CHAPTER THREE Jude

CHAPTER THREE

Jude

"Come on, Jude. It wasn't that bad."

My sister sets a plate of fudge on the table before me, and my mouth waters at the sight of the decadent pieces of my very favorite flavor—Orange-Cream Swirl. I grab a piece, shoving it into my mouth like a starved man.

I refuse to be embarrassed by the moan that leaves me the second it hits my tongue. It's perfect. Pure heaven.

Just like this bakery, Cait's Confectionery. This is a little slice of paradise my sister has carved out for herself. She transformed what was once a Hell's Kitchen pizza shop into a funky little bakery that somehow makes you go What the hell am I looking at? and Wow, this is cool! all at once. It's full of eclectic art pieces and decor that make zero sense while perfectly working together all at the same time. Add in the fact that this place constantly smells like fresh fudge and coffee, and it's the perfect haven to escape to whenever you need something to cheer you up.

After yesterday, I needed this. Having my brother and sister here, too, is a bonus.

I chew the fudge, swallow, then run the back of my hand across my mouth in a way that would earn me a glare from my mother. "That's easy for you to say, Cait. You weren't the one who cussed twice, walked off the stage at the wrong time, and tripped so badly you ripped your pants and showed all of New York your Snoopy underwear. Oh, and then did finger guns to the camera as you continued off."

I hold back a groan just thinking about it. Those damn flowers are to blame for all of it. Well, that and the medication I took, which made me loopy as hell. I'm not usually that embarrassing ... right?

"Okay, that part was hilarious," my sister—younger by a short fifteen months—tells me, barely able to hold back a laugh.

I drop my head to the table and lightly bang it against the wooden top a few times for good measure. "I'm a laughingstock."

"You're not," my brother says, and I can tell he's trying to keep a straight face. "It's not that bad. The Snoopy underwear isn't ideal, and I have lots of questions about it—but it could have been worse."

I lift my head. "Well, for you, sure. You're you. Everyone loves you, Jas." I toss another piece of fudge into my mouth, convinced it will make me feel better. It does, but only minimally.

He scoffs into the coffee he's just lifted to his lips. He takes a small sip of the steaming-hot liquid before setting it down. "They do not. I get plenty of bad press."

"Not like this, though. It was awful."

"I saw it. You'll be fine."

"You saw it?"

"What? I have the internet." He shrugs like this is no big deal, when really it is. Jasper is never online. It's not his style. He has social media accounts, but he doesn't post on them. His assistants do. For him to have seen the video, it has to be big. "Mom texted it to us."

Oh, hell. My mother has seen the video?

"With a laughing emoji," Cait adds.

"She what?" I instantly feel bad for my outburst. Yelling at my sister is bad enough, but yelling at my pregnant sister is even worse. If my calculations are correct, she's just hit the fourteen-week mark. She and her longtime boyfriend weren't expecting to get pregnant, but they're taking this curveball in stride with their usual love and excitement. I'm beyond happy for them and cannot wait to spoil my future niece or nephew. It's a major reason I decided to get a place here in the city too. Plus, being close to my parents isn't bad either. They spend more time here now than they do in Los Angeles.

Cait winces. "Was I not supposed to say that?"

"I don't think you should have added the emoji part," Jasper tells her. "But you have to admit, it was funny."

They both look like they're seconds away from bursting into laughter just thinking about my complete and total failure.

I knew I should have never told my publicist I'd do the interview. I should have put my foot down and told her no.

But I didn't. I said yes because I didn't want to rock the boat or be branded as difficult.

I grumble again, and Jasper's big hand comes down on my shoulder in a comforting pat.

"Don't sweat it too much. It'll all blow over in a day or two."

"A day or two? That's forever in internet time!"

"I've already seen a parody video," Cait stage-whispers. "And a meme."

"You're really not helping," Jasper says, but I can hear the urge to laugh in his voice.

"You're both traitors. My least favorite siblings."

"We're your only siblings. We can't be your least favorite."

"Can and are too."

"Now that's just mean, Jude."

"And laughing at your little brother isn't?" I shake my head. "My career is over."

"It's not. I've done my fair share of stupid shit, and look at me." Jasper waves his hand around. "I'm thriving. Hell, I closed an entire bakery with my presence alone."

"Excuse me, but I closed an entire bakery because it's my shop. Not to mention, I only did it because you're both too busy for your pregnant sister anymore, and this is the only way I could get you two alone. I need more sibling time before the baby comes."

Cait's words do what she intended—make me feel guilty.

I was surprised to find Jasper standing outside my apartment this morning. Not just because I was shocked my doorman let him up, no questions asked, but because he'd said he was working and wouldn't be in the city until next week. I guess after my misstep on live television, he felt he needed to come in early.

Even if they're giving me shit, I'm glad my siblings are here to help me through this.

I've been replaying yesterday morning in my head for more than twenty-four hours now. I didn't sleep a wink last night. I just kept refreshing my Google Alerts.

The Youngest Rafferty Falls Flat on His Face Twice—At the Box Office and On Live TV.

Jude Rafferty: Is He Why the Rafferty Family Isn't What It Used to Be?

Is Jude Rafferty on Drugs?

That last one made me laugh.

Drugs? Please. I'm this stupid all on my own, thank you very much. The allergy meds were good but not that good.

"Do you want me to do something equally embarrassing to take the heat off you?"

"You'd do that for me?"

Jasper laughs. "Fuck no. I don't want that attention."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Asshole."

He blows me a kiss, and I catch it in the air, then crush it between my hands. He reels back in faux offense, and I smile for the first time in more than a day.

It's funny because, to the outside world, the Rafferty clan is Hollywood royalty. We're household names on so many levels.

But to us? We're just that—us.

We're not actors. People don't know our names. We're just siblings who argue and have fun like other ordinary people. Moments like these remind me of that and make me forget I'm now an internet sensation for all the wrong reasons.

A sigh escapes me as I remember that I'm the world's latest punch line.

"Stop thinking about it," Jasper says. "It could be worse."

"Yeah, but it could also be better," Cait points out.

"Not helping," Jasper tells her with a glare.

She lifts her hands in innocence. "Sorry. It's true, though. I'm just glad I'm not in the spotlight like you two idiots."

"Hey, you're famous in your own right."

"Yeah, but I don't want to be." She screws up her lips. "All this extra stuff ... it sounds exhausting."

She has no idea.

Well, maybe she does. Cait tried the whole acting thing when she was younger, determined to go into the "family business" and all, but promptly discovered that being center stage is not her thing. She left the industry after a few guest spots on shows, shifted her focus to creating delicious desserts, and never looked back.

Sometimes I think she's the only sane one out of us. She definitely seems the happiest right now. And she should be happy. Her shop is making a killing. It's been featured on two of the city's most prominent food blogs, and people flock here to grab the new fudge flavors she whips up every week. This place is nothing to sneeze at, and I couldn't be prouder of her.

"Thanks for closing the shop for me," I tell her. "I'm sure you're missing out on a big day."

She shrugs. "I am, but you're family, and family comes first. Besides, Jasper offered to cover my lost wages."

"I did?" He raises his brows, clearly surprised by this turn of events.

"Not yet, but you're going to."

"I am?"

"Yep. Because I'm your favorite sister and because I promise not to tell the parents about you breaking the Tiffany vase."

He throws his head back with a groan. "That was like ten years ago."

"Try two."

"And it wasn't my fault," he continues. He points at me. "You shoved me."

"Because you called me a dick," I retort.

"Well, you were being a dick."

"I don't think it's possible for Jude to be a dick," Cait cuts in with an eye roll. "He's like the nicest guy ever."

"So, so nice," Jasper agrees.

"Just the best."

"The bestest of the best."

They're mocking me. I know they are. They always mock me.

I can't say I blame them. I am nice. Just yesterday, I didn't want to tell Good Morning, New York that I was on the verge of an allergic reaction because I didn't want to rock the boat.

That's nice. Too nice.

"He can hear you, you know. And he thinks you're both dicks." I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at them.

They burst into laughter, not caring at all.

"Oh, come on, Jude." Cait grins at me. "It's true, but it's not a bad thing to be nice."

"Except for when you strung that poor girl along for three years," Jasper adds.

"I didn't want to hurt her."

"Yes, what you did was so much better."

"Well, Jas, considering she cheated on me, I'd say so."

"Oh shit." His eyes widen. "I forgot about that."

"I didn't," Cait says. "Sophie was my best friend."

Jasper and I exchange a look. Cait doesn't miss it.

"What? What's that look about?" she asks, glancing between us.

"Nothing," I say with a shrug.

Cait shakes her head. "No, it was definitely something. What was it?"

Jasper sighs. "It's just ... Do you really think she was your best friend?"

"Yes, of course I do."

Another glance at my brother, who is about to break my sister's heart. I should stop him, but maybe it's time she hears it.

"She was using you, Cait."

"To get to us," I agree.

"What? She was not! We ... We ..." Her shoulders deflate. "Oh my gosh, she was using me."

I wince. "Sorry, sis."

She exhales heavily. "It's fine. Wouldn't be the first time it happened."

Jasper pats her shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's truly unfair to have such talented and attractive brothers that everyone wants to bone."

She elbows him off her. "Not everyone wants to bone you."

"That's not true. I'm totally boneable."

"More like a total bonehead." Cait rolls her eyes.

"You should see the people at the parties I go to. They throw themselves at me left and right."

"They just want to say they took a famous ride," Cait suggests. "They don't really like you because they don't really know you."

That. It's one of my biggest problems being in the entertainment industry. Nothing is real and everything feels fake. Even with my parents' successful marriage proving it's possible for relationships to survive in Hollywood, I still struggle to have faith in anything real.

It sucks because I think something real sounds nice.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A loud knock on the bakery's front door has Cait nearly jumping out of her chair.

"What the ..." She rises to her feet, her hand over her chest. "Who is that?"

"It's me! Open up!"

Oh shit.

"It's Dylan," I say. "I forgot she was coming."

"Dylan? Your publicist?"

I nod, pushing to my feet and going over to the door. I fumble with the three latches—a little overkill, for it just being us in here—then slide the door open enough for her to squeeze by.

"You have three cameras pointed at this shop from across the street," she says by way of greeting, tugging off her scarf as she walks farther into Cait's shop. "Everyone knows this is your sister's place." She pulls off her jacket, handing it to me as she continues to ramble on. "They're putting two and two together, Jude, so we need to work fast; then you sneak out the back way before it gets rowdy out there."

When she's finished, she looks up at me with bright hazel eyes and pursed red-painted lips.

I grin down at her. "Hi, Dylan. How are you?"

She narrows her eyes, but it's not scary with the smile that's curving over her lips. "Hi, Jude. I'm fine—much better than you, Mr. Snoopy Drawers."

I wince and she laughs, patting me on the cheek.

"Don't worry. We'll get it figured out," she reassures me. "Now, here's what I'm thinking: I'll get in touch with some of my contacts to get something set up. You need a date. A big name. Someone who's already making headlines for all the right reasons. We get you a spot at the hottest restaurant and get the paparazzi there. Give them something else to focus on while we clean up everything behind the scenes. If they see you out looking and acting normal, they may lay off the druggy headlines. But until I can get that set up, I need you to do damage control. Post on social media. Make jokes about what happened. Get people talking about it, but in a good way." She points at Jasper as she approaches the small table where we've been sitting. "You. Help your brother. Make some posts for him."

"I don't do social media."

"What? Of course you do. You—"

"My assistant handles all that."

Dylan stares at him blankly, clearly unimpressed, something I find funny because Jasper always impresses people. "Can you get me the log-in information for your Instagram?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Perfect." She pulls her phone from her back pocket, her long nails making a soft clack, clack, clack noise against the screen as she types faster than I ever could. "Send it to me. Your brother can post for you."

Jasper frowns, not seeming to like having my publicist boss him around.

I wouldn't say I like it either.

"Do I get a say in any of this?" I ask.

Dylan laughs loudly. "No. Not at all."

"But—"

"Do you like Italian?" She shakes her head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. It's not a real date, all for show." She snaps her fingers. "Let's do three dates. That way, it gives us more opportunities to show up in the headlines. Maybe a morning coffee run too." She looks around the shop. "This place won't do—we'll find somewhere else."

I glance over at Cait, who looks like she's about to burst with anger.

"I'm sorry," I mouth to her.

She exhales heavily, giving her head a slight shake.

Oh, I'm totally going to hear about this later.

"Dylan ..." She barely glances up from her phone when I call her name. "This is a bit much, isn't it?"

That gets her attention.

"‘A bit much'?" Her perfectly sculpted brows shoot up. "No, it's not a bit much. In fact, it's probably not enough. You're going to be in the headlines for weeks, Jude. We're in full-blown recovery mode. You have weeks left of press junkets, and you fumbled your first interview. There's no way that you won't be under major scrutiny now."

"Won't the internet just laugh it off?" my sister asks.

Jasper, Dylan, and I look at Cait like she's a fool. And she just might be, suggesting something like that.

"Sure." My publicist crosses her arms over her chest. "The kids on TikTok might laugh, poke fun, then move on, but the headlines? Those are going to be singing an entirely different song. I already have fifty emails in my inbox asking if Jude has a drug or alcohol problem, plus three more from executives at the studios asking if they need to be worried and threatening to pull the plug on the press junkets. Those are all from the walk from my hotel to here." She laughs sardonically. "The internet making memes and parodies is the least of our worries."

Cait's eyes are wide as she takes in Dylan's words. "That is ..."

"Absolutely preposterous? I know."

My sister gulps, wringing her hands together. "Scary." Her eyes flit to mine. "How are you going to fix this?"

I look at Dylan, who is giving me her best trust me face. I've been working with her for years now, and at any inkling of scandal, she's always been on top of it, getting rid of it before it even has the chance to spread. I should trust her. And not just because she genuinely scares me but because she's good at her job.

But these dates ... they aren't me.

I've tried the whole dating-in-the-spotlight thing before. It didn't pan out well. Yeah, that was years ago, after Lakedale had ended, but I know it's not for me. If I'm going to date—which I'm not planning to do anytime soon—I want it to be on my terms and, preferably, quietly.

"There's nothing else I could do?" I question my publicist.

"Sure. You could take more drugs and embarrass yourself on television some more. Maybe next time they'll get a shot of you in your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles underwear instead of Snoopy."

"He has those," Jasper says, not helping in the least.

"And ruling that out," I say, ignoring my brother completely, "we have no other options than fake dates?"

Dylan sighs. "Jude. We're trying to keep your name in the headlines, but for good reasons. We'll find someone worthy to link you to, and all the hubbub of your little allergic reaction will fade away when you're deemed the next it couple. Trust me on this, okay? This is the best way to go."

I hate myself for thinking it, but ... Dylan's right. I can't count the number of times a celebrity has been in the headlines for something like this, then has landed back in them the next week because of who they were dating. It's a distraction tactic.

And much to my chagrin, it's one I know will work.

One I need to work.

After auditioning tirelessly for months, I finally scored a callback with Larry Brickey, a legendary producer in the industry known for his big-budget action films. By some miracle—and, yeah, probably some nepotism, if I'm being fully honest—I landed the lead role in Love and Arson, and it's expected to be the biggest action film of the year. I spent months training for it, packing on twenty pounds of muscle and working with dialect coaches to get my character's southern accent down perfectly. Hell, I even did most of my own stunts, too scared to give up control and allow anyone to do any harm to all the hard work I had put in.

It's a true labor of love, and I need this to do well in theaters. Not just so I can get more leading roles, but because I spent too long working on this for it to flop. There is no way I'm not going to give this my all, even if it means selling my soul to Dylan and going on a stupid publicity date.

"One date," I tell her.

She grits her teeth, her jaw tightening with tension. "Two."

"One."

With a twist of her lips and a wrinkle to her nose, she sighs. "Fine. One date."

"I won!" I fist-pump the air.

"But, Jude?"

"Hmm?"

"I pick your date."

A grin slides across her lips as the one I'm sporting falls.

I didn't win. She did.

And now I'm totally screwed.