Page 10 of Unromance

Jesus Christ. How did other actors deal with this shit? His famehad always been mediocre at best. A small article here or there, never a cover story. Nothing like this. Now, he couldn’t go to the grocery store without seeing his face plastered across the tabloids.

Worse yet, it wasn’t even his fault this was so sensational. He was collateral damage in the publicity parade surrounding Kara since she landed the Marvel role alongside her new beau, Peter Levine, the disgustingly handsome son of a former Bond girl. The medialovedthem together, and were having a field day making a circus out of Mason’s literal life.

He’d had six months to get over Kara—plus the three weeks since she officially ended it, so it wasn’t that. It was the feeling of helplessness, like he was a spectator while others wrote his life story. Sure, he played a reformed rake on TV, and yes, he’d dated his fair share of women, but he wasn’t the “toot-it-and-boot-it” type like this article was suggesting. But according to his agent and PR team, all he could do was weather the storm, wait for something else to become the story of the week.

He was no stranger to the media documenting his love life. Before, it had all been complimentary, cooing over whatever costar he was dating. He didn’t mind when they called him “whipped” for chartering a private yacht and a personal chef for his fifth date with Kara. There were worse things to be known as than romantic. Now, the articles questioned why their favorite romantic couldn’t keep a steady relationship postproduction, questioned whetherhewas the problem. Worse, he was beginning to wonder the same. He did everything the movies said you should do, and yet—

His phone buzzed with an incoming call. “Hey,” he said dejectedly as soon as the line connected. He sank further into his pillows. It was nearly ten a.m., and he had yet to get out of bed, opting to doomscroll instead.

“Heyyy,” Alissa hedged carefully. “How are you hanging in there?”

He grunted in response.

“Yeah,” she agreed sadly. “I—I’m sorry. This sucks. If it’s any consolation, everyone who matters knows you’re not that guy.”

It did little to cheer him up. Alissa knew better than anyone that once your name is ruined, it’s hard to come back from that. She advocated for herself on set for years, earning a reputation as “difficult to work with” that led to her being shut out of roles she would have been perfect for. She didn’t let that stop her, pivoting to directing and now starting her own production company with the sole focus of creating a safe space to tell women’s stories. A production company Mason was helping her start. Guiding Light was set to announce its first project next week.

Mason’s head hit the headboard with a thud. “Alissa,” he sighed. “About Guiding Light…”

On the other end of the line, Alissa inhaled sharply. “Yeah, I was calling to talk to you about that.”

“I haven’t givenDiagnosticsan answer yet about my contract, so—” Bile rose in the back of his throat. The stability of a six-year contract had been half the allure of making the jump to television. But the past few seasons had felt like a trap he couldn’t escape, and he’d been fantasizing about the day he could turn down the option for a seventh season, but now… “I’ll just do another season and see where we’re at a year from now. I don’t want my mess affecting Guiding Light’s launch.”

“What? Mason, no,” Alissa said emphatically. “That’s not what I want at all. The tabloids willmove on. Yeah, optics aren’t great for us to announce a production company focused on female empowerment while the media’s painting you as a manwhore—”

“Ouch.”

“Well…” Alissa trailed off. Mason could picture her grimacingsemi-regretfully. “Anyway, I sent you that article because I think you need to pull a TSwift.”

“Let the media reduce my entire career to my dating life?” he asked in disbelief. “I think we’re already there.”

“No! God, no. You need to fucking disappear, like post-Reputation-era TSwift. The media is doing you dirty, and you need to go lick your wounds in private. We’ll push the Guiding Light announcement back until after the holidays, when all of this has blown over. You just need to not date anyone for a few months and stay out of the tabloids. Think you can do that?”

Easier said than done. Yes, he wanted to fall in love, settle down, have that secret language where you could communicate whole paragraphs with a single look, but he didn’t seek it out. Like the elevator meet-cute with Sawyer, he didn’t do that onpurpose. And while he’d thoroughly enjoyed “ruining” their meet-cute, it couldn’t be more different from what he’d usually do. Normally, he’d do exactly what she’d ranted about: read too far into it, catch feelings, and before he knew it, they’d have drawers at each other’s apartments. He was an incurable romantic.

Plus, being single over the holidays sounded horrible. Not that he’d ever brought anyone home for the holidays, but having someone to text when his mom got too meddlesome in his career, someone to call and decompress with when family time felt less like “family time” and more like they had agreed to do thatMeet the Westsreality show after all—and his mom was the only one with the script. It was a comfort, having someone. And yeah, he was a little insecure about not having anyone to kiss on New Year’s for the first time in—he couldn’t count how many years.

Maybe Alissa had a point, but the point still stung.

“I don’t date all the timeon purpose,” he grumbled.

“Just like Taylor. She’s so awesome, men are drawn to her. And notice how no one judgesthem. Just like you. But, maybe a little break wouldn’t hurt, yeah? You not doing Guiding Light is out of the question. I need you and your charming self to convince people to give us their money.”

Mason sighed, scratching at the stubble on his chin—oh God,washe going full Grizzly Adams? A quick glance in the mirror over his dresser confirmed it was only a few days of growth.

He hated that Alissa was pushing back the announcement—they’d worked for years to get to this point, but she was making the smart call. Despite his offer to bow out, he didn’t want to. He loved acting, but with every season of his six-yearDiagnosticscontract, their showrunner grew more toxic. Mason needed out, wanted to be a part of the change this industry so desperately needed. Even if it meant uprooting his entire life all over again.

“Yeah, I can do that. No point in dating when I’ll be in LA soon anyway.” He knew firsthand that long distance didn’t last. Starting something new was inviting disaster—and his reputation couldn’t afford any more disasters right now. If he was coming on as head of production at Guiding Light, he needed people to respect him, not be the guy they read tabloids about while waiting in line at the grocery store. You don’t give that guy money to make films.

Alissa cleared her throat pointedly. “Speaking of LA: Where are we at with telling the family? I haven’t heard the banshees wail yet, so I assume your mother doesn’t know and hasn’t yet begun planning my murder for stealing her son from her.”

Mason groaned. “I’ll tell them—soon,” he lied. He would avoid that particular conversation for as long as possible. If Alissa was pushing back the announcement, then it wouldn’t hurt to wait until after the holidays, right?

Rolling out of bed, he headed over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and parted the blackout curtains. He flinched back at the wall of white that greeted him.

He left LA for Chicago five years ago, when he landed the role onDiagnostics. It was the kind of role he’d always sworn he wouldn’t take, not wanting to follow in his mom’s footsteps. Her hearty approval of him taking a TV role had nearly made him turn it down. He loved the indie films he’d been doing, but he was tired of uprooting his life multiple times a year and leaving behind more than just apartments.Diagnosticsprovided stability, and it put him in the same city as his sister and his nephews. So Mason signed his life away, packed up his laughably small amount of personal belongings, and moved to Chicago.

Chicago, the land of wind and snow and rarely ever sunshine.

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