"I think what Mom was trying to say is that studies show that sexual assault survivors may react in a variety of ways, including celibacy or promiscuity, sometimes vacillating between periods of each," Liza pronounces. "And you seem to be moving to-"

My patience evaporates. "Liza, I'm not sleeping with Chase Henry, but if I was, it would be my choice and nobody's business but mine. I don't need a study to tell me that."

The other end of the phone explodes with voices, all of them talking at once.

"Amanda!" my mom says, her voice choked. "You can't!"

"Don't take that tone with your sister. She's just trying to-"

"-understand your anger, but it's misdirected-"

"-go home now?" Mia asks, fury clear beneath her plaintive tone.

"Okay, everyone," Dr. Knaussen tries to interject. "Let's calm down and circle together. We're here for Amanda and-"

"-setting a good example for Mia-"

"Actors are notoriously unreliable, and Chase Henry has a reputation for-"

"-don't pretend this is about me. Like I even exist except when Amanda's-"

"-taking stupid risks, endangering yourself further. You should just come home!"

I listen to them talking over one another, and tears well in my eyes. I love them, and I'm certain they love me or they wouldn't try this hard.

But I can't do this. Not now.

"I have to go," I say loudly into the phone.

"Amanda, wait," my mom pleads.

"I don't think running away from this conversation is going to help," Liza says, oh so reasonably.

At that, my hand squeezes so tight around the phone that my knuckles ache.

"I'll check in tomorrow," I say, working to keep my voice calm.

Then, before the rest of them, including Dr. Knaussen, can chime in, I hang up and turn my phone to do not disturb.

16.

Chase Once I'm in my room, I shut the hall door behind me firmly.

My heartbeat is still thrumming hard, and I feel a ghost impression of the heat between us at every point of contact: Amanda's breasts brushing against my ribs every time one of us breathed, her legs bumping mine.

It was the least amount of body contact I've ever had in a hug, no hands involved anywhere, but it was also somehow the most intimate. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and pull her tight against me. I had to step back from her just to get myself under control.

A glance ahead of me reveals that Housekeeping closed the adjoining door to Amanda's room, and I'm both relieved and disappointed.

I would have shut it anyway to give her privacy for her conversation, but removing my action from the equation also removes temptation. Temptation to eavesdrop, temptation to stick my head in and see if she'll look at me like that again, temptation to ask her something dumb just to see her smile.

"Come on, Mroczek." I rub my forehead, feeling the greasy remnants of the makeup I missed removing. "Get in the shower, get cleaned up, and get your head back in the game."

I move toward the table to empty out my pockets.

"Aww, what's the matter? Things not going so well with Little Miss Tragedy USA?" a familiar female voice calls out coyly.

I freeze.

There's a rustle of fabric, and then Elise emerges from the bedroom half of the suite, leaning against the half-wall, her legs bare beneath one of my shirts. It's held together by a single button in the middle, revealing the curves of her breasts at the top and the juncture of her thighs at the bottom. She's not wearing anything underneath it.

"Jesus, Elise," I hiss, trying to look only at her face. "What are you doing here?"

"You did such a good job today, baby," she says with a sly smile. "You deserve a reward." She wiggles her index finger at me in a come-hither gesture. "You should have seen the pictures. Giving her your shirt was a stroke of genius."

I glance over my shoulder toward the door to Amanda's room. It's shut, but the lock is not engaged. I think I can hear the faint murmur of her on the phone. "Get dressed."

Her hand drops, and her expression goes icy. "Excuse me?"

Careful. Elise holds the keys to my future and possibly my destruction if I don't play this right.

"The doors are thin," I say. "You're the one who's all about selling the story." I tip my head in Amanda's direction, hating myself. "What do you think she'll say if she finds my 'fired' publicist in here half naked?"

Elise flips her hair over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at me. "I wasn't aware that, after twenty-four hours, the two of you had the type of relationship where she might walk in unannounced."

Trap. There was no way to respond to that without landing in more trouble, for doing what she told me to too well or not well enough.

"Then again, maybe I shouldn't be so surprised," she says with that calm but dangerous tone I recognize from previous fights, "since you were so enamored today you didn't even have time to respond to my texts."

"I was a little busy working," I snap, which is both true and not. I drop my key card, script pages, and phone on the table. "Thanks, by the way, for the ambush this morning."

"I had to. Your reaction looked more natural that way," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "If you'd read my texts today, you'd know that. You couldn't slip away for thirty seconds to answer me?"

Yes, I could have. But it felt wrong, shady, especially with Amanda right there.

"Then I wouldn't have to risk a personal visit." Elise toys with the one engaged button. "Though why you wouldn't want this, I'm not sure."

Elise, the seducer, is back, but the hard look in her eyes tells me that the pissed-off version is lurking beneath the surface, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

I'm caught. If she starts yelling, Amanda will hear it even if she's on the phone. She won't know who it is or why, but she'll know there is an angry woman in my room. And there just aren't that many reasons-beyond pissed-off girlfriend-for that to be the case.

That would be the end of Amanda smiling at me like I deserve her respect, the end of her looking at me like she trusts me.

I should want that-wanting otherwise is a dangerous game-but I don't.

"I'm sorry," I say. "It was just a long day." I hope the door on Amanda's side is shut, too. Or that she's preoccupied talking to her therapist.

I'm the shittiest human being alive.

Elise's expression softens slightly, her lips puffing out in sympathy. "I know, it's a lot on you, Chase, dealing with her damage and drama." She waves a hand in the direction of Amanda's room with an eye roll.

"It's not..." I catch myself. "It's fine."

"And it's working." The excited gleam is back in her eyes. "Did you check your email?"

"No."

She nods toward my phone on the table. "Do it."

I reluctantly follow her direction. It takes me only a second to see what she's talking about. At the top of my inbox, I have an e-mail from Rick, my agent. Complimenting me on the buzz around Coal City and suggesting that we touch base early next week.

Holy shit.

"Then there's this." As I put my phone down, Elise reaches for hers, charging on the half-wall behind her. "You have to see."

She flips through open links on her phone, showing me the photos of Amanda and me in prominent locations on all the various entertainment/celebrity news sites. The pictures look exactly like what Elise wanted: I appear flustered and protective with my arm around Amanda, who, despite her best efforts, has a deer-in-headlights look. Neither of us is smiling, and the tension is palpable. But the effect of being surrounded by the crowd is that we very much appear together, facing off against a common enemy.

Several shots focus on her hand clutching the back of my shirt.

The headlines are, as expected, awful. "True Love from Trauma." "Pity Party for Two?" "Amanda's 'Angel' in Real Life."

I make a face.

"And then..." Elise pulls up a video clip from Access Hollywood.

It's basically a short rundown of everything covered in the articles. First, the photos from this morning, while the host explains that Coal City Nights is filming in Pennsylvania near Amanda's home. Then a review of Amanda's story and her connection to me, or, rather, my poster.

But when the screen returns to focus on the host, my picture is in the upper left corner with the graphic From Poster to Poser? stamped over it. Which I don't understand until the last few seconds of the clip.

"But the suddenness of this 'relationship'"-the overly loud host pauses to make air quotes-"and Chase Henry's troubled reputation with the media, has some questioning whether it's all a publicity stunt orchestrated by Henry's team." His voice deepens to help demonstrate the seriousness of this charge.

"Oh," his female coanchor says, placing a hand over her chest in showy empathy, "that would be terrible."

Elise clicks away as the screen fades to black.

"That guy has never liked me," I say, my mouth tight. "He's still pissed I mixed him up with that other guy, the one on ET or whatever." Never mind that he's actually right.

"It doesn't matter," Elise says, curling her arms around me, her phone still in her hand. "Speculation fuels the fire. We just want to make sure it's burning our way." She rises to her tiptoes and plants a kiss near my mouth.

I tense up, and it takes effort not to break out of her grasp. "How do we do that?" I ask, hoping the redirection will distract her. I feel more trapped than turned on.

But she makes an offended noise. "Seriously, Chase? Now?" She inches closer, with that sharp smile. "I'm trying to seduce you."

And you should enjoy it is the unspoken message. And a week ago, hell, two days ago, I would have been all over it. And her. She's driven and ambitious, which means she's not offended or wounded when I'm the same way. And she doesn't want a damn thing from me, relationship-wise, so I don't have to worry about messing up or letting her down.

It's a mutually beneficial non-relationship, and continuing it is probably the smartest, safest choice I could make right now.

Besides, I have no real reason not to. As my grandpa used to say, If wishes were damn horses, then everybody would have them ... or something like that.

But Elise's hands, crawling toward my fly, feel graspy and greedy and not in the good way. Her breath is warm and sticky against my neck, and I don't want this. Not now. Not anymore.

"I know ... it's just I'm late for a meeting." I tilt my head away from her questing mouth.

She pulls back, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. "A meeting. With who?" She sounds suspicious.

"Not that kind of meeting," I say. "It's AA." Elise is well aware of my adventures with alcoholism and what I'm doing to fight back.

"Oh." Her nose crinkles with distaste. "Really? You've been here a day."

I stay silent. She doesn't understand-she never has.

"Just get it under control," she says, pointing a finger at me.

As if it were that simple. But Elise prides herself on having few weaknesses, and addiction of any type (other than to work) is something she classifies as a character flaw rather than a disease or genetic predisposition.

"I mean it, Chase. If you get wasted and smash up a car again-"

I flinch.

"-all of this will be for nothing."

"I know."

Elise stands there for a moment, studying me with a frown, and I can practically see her weighing her options, debating whether she should push me into it because she wants to know she still can or if she should get the hell out of the way and let me deal with my mess so it doesn't become her mess.

She throws up her hands. "Fine." She disappears into the bedroom, and I keep my back turned.

When she emerges a minute later, she's dressed again, though she's wearing my shirt over her tailored pants.

"Phone?" she asks, her hand out.

With reluctance, I hand mine over.

"The plan is simple," she says, almost absently as she clicks away on my screen. "I've created a few social media accounts. You're verified and all set up. The usual suspects, Twitter, Instagram, even Facebook." She makes a disgusted face before continuing. "Anything formal is going to raise questions. It needs to be real and from you. A few tweets or pictures of you and Amanda behind the scenes. Posts about spending a quiet night in. The two of you watching movies or swimming in the pool." She looks up at me. "Shirtless would be best."

"So I'm just supposed to start snapping photos of her and posting them? That wasn't part of my deal with her." Not to mention she'd hate it. And it would change how she is around me, guaranteed. She might start to see me like the paparazzi, someone who wants a piece of her. I don't want that.

Elise waves away my concern. "Please-I saw her today. She'll do anything you ask. And if you're so worried about her precious privacy, be smart. She doesn't have to be in the photo. Just have two drinks on the table. Or 'accidentally' show her sweater on the arm of your couch when you're posting about not getting much sleep." She flicks her fingers in a careless gesture. "You know how it goes."

I shouldn't be surprised. I really shouldn't. But the fact that she's talking about intentionally starting false rumors about the sex life of a rape survivor without a second thought or concern makes me stare at her in astonishment.

"I loaded a few examples of what I'm talking about in drafts on each one of the apps, okay?" Elise holds my phone out to me, but I don't take it. It feels as though she's turned it into a spy device, a traitor in the room that will report on me. On us.