. Responsible. Not an actress, not a model, not a party girl.”

Immediately Penny’s face came to mind. But no, that would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“All we need is for you to put your dick away for a few months,” Stella told me. “That’s not that hard, is it?”

“We need the right girl,” Tyler added. “Any ideas?”

Be was talking to Stella, but I answered.

“Actually,” I said. “I might know just the person.”