Page 47 of Going Viral for Christmas
“I’ll get with legal. Start drafting a statement in case this hits critical mass. You’ve gotta stay clean. Stay visible, but not reactive. And for the love of God, don’t try to explain yourself online.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You stick to the script with Ava. Let the world see you as genuine andtaken.That story has traction. People are rooting for it. They’ll see Lena as a jealous ex.”
“She’s not my ex.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And if it blows up in my face?”
“We pivot. We don’t let Lena own the plot. Okay?”
I sigh. “Okay.”
We hang up. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. There’s a flush along my neck, and a flash of darkness behind my eyes. Shame. Frustration. Fury.
I look like the villain.
I feel like the villain.
I’m not the villain.
And I’ll be damned if I let Lena write me as one, no matter how many irrelevant hashtags she hides her lies behind. She can’t twist the past and ruin my future. I’m finally holding something in the palm of my hand that could be true.
What I have with Ava might be fake on paper. Butshe’snot. Neither are the feelings clawing their way up every time she laughs, snaps, or looks at me. I may be the last person she wants, but I’m the only one she needs. Even through all the denial she’s fighting against.
I won’t let Lena destroy that.
There's possibility with Ava and me. A spark. A chance. I’ll prove I’m worth more than the worst version of someone else’s story. Even if it kills me.
Nine
AVA
After the panels and signings finally wrap, the ballroom transforms into a press gauntlet—rows of folding chairs, camera rigs, and a podium bathed in blinding bright lights.
The press conference is about to start. Reporters are buzzing like bees in a hive. Renata and I are standing off to the side, tucked just far enough into the wings that no one could overhear. She’s filling my ear with a final round of reminders.
“Mention the panel chemistry. Remember, things developed naturally. Laugh when he touches you.”
My arms cross. “That’s not in my contract.”
“It is now.” Renanta turns and skitters away, toward Camille. The two of them have grown quite close during this charade.
Soren approaches, annoyingly calm in a perfectly fitted dark jacket over a charcoal t-shirt that matches my blouse a little too well to be an accident. The scent of pine needles and expensive cologne wafts off his freshly showered skin. I’ll never admit out loud what it does to me.
Bending down toward my ear, his voice scrapes over my skin. “You nervous?”
“Yes, I hate lying,” I reply, honestly.
His gaze dips to my lips for the briefest second. “Then let’s give them something to believe in.”
A spark zips straight through me, lighting up nerve endings I haven’t felt in years. And when my breath hitches, his eyes zero in on my lips, which part on instinct.It’s not an invitation, Pembry.
This is stupid. But I drift toward him anyway and whisper, “We’re supposed to keep it professional. Wait until the interview starts. Read the statement. Smile. Nod. That’s it. Okay? No off-script stuff.”
“Understood.” He winks.
