Chapter 10

Vivienne

The flashes of the cameras are still blinding me, and the woman’s scream continues to echo in my head.

There’s no way in hell I got a wink of sleep last night. Everything that happened at the gala keeps playing over in my head, like some goddamn hamster on a wheel. I would’ve actually liked that better because it’d distract me from my anxiety attacks.

I can’t believe this is fucking happening. I can’t believe I let that happen.

Not only did David break all my rules—except for playing nice—he broke them with me. He fucked his public relations consultant, who’s here to fix his image and reputation, not throw it in the fire and pour gasoline over it.

For fuck’s sake, this is bad.

And by 4 a.m., the press is already running with wild speculations.

Headlines range from humiliating “Who’s the mystery woman in the coat closet? King David finds her very appetizing” to downright tacky “King David or King Cunnilingus, which would you prefer?”

This is feeding right into the narrative I didn’t want. This is what I told him not to do—to show them his sword. He might not have shown them his, but now mine’s out for the taking.

This is fucking humiliating. I need to come up with something and quick, or else my ass will be fired. And I’ll be on the first plane out of here.

I lean my elbows on the desk and hold my head up, feeling utterly exhausted.

I spread out the ridiculous number of pictures of the incident taken from all different angles. Some are pretty damning; my expression is a giveaway and so is his face. If only I wasn’t so damn loud.

I’ll have to remember to keep it quiet next time.

No, there will not be a next time. This shit will never happen again.

Wait—there’s one that shows him kneeling on one knee, looking up at me. I have my hand on his shoulder, smiling albeit awkwardly towards the camera. I lift the picture up, and a light-bulb goes off in my head.

It looks very familiar, like every one of my friends’ Instagram photos. It’s a fucking proposal.

That’s it! He asked me to marry him! And according to how I look, I said yes!

It’s a big fucking spin, but it can work. Everything about this position screams engagement. Not to mention, if they don’t believe that this is the proposal, at least he’s eating out his fiancée’s pussy and not some random slut.

It’ll make him look like a very giving and supportive fiancée. Yeah, like I said, it’s a stretch, but a completely do-able one.

Regardless of how they take it, David looks like the fucking good guy. He wasn’t partying, he wasn’t fucking another sleezy woman, and he was being very nice. Everything we need to fix about his image can begin with the reframing of this photo.

Feeling fired up and damn good about my idea, I type up an official statement that clears up the rumors and announces King David’s engagement to the woman he was seen with at the gala last night, Ms. Vivienne Taylor.

And I add a little side note to clear up why we were in the coat closet. Because, duh, he needed privacy to pop the question; he was too eager to wait, so that’s where we went.

And send.

I sit back and take a long deep breath. Now, that’s impressive. All the anxiety gradually evaporates, and I start to relax.

“Vivienne!” I hear David’s voice roar through the hallway outside my office.

Fuck. I guess I missed a step. But it’s too late now.

He pushes open the door, and it slams against the wall. He’s fuming, and, for a second, I’m intimidated and so fucking turned on.

“What the fuck is this?” He turns his phone to me, and I read my statement that’s pulled up on the screen.

“We’re engaged. Can you not read?” I ask, curtly.

“Clearly, I can read, Vivienne.” He says my name like he’s trying to cut me with a knife.

The way he’s staring, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s envisioning that by now.

“This...this is not right. You can’t fucking claim we’re engaged. How in the hell does that make sense?” he seethes.

“Look at the photo. You’re on one knee, bending down in front of me, and I’m smiling. It looks like you proposed to me.”

“I shouldn’t be punished because of what I did last night. You were breaking the fucking rules with me. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?”

I laugh sarcastically. He’s got to be kidding. Is his ego that big?

“I’m not punishing you, per se. It’s just what must be done. This shit scandal would ruin you...and me, for that matter,” I explain.

He starts to chime in, but I cut him off.

“And this has nothing to do with whether I like or if I had fun with you last night. We fucked up. So, we have to fucking fix it.” I pound my finger onto the desk to emphasize my points.

“Isn’t this supposed to be a professional relationship? Not a fucking marriage contract?”

He’s throwing that in my face right now? Wow.

“David, I’m not actually going to marry you. Well, in a lovingly sort of way. This is a publicity stunt, something to cover our asses, so we don’t get rammed by the press, your people, and my fucking bosses.”

“So, wait—we’re not getting married?” His body drops a little, and he furrows his brows in confusion.

“Let me lay this out for you. We’re engaged. It’s not an actual engagement, but to everyone else, it is. There’s even a chance—no, a big chance—that we will get married. But it’s all fake. I don’t love you, you don’t love me. We can figure out the logistics later regarding our relationship. But for now, we’re happily engaged.”

“I’m still confused,” he admits and falls back into the chair across from me. “Are we or are we not engaged?”

I sigh, holding my annoyance in. I don’t want to make him upset again, though I know he’s like a ticking time bomb, and any word related to monogamy, commitment, or sober might make him explode. So, I tread lightly.

“We’re engaged. And you’ll need to play along to make this charade work. I can’t express this enough, but with your cooperation in this sham of an engagement, your image will be mended, and my career will be saved. Plus, it makes sense as to why you’re cleaning up your act. You’re spoken for.”

“Fuck. This is bullshit. I don’t want to play pretend. I never wanted to do that,” He reacts too quickly.

“Well, love, you better learn how to because this is happening. It’s too late to back out now.”

He gets up and leans over the desk, inches away from my face.

I hold myself still, not wanting to cower under his intense presence. But I’m also slightly attracted to how big he looks. It’s all very confusing.

“This better fucking work...” He glares at me, then turns around, leaving my head spinning.

My thoughts exactly. This better fucking work.