Page 50 of Beneath the Fame

“That’s the thing though…everybody has those moments, alotless transparently. You just are who you are, and whoever sees…sees.You’re not trying to maintain this front of something you’re not, even in private. You’re yourself in every place—except when you’re literally in front of a camera performing a script. You’re Alec everywhere else, and that is just…beyond refreshing.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush.”

“That’s kinda the point.” She giggled. “You love doing it to me, so I’m definitely taking my opportunity to get you back.”

“Get me back?” I chuckled. “Like speaking life on you and your dreams is a bad thing?”

She shook her head. “It’s not, it’s just…like I said. Refreshing. Another thing I didn’t know I needed.”

“Damn,” I murmured. “You’re making me sound real good.”

“I don’t have to make yousoundgood, you are.”

I laughed. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry, I’m feeling mushy,” she said, leaning down to give me a soft kiss on the lips. “Is there anything you need from me?”

“Nothing you aren’t already giving.”

She rolled her eyes at my honest answer, but…seriously.

As much noise as I tuned out, I still saw little inklings of assumptions and rumors that she was probably just using me for fame, I was just a “munch” or a “simp” or some other internet shit that didn’t even make sense for who either of us was.

As if being close to her had no benefits forme.

Besides the blatantly obvious of her being fine as hell and the sex being phenomenal, Vee was just…good energy. She made me laugh, often. She was actually interested when I was talking, and supportive of the things I dreamed about, and so damn free pouring validation into me.

And as much as it could be said that sex was the catalyst for all of this, we’d shared so much deeper intimacy.

We were feeding each other, which was, to me, exactly what a real relationship should be.

VANESSA

“Go to your socials.”

I frowned at that directive, briefly pulling the phone away from my ear so I could look at the screen again, confirming who it was who’d called me.

Seeing Chloe McKenna’s name on the screen, exactly as I thought, I frowned even deeper.

As my new publicist, one of the first things she’d insisted upon was me logging out of and deleting every app on my phone that was connected in some way to social media. Now she was telling me to go look?

“Are you sure you called the right person?” I asked, and she laughed on the other end of the line.

“Yes, Vanessa, I’m sure,” she replied.

Instead of arguing, I switched to speakerphone mode and pulled the phone down in front of me, navigating to my app of choice—the photo-centered one.

It was most likely to be somewhere safe.

I’d finally learned to be incredibly protective of my mental energy, starting with some revamping of my team. Annie was still my manager—technically—solely because of advice from my lawyers about what the penalties could be for terminating our contract early. They wanted me to think about all the possible drawbacks before I pulled that trigger, so…I was. Accepting wise counsel wasn’t a problem for me.

In the meantime, I made it very clear to her—via legal paperwork— that she was no longer to enter into any new contracts on my behalf, and no longer had the ability to negotiate orrenegotiate anything. She’d continue getting paid for things she’d already put in place for me, which I didn’t have a problem with because she’d done that work, undeniably.

But under no circumstances was she to speak about me, publicly or otherwise.

I trusted that she would take the right lane on that, if for no reason other than self-preservation. From what Chloe had explained, with the powerherfirm held, if Annie did try to do anything slick, Chloe’s contacts would know immediately.

And the fallout would not be very pretty for Annie.

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