Page 79 of The Sun and Her Star

“Okay, okay. I think it would be helpful for you to be in a stable relationship if we’re going to go after the big money endorsements. This shoe deal is an exception because the people who buy them don’t care whether or not you’re fucking everyone in town. They care if you’re the best in the sport. But if we want to go bigger, then yes, I think you need a girlfriend. I just want to say one more time that I think you’d be better off dating someone for real than this. It’s not a permanent solution, and when you eventually break up, no matter how amicable the breakup is, there will be fans who take sides. That means negative reporting, digging into your relationships. Your friends will have to buy into it. Your mother, too. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” is all I say.

“Okay, well then, I’ve got someone. She’s agreed to all of our terms and is willing to move in if necessary. I’m e-mailing over her details including her picture and bio. She’s cute. Look it over and then let me know if you’re good with me revealing your identity.”

“She won’t need to move in. I don’t care if she’s cute. What’s her name?”

“Uhhh … hold on.” I hear his keys clacking.

“Wow, not memorable enough for you to even remember her name?” I ask him dryly.

“Do you know how many women answered the agency’s callout? I’ve spent the last three days talking to the eighty women they sent over. I did it myself, Graham. Listened to them tell me why they were willing to agree to be a beard for someone they didn’t know. This chick was the only one who had a reason that wasn’t money.”

“What was that?”

“She needs a beard, too. And when I asked her what her favorite show was, she said yours. Figured that at least there would be no chance of her falling in love with you or being disappointed in who you were.”

“As if anyone would be disappointed when they found out who I am,” I joke, relief loosening some of the anxiety and doubt I had over this plan.

“Listen, I have to take this call. I’ve sent over her file. Take a look at it and then let me know. If you’re good, we’ll start with her and then get the other three lined up.”

“Cool, tell Milly I said hi.” He laughs but doesn’t even try to deny it.

“I’m not telling her you said anything. Every time I mention your name, she spends ten minutes talking about your hair and eyes.”

“Bye, Dean,” I say with a laugh.

“Congrats, speak soon.”

And then he disconnects.

I lean back in my chair and think about this plan of mine. It feels extreme, but it’s just so I can avoid the questions about my relationship status that I get asked every single time I’m out. I want to get my friends off my case. And I want to focus on building my business.

I’m sick of Los Angeles.

I should be happy right now, on the day where with the stroke of my pen, I made more money than I made in the three years I worked for Nanette.

I’ve gone from personal trainer to the stars to television star, model, and spokesperson.

I can afford to go on vacation with my friendsandpay for my mother’s care.

I have a Tesla in my driveway, a Range Rover in my garage. I live in this ten thousand square foot house with an elevator, tennis court, swimming pool, screening room, and rock climbing wall.

But it doesn’t feel like enough. This time I know exactly what’s missing.

After my conversation with Isabel, I went off the rails. Reece and Omar were both back in LA for good. Dave was around at least once a month, and they were experts at finding random hookups.

The first time I brought someone home was a disaster. It turns out that casual sex felt just as awful to me as transactional sex. Well, actually, a little worse. Women, when they’re not just using you like a discreet way to get off expect more than a mind-bending orgasm. They want you to kiss them, put your mouth on their bodies. Look at them while you fuck.

I understood. I just couldn’t do it. One of my attempted hookups left my hotel room screaming obscenities and threatening to tell everyone I was a “limp dicked asshole.” A few days later, my publicist, Jenn, made a deal to kill and bury a story all about my impotence and deception.

I didn’t care, honestly. I thought maybe it would mean I could stop pretending to be the playboy everyone thought I was.

But Dean reminded me that the audience who watched my show tuned in because they wanted to fantasize about me. Living an outwardly celibate existence wasn’t an option.

What I really needed was to focus on getting over Apollo. And I didn’t want to continue my revolving door of disappointed potential fuck buddies.

I thought a beard would be the perfect solution. Lots of people have them. It was an open secret. When I broached Dean about it, he told me he’d made arrangements for other clients before, but thought they were a bad long-term solution. Beards get tired of the pretense faster than the person they’re covering for. I just hoped mine would prove to be the exception.

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