Page 21 of Going Viral for Christmas
Andthis fake dating scheme is my chance.
Except, I have so many questions.
Like, are we supposed to hold hands at events?
Are we kissing? In public? On camera?
Do I tell her I’ve read every single one of her books, not justThe Lumberjack’s Love Letters, and loved them all?
Am I looking at her right now like she’s the love of my life… all while she stares at me like I’m a fungal infection she can’t legally sue?
Did I say that last one out loud? Or in my head?
Either way, her eyebrow twitched. So… not great.
Fuck. Me.Whatam I thinking?
Ava Bellhatesme, so unless this plan includes a step-by-step guide on how to win over a woman who’s made a brand out of slandering my literary kinks—this thing’s going to go down in flames.
Renata stops pacing, turns, addresses Ava. “We’re talking a few more appearances. A dozen posts per event minimum, and at least five shared videos for ShelfSpace. You two are already trending. Let’s keep the momentum going.”
Ava makes a noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a dying reindeer.
My publicist, Camille, nods approvingly. “We’ll soft-launch the relationship with a teaser post tonight, then make it official with a pumpkin patch press conference. Full couple content. Cozy aesthetic. Bonus points for falling leaves. You’ll be the hottest couple on the internet. Next to Asher Cross and Celeste Monroe, of course.”
Ava turns to me, an expression full of pure heroine betrayal on her pretty face. “This is insane.”
“Possibly,” I say, because yeah it is. Or is it?
Shaking her head in disbelief, she grimaces. “What’s in it for you?”
“It’s good marketing,” I add, trying to get her to look at me again.
She does. With narrow eyes. I’m pretty sure she’s mentally hurling the decorative ceramic pumpkin at my face right now. I’ll take it.
Camille clears her throat like she’s been waiting for her cue. “And it’ll be good for Soren’s image. A relationship makes him more relatable. Less… untouchable bad boy, more fan favorite.”
“You do know I’m sitting in the room, right?” I say. “You don’t have to speak about me in third person.”
“Are you actually considering this?” Ava folds her arms over her chest, which pushes her tits up in a way that doesveryunhelpful things to my concentration—and Captain Pembry. “You don’t need the extra numbers, Soren.”
No, but apparently I do need a moment to remember how words work. Or to stop imagining what my name might sound like with less judgment and more breathlessness.
And true. I’m not hurting for attention. My last book broke the preorder record for fantasy that month. Sure, the movie adaptation for my most popular series has been in “development” longer than most celebrity marriages. Needless to say, I’m fine. But Camille isn’t wrong. And publicity never hurts. Especially when I’m about to launch a spin-off with an ambiguous demon prince and a possessive, foul-mouthed shadow wolf, with a flair for violence.
Ava, though? She could use the win. She’s brilliant, legendary good. I don’t understand why the numbers don’t match the hype.
So, maybe this fake dating, staged proximity, and sudden spotlight will give her the boost she deserves. If I can help with that, I will.
Never mind the fact that I plan to use every second of this scheme to my advantage and get to know Ava beyond the screen.
Also, if we’re being brutally honest... I’m extremely curious what it would feel like if Ava Bell had to touch me in public. Or at all. Pretend to flirt. Pretend to adore me. She’s sassy-tongued and tightly wound, allergic to spontaneity and joyfully resistant to fun—which means she’spreciselythe kind of woman I want to peel apart. Layer by stubborn, sarcastic layer.
And yes. I mean clothes too. I want to know what she hides under her armor, her attitude, her hemline. All of it.
It’d also be… I don’t know. Nice, I guess. To have someone to spend the holidays with.
I’m not getting into that right now, though. That’s a different chapter.
