Chapter 35

CHAPTER35

SCARLETT

We took a day off only for Tate to jump back into work headfirst the next morning, leaving first thing for the studio and not coming back until late at night. I spent the majority of my day making content, filming all day long so I’ll have enough to post over the next week or so.

My follower-count growth hasn’t slowed down. If anything, it’s ramped up. I’m gaining so many followers across all my social media, it’s still a little unbelievable. I know a lot of that is thanks to me being with Tate, but I’d also like to think I have something to do with it as well.

The comments on my posts are always positive. Always encouraging. Yes, there are a lot of questions about Tate, but I always try to give as much information as I can about him. Us.

There are haters too, of course. The more popular you are, the more criticism comes your way. I choose not to read those comments. Or watch the negative posts made about us.

And there are a lot of them.

A couple of days after Tate found out “Red” hit number one, he comes back to the house in the late afternoon, a big grin on his face when he walks into the kitchen. I’m sitting at the kitchen counter on my laptop, pleased to see that he’s back earlier than normal.

“I booked a late-night talk show,” he announces.

“Oh, wow.” I shut my laptop, smiling at him. “Which one?”

When he says the name, I’m even more impressed. “That’s a big deal!”

“I know, but it’s a live one. Well, they end filming about an hour before it’s broadcast. Simon pulled some strings and got me on Monday night’s episode. He was able to get me on there because of the single going number one. He wants me to talk about the upcoming album,” Tate explains.

“They’ll probably want to know about us too,” I point out, apprehension filling me.

It’s one thing to pose for photos or have the paparazzi catch us. It’s another thing entirely to go onto live TV and be interviewed by a professional who has no qualms about asking the tough questions.

“Yeah, Simon warned me about that.” Tate shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’ll be fine.”

“You will be totally fine,” I tell him, wanting to believe it. No, not wanting. I totally believe it.

I have faith in him.

“This is a big deal that he wants me as a guest, because last time I was on that guy’s show, I was a complete asshole.” Tate exhales roughly, shaking his head. “There were rumors he told everyone he could that he’d never work with me again, but I must’ve done something right. Or Simon eventually wore him down.”

Tate’s demons still follow him around, especially with people he’s dealt with in the past in the industry.

“You’ll prove to him that you’re not the same person you were,” I say, my voice firm. “You’re a new version of yourself. A better version.”

“They want me to perform too,” Tate adds, and I see it then. The worry in his gaze. “I’ve never sung that song live.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” I say without hesitation.

He shifts closer, leaning in to give me a kiss. “No one else believes in me like you do, Scar. You make me feel like I can conquer anything.”

Warmth spreads over my skin, leaving me a little dizzy. Or maybe that’s from having Tate so close, seeing that particular gleam in his eyes. “That’s because you can.”

He kisses me again. “Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

We both go still at his words, staring at each other. What he just said feels so . . .

Serious.

“This is real for you too, right?” His voice is the barest whisper. A rasp in the otherwise still room.

Slowly I nod, my gaze locked on his. “Yes.”

His smile is slow. “I didn’t think this could happen.”

“Me either.”

“I thought you were uptight.”

“I thought you were a smug prick.”

He rears back with a laugh, resting his hand on his chest. “Tell me how you really feel.”

I shrug, laughing with him. “I’m just telling you my first impression.”

His laughter dies, his expression turning serious. “I thought you were beautiful.”

“I thought you were even better looking than you were in Five Car Pileup.”

“That’s not saying much.” He grimaces.

“You were adorable back then. So cute with the floppy hair.” I reach out, teasing the ends of his hair. “You’ve still got it.”

“Not as much as I used to.” He dodges away from my seeking fingers, darting in for another kiss, this one full of tongue. “You make me feel like I’ve still got it.”

“All of those fangirls leaving comments all over your social media doesn’t prove to you that you still have it? Have you even searched your hashtag lately?”

He winces. “No. Sometimes I’m almost afraid to look.”

I leave it alone, deciding to change the subject. “Are you almost finished with the album?”

His face lights up. He loves talking about his project. His songs. “We’re so close. Putting a few finishing touches on it. I think you’ll love it.”

“I know I will.”

“It’s all about you.” The solemn expression on his handsome face has my heart beating faster.

“You already told me,” I whisper, closing my eyes the moment his lips touch mine.

He kisses me, gently pulling on my arms, so I stand before his hands go to my waist and haul me onto the marble kitchen counter. The moment I spread my legs, he’s stepping in between them, his hands wandering, his mouth fused with mine. Like he can’t get enough of me.

I feel the same way.

Our phones ding at the same exact time, but we ignore them, too wrapped up in each other. Tate is too focused on slipping his hands beneath my T-shirt, sliding them up to cup my breasts. He tugs on my bra like he’s trying to tear it off me.

His phone starts to ring.

“Why are we constantly interrupted?” he murmurs against my lips, his hands still on my breasts.

My fingers are curled around the waistband of his pants. “You’re a popular guy.”

More notifications ding from both of our phones.

“Looks like we’re both popular.” With a reluctant sigh he removes his hands from my chest and checks his phone, frowning as he picks it up. “What’s up?”

“Put the call on speaker. Scarlett needs to hear this.” I recognize Simon’s voice, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so serious.

Tate sends me a look as he pulls the phone away from his ear and hits the button to switch to speaker, setting the phone on the counter. “Everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay. Have you checked social media lately? Any gossip sites?”

I glance at Tate, who’s already watching me. “No,” he says. “Just spit it out, Simon.”

“There’s a rat. Someone shared all of the legal documents about your relationship with Scarlett. You’ve been exposed.”

My heart hollows out, and I hop off the counter and start to pace the kitchen, my mind full of what he said.

What this all means.

“What do you mean, there’s a rat?” Tate’s voice is fierce. “And everyone knows about our fake relationship?”

“On that one gossip site, you know, the biggest one? Pages of the agreement are on there, including your signature page. Everyone knows the relationship is phony. And it came from either my office or Irresistible’s. Considering the small staff I keep and the integrity of my lawyers and everyone else I employ, I have a feeling it came from Irresistible. Roger is about to have a coronary,” Simon explains.

“What the fuck is this going to do for my album?” Tate asks, sounding furious.

His words are like a slap, leaving me breathless.

After everything he just said to me, after everything we just learned now, this is the first question he asks? About his album?

What about us?

“That’s exactly what Roger said. He’s already been in contact with his crisis-management team. They’re also launching an investigation into everyone at the label to see who spilled this. Jesus.” The frustration in Simon’s voice is obvious. “This is a mess, guys.”

“What should we do?” Tate glances over at me, but I avert my gaze, too hurt to look at him. I know this isn’t his fault. I know the album is important to him. It’s important to me too.

But what about our relationship? We only just confessed our feelings aren’t fake. It’s so real for me. Too real.

That’s why this moment is so painful.

Grabbing my phone, I start checking my notifications. I’m tagged in a bunch of stuff. All articles blowing our cover about our legally drawn-up fake relationship put together only to sell albums and make us famous.

Ouch.

There are texts from my mom, Rachel, my dad. A couple of voice mails that I somehow missed. Oh, one from my lawyer’s office.

It’s a lot. Too much.

“Keep quiet. Don’t leave the house. Roger is sending extra security over there as we speak. Don’t say a word to anyone, not even security. What if they ratted you out?”

“They wouldn’t. They probably believe we’re real. We’ve given them enough evidence,” Tate says wryly.

“I’ll call you back. I’m going to reach out to Roger and see if we can put together a meeting with the crisis team.” Simon ends the call.

The silence is deafening. I’m reading an article about us, the details becoming a blur because they’re so awful. Full of triggering words like bogus. Exposed. Trick. Fake.

Fake, fake, fake.

“This is bad,” Tate finally says, and I look at him, noting how pale he is, his phone open to one of the articles about us. “We look . . . really fucking bad.”

“I know,” I murmur, glancing back down at my phone, which lights up with a call from my dad.

I don’t want to answer it. My heart is in my throat, and panic makes me sweaty.

I hit accept anyway, bracing myself for my father to start yelling.

“Scarlett, baby. Is this all true?” That’s how he greets me.

I clutch my phone to my ear with trembling fingers, swallowing hard. “Well, it—it was.”

“What the hell does that mean? And why didn’t my lawyer tell me about this?” he roars.

“I’m eighteen. I hired my own lawyer,” I tell him, wincing when he starts talking right over me.

“Your mother and I let you leave with this loser to go to Los Angeles to what? Play at a relationship so he can gain more fans for his upcoming album? Scarlett, he completely used you.”

“He didn’t.” I turn so my back is to Tate, hating how my dad’s words ring true. No matter how much I don’t want to believe it—I’m living the experience; I know Tate cares about me—it still sounds awful.

“He did. Oh, I know you think you gained something out of it too, but he’s the winner in this situation. Did you at least get financially compensated for this agreement?”

We never really talked about money. I never did it for that. Originally I did it to get away from the very man who’s currently yelling at me. I did it for attention.

I did it for myself.

“It wasn’t about money,” I start, but I’m cut off by my father’s laughter.

“Oh, Scarlett. I always thought you were a smart girl, but you’ve handled this all wrong. That boy owes you big time. He can afford it. I gave him enough money for that goddamn performance. Or did he blow it all already on drugs and alcohol?”

“He’s not like that anymore,” I bite out. “And this is all your fault. You’re the one who brought him into our lives. And now look what happened.”

“I didn’t tell you to run away with him and pretend to be a happy couple for public consumption! That’s on you, Scarlett. Your mother is beside herself. She feels guilty that she let you go.”

“There was no letting me go. I was going to do it whether you guys liked it or not,” I tell him, throwing my head back so I can stare at the ceiling. I’m suddenly exhausted.

Overwhelmed.

“You think you know better because you’re eighteen, and now you’re finding out you don’t know shit about life. Come home, Scarlett. We can call up the jet and fly you home so you don’t have to deal with public scrutiny,” Dad says.

“It’s too late for that.” I can literally hear the sound of car doors slamming outside. The low murmur of voices.

The paparazzi have arrived.

“Let us help you,” Dad pleads. “You need to get away from him.”

Slowly I turn around, eager to see Tate’s face. To see the sympathy in his gaze. To know he’s in this with me.

We’re in this together.

But he’s gone.