9. Jackson

The bags under my eyes were clear proof that I didn't get a lick of sleep. Dodging questions all evening from my prodding family was hard enough, but trying to sleep knowing what Mandy was going through was worse. I'd taken the first private jet I could book—four a.m. I hadn't even said goodbye to my family, quietly leaving the house and heading to the airport.

I clutched my cup of coffee in my hands as people started filing into the room. My entire PR team had flown in at short notice, and I'd waited until the absolute last minute to tell them where to meet. We didn't need the press following them or Mandy, not when I was already being watched like a hawk. Another article about me had already hit by five a.m., a picture of me boarding the private jet, heading back to my girlfriendas they'd titled it.

Mandy stepped through the doors last, her wild hair up in a bun. Her eyes were as dark as mine, a cup of coffee in her hands. She wore her oversized NYU hoodie, the one she wore almost constantly back in the day, and a pair of joggers. Too early for anything else.

I'd booked an office space under a false name just outside of Boulder to give us enough privacy to deal with this.

"Hey," I sighed, turning the office chair next to me to offer it to her. She didn't even fight me as she collapsed into it, and even though I knew it was mostly because of her exhaustion, I wanted to believe that she was growing fond of me.

"Hi," she mumbled. "Didn't get any sleep either?"

I shook my head. "Not a second."

"Is it bad that it makes me feel slightly better?" She breathed a slight chuckle, her eyes staring down at her cup, her name written in swirly writing along the top.

"No, it's not bad, Mandy."

Samantha, my head of Public Relations, took her place in front of the group. "Right. Let's get this over with," she said, turning on the projector and lighting up the wall with article after article about us. "This is bad, guys. Really bad. Media shitstorm-level bad."

"We know that" I sighed, leaning back in my chair and practically hugging my cup against my chest.

"I don't think you do, Jackson. This is worse than every single time before," she clarified, clicking something on her laptop and pulling up the video. Mandy winced as it played three times for emphasis. "Every other time the media has suspected you of dating someone, we've been able to either bury it under the rug or scrub it per your requests. This is different. This is a video, Jackson, and worse yet, she's saying she loves you."

I watched as Mandy breathed in a shaky breath, her eyes still glued to the lid of her coffee. "I meant it in the past tense," she mumbled, and dammit, that hit me right in the heart. I knew that's what she meant but it hadn't stopped me from wondering if maybe it was still present tense. "They have to know that."

"Sorry, Miranda, but they don't know that. Maybe next time you're shouting at Jack, be more precise with your words," Samantha clipped, her irritation at the entire scandal seeping through. This was making her job harder, I knew that. But it wasn't an excuse to talk to Mandy that way.

"Don't talk to her like that," I snapped, locking eyes with Samantha's bloodshot ones. "I pay you to deal with stuff like this. Not to be rude to someone who was just speaking her mind and trying to clarify things."

I tried to pretend not to notice the weight of Mandy's eyes on me. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Samantha looked between me and Mandy, her glare wavering on me. "Even if you meant it in the past tense, it doesn't matter now. Trying to clarify the situation will only make people more intrigued and more likely to spin things in ways you might not want."

"So what do we do?" I asked.

Jason from the media team spoke up next. "Well, as requested, we had a meeting last night over Zoom and have been in contact all morning trying to figure out the best way forward," he said, standing from his chair and taking his place next to Sam. "The only possible thing we could come up with to get through this is something that I don't think either of you will like, but it's often used to sway the media and the public on their opinions in situations like these. It may buy you some time to figure out whatever is, uh, between you two."

"There is nothing between us," Mandy muttered.

I had a feeling I knew what was going to come out of their mouths. I had friends that had tried certain tactics to get the media off their backs when it came to questions about their love life. Hell, I had a few of my own. But involving Mandy in such an idea felt like way too much, it felt wrong. She'd fight it every step of the way, kicking and screaming before she agreed, even if deep down she knew it wasthe best way to get the press to give us a drop of privacy.

"Are you suggesting a fake relationship?" I asked, setting my coffee on the table before my grip made the cup explode. From the corner of my eye, I watched as Mandy stiffened, her tired eyes going wide.

"Yes," Jason said, clicking into the next slide that Sam had arranged. It included headlines of celebrities, different instances of announcing a fake relationship to build up excitement and then letting it calm down. "Better yet, engaged. You'll probably get a few interviews, a bit more press, and then it'll die down until you announce whatever comes after that, be it a wedding or breaking up. From then on, things should die down."

"No."

I turned to Mandy, watching as she desperately tried to take a breath. "Mandy," I sighed, the temptation to reach out and comfort her nearly overwhelming my senses.

"No," she repeated, her hand shaking as she set her coffee next to mine. "Absolutely not. I'm not doing that."

I'd be lying if I said it didn't disappoint me to hear her say that. I knew it was a bad idea, knew that I was a shit person for wanting it, but a fake relationship with her would mean more time with her, more opportunities to make things right. I wanted that more than I wanted anything.

Well, maybe not more than I wanted her.

"I'm not a pawn," she said, her voice growing a little louder. "I'm not going to pretend to be your fiancée, I'm not going to pretend to be your anything."

"Miranda," Sam hissed, her irritation growing. "This is the only thing I can offer you. If you want some semblance of peace, this is your only option."

"It's Mandy," I grumbled.

"Whatever, I don't care." She stood ramrod straight, her stark gray eyes flashing, her breaths quick and shallow. "I don't fucking care. I'm not doing it."

"Mandy," I pressed, shifting up onto my feet. My chair rolled back unintentionally too quickly, crashing into the wall behind me. "You're overreacting."

"Can you at least listen to the benefits?" Sam asked, her tone far too similar to one of an annoyed mother chastising their child. "People will believe it?—"

"I don't want them to believe it," Mandy barked, her head snapping in Sam's direction so quickly it made the bun on her head begin to shake loose. "I don't want to be associated with him. I don't want this. I don't want to do this." Her bottom lip quivered, her shaking hands trembling harder. "I'm not doing it. I'm not."

I hated seeing her like this. It had been ten years since I'd seen her this worked up, this stressed out, and that had been right in the middle of midterms. But this wasn't midterms. This was far more serious. "Mandy," I breathed, wrapping my fingers around her biceps and turning her to face me. She didn't even flinch. "Look at me. Deep breaths."

"There will also be benefits for you, Miranda. You'll get Jackson's personal protection team and plenty of good press for your business," Sam continued.

"She gets my team no matter what she decides," I hissed at Sam, not taking my eyes off of Mandy.

Mandy's eyes went glassy as she stared up at me. I hated this. I didn't want her to have to deal with any of it, even if it meant something positive for me. "I can't do this, Jack."

"Okay. What do you suggest instead?" I asked softly, resisting the urge to drag my fingers up her arms and take her face in my hands. I knew there wasn't another option, and I knew she'd come to that realization sooner or later. But she had to do it on her own. She had to make the choice for herself.

"I… I…" Mandy stammered, her heart hammering so hard in her chest that I could feel each pulse in her arms. "I don't know. I'd prefer this hadn't happened in the first place."

"I know," I sighed, holding eye contact with her, watching as the tears welled up. She didn't blink, didn't want them to fall. "Unfortunately, J.B. Tech hasn't invented a time machine yet, so that's not in the cards. But this option, this unfortunately shitty option, is the best we have right now. It's the best thing for both of us. I don't like it either."

"I hate it," she snapped, the anger seeping back into her, the softness she'd shown me for a millisecond disappearing. "I hate you."

The words hit me like a bullet to the chest. I recoiled, releasing her arms. "You hate me?"

"Of course I hate you," she choked, rubbing at her eyes and forcing the tears to retreat. "I don't want to spend another goddamn minute in your presence, let alone be your fiancée. I'd rather jump off Bear Peak."

I didn't want to get angry with her. I wanted to help her, to make her feel better, but if she was going to attack me I was going to argue right back. "You'd rather kill yourself than spend time with me?" I laughed, the anger in my blood beginning to boil. "Fine. Let's take a drive, princess. Bear Peak isn't far."

Her eyes widened with rage, and I could see the little blood vessels getting larger in the whites. "Fuck you," she spat, taking a step toward me. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Out of your hair, out of the press, dead in the middle of Rocky Mountain National Park?—"

"You think I want that?" I was livid. I leaned in closer, our faces just inches apart, our breaths mingling. "I am trying to help you. Neither of us can change what's already happened, but this is the only way forward."

"I'm not doing it." She grabbed her coffee from the table, stepping with one foot toward the door. I grabbed her, stopping her and pulling her closer. Again, she didn't fight me.

"Listen to me," I snarled, each word dripping with a venom I didn't want to have to use on her. She'd given me no choice. "It's better to lay with the devil you know than the fucking sharks that will come for you if you don't. They will consume you alive, do you hear me? You might hate me now, but you'll hate yourself even more if you invite the hellthey will force on you."

"Let go of me?—"

"Listen and I'll let go," I said sternly, loosening my grip just a hair. She could've wriggled free at any time if she wanted to. "You've never experienced what they can do. If I were you, princess, I'd be careful how I talked to the one person who can get you through this nightmare—me."

Her bottom lip trembled again either with rage or frustration. It melted my heart, but I held my gaze, my sternness. She needed to understand. These were not schoolyard bullies we were talking about. This shit could get really nasty, really quickly.

She opened her mouth, and from the look in her eyes I could tell that whatever she wanted to say was far harsher than anything she'd already said, but lucky for both of us she shut it again. "I'll think about it," she mumbled, tearing herself away from me and stepping out the door.