Page 59 of Off Script
“You’re not sad or jealous that he ended up with Kelsey?”
“No, not at all,” I respond immediately and emphatically to her question, wanting to reassure her, especially after the intimacy that we just shared.
I pull Carlisle even tighter into my chest, but she cranes her head to look up at me, hesitation skipping across her features. “I noticed that Kelsey disappeared while you were cleaning the kitchen. Did you guys talk?”
“She cornered me in the kitchen and came onto me. I shut her down.”
“Good.”
I chuckle remembering how it went down. “Though I inadvertently quoted Taylor Swift, so that may have taken some of the seriousness from my words.”
“No, you didn’t!” Shocked delight spreads across her face. “What’d you say?”
“I told Kelsey that we were never, ever getting back together.” Carlisle’s tinkling laughter is music to my ears.
Through our talks, texts, dates, and more, Carlisle and I are allowing each other into our personal spaces, those private parts of our hearts and minds that we hide from the outside world. For the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful. The walls of defense that I carefully crafted to protect my heart after my break-up with Kelsey are slowly crumbling under Carlisle’s care.
Running my fingers through Carlisle’s wavy hair, I kiss her forehead and open my heart up to her even more. “My therapist once told me that the best way to heal a broken heart isn’t to shy away from love, but rather to let new love in. To allow it to flow freely, filling in the cracks and crevices created from your previous heartbreak. I never really believed her before, but now, as I lie here with you, I do.”
The next morning, I awaken entangled with a very sexy, very naked Carlisle, and I am fully intent on giving her a repeat performance of last night.
But then I notice my cell phone on the nightstand. It’s lit up like a Christmas tree with dozens of notifications, which is never a good sign.
My stomach drops as I read the text Becky sent, along with the accompanying link to a gossip website.
BECKY
Call me immediately. Photos from outside Le Bistro hit the tabloids. Studio 67 is not pleased with the situation. We need to discuss your options and get ahead of this.
Fuck!
I slip out of bed as stealthily as possible. I tug on my pajama pants and creep out of the guest room and return to my childhood bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me.
Dialing my publicist, I lift the phone to my ear. Without preamble, I say, “Got your text from last night."
Although the sun hasn’t even risen yet in California, Becky is already awake and alert. “Ben, I don’t have good news for you. Photos of some drunk TV stars were published on a few gossip websites, and a fan noticed someone who looks like you in the background of the photos. And you appear to be kissing a random girl. Is that you and Carlisle in those photos, Ben?"
"It is," I admit sheepishly.
"Shit. At this point, all they have is pure conjecture, but the story is gaining steam.” Becky's voice is icy, laced with disapproval and disappointment. “As you know, perception is reality in Hollywood. If enough media outlets run the story, people will believe it.”
“Damnit,” I mutter. “I’m sorry. I thought I was being careful enough when I took Carlisle out for dinner.”
“This is terrible timing, Ben. Studio 67 is pissed.”
“I know, I know,” I grouse.
“Send me a couple of photos from Thanksgiving with you and your family, and I’ll quash the story. But there’s more, Ben.” Becky sighs. “Last night, Jada and I had an impromptu phone conference with the studio heads. They weren’t pleased that you didn’t agree to the showmance with Willa, but after these photos of you and Carlislecame out… they're furious now, Ben. The studio is already working to secure financing for aCaptain Commandersequel, so they don't want you to do anything that could jeopardize the movie's success."
"I won't. I promise."
"They want more than that, Ben. They're convinced that the best way to boost ticket sales will be to go public with the PR relationship between you and Willa.”
Interrupting, I implore her, “Look, I’ll do whatever I need to dootherthan faking a relationship with Willa. I’ll do extra interviews, photographers can follow me around, whatever. But not that. Don’t make me do that, Becky.”
“You know that the studio’s publicity contracts are purposely vague, Ben. They don’t want to force you to do the fauxmance, but they absolutely will if push comes to shove.” She pauses. “And you don’t want to earn a reputation for being hard to work with or that you're not a team player. Not if you want to keep landing movie roles, like the one inLosing Love.”
The movie business is fickle, with every player vying for attention. My current tidal wave of success is one that I want to ride for as long as I can because I know that I could become irrelevant overnight. The studios know it too and routinely use that knowledge to their advantage.
