LIAM

I fidget with one of the holes on the collar of the white t-shirt I always wear when I'm out in public and glance over at the other people standing in line. They either haven't noticed us yet, or they're native New Yorkers who couldn't give a shit about running into a couple of celebrities at a juice bar.

Thank God. The last thing I need is for someone to whip out a cell phone and start posting pictures of us on social media. I train my gaze on my scuffed Italian leather shoes, trying to avoid making eye contact.

If the show's producers find out I'm not actually sick and ditched today's press event to hang with my girlfriend, I'm going to be in some serious shit. Not that Mia seems at all concerned about that.

Mia is one of those people who just burns brighter than everyone around them. She's vibrant, radiating confidence with every toss of her hair, every sway of her hips. When we first met I felt like a moth drawn to a damn flame. Unfortunately, everyone else seems to feel the same way. Being with her means having eyes on us all the time.

"Do you have to do that right now?" I mutter as she shakes out her long, fiery mane and snaps a selfie in the middle of the line.

With her bright-red lipstick, designer threads, and sky-high heels, she might as well be holding a sign saying, 'Look at me! I'm famous!'

"Do what?" Mia doesn't bother to glance up from her phone.

God, is she truly this oblivious, or is she just that self-centered?

A headache starts to beat at my temples, whether from irritation or from being in this little shop of horrors, I'm not sure. The walls in here are painted a blinding shade of lime green, and the whole place smells like over-ripe fruit and lawn clippings.

I chance a look over at Briggs, my bodyguard, standing in the corner. His eyes continuously scan the other customers. Usually, his presence is enough to ease some of the panic that swallows me whenever I step outside. But not today.

I shouldn't be here. But when I said I didn't want to stop, Mia had an absolute meltdown. Her driver kept shooting me these judgmental looks in the rearview, and I started to get nervous he'd sell some bullshit story to the press about what a dick of a boyfriend I am if I didn't get her the green juice she had to have.

Mia would say I was being paranoid if she knew the reason I'd finally caved. Maybe I was. But it wouldn't be the first time someone sold me out to the media.

"I told you I need to stay under the radar today." My voice is low, so no one can overhear me.

"No one's stopping you." Mia rolls her eyes like I'm the one being annoying.

She's still zeroed in on her phone, and I cringe as she barks out a laugh, thumbs flying over the screen.

I scrub a hand down my face.

Mia doesn't get it. She loves being in the limelight even more than I hate it. Being with her in public is irritating at the best of times. Today it's a risk I shouldn't have taken. Making people notice her is as natural as breathing for Mia. It's part of her DNA.

That's probably why Julian, our publicist, set us up to begin with. I think he hoped her obsession with having the paparazzi photograph her every move would rub off on me. Too bad for him, I'd rather have my fingernails ripped off than let those blood-suckers take their shots. I was only too eager to ditch the press conference when Mia suggested we spend the morning at her apartment instead.

My cell buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see Julian's name flashing on the screen. I jab the ignore button. Julian knows me better than to believe I have the flu today. He's probably calling to chew my ass out.

Sure enough, the screen lights up with a voicemail. I scan enough of the transcription to pick out a few of his favorite four-letter words before hitting delete. I'll deal with him later.

"Babe, look up," Mia says.

Without thinking, I do. She has her phone ready and snaps a picture.

"Cuuuute." She examines it then swipes over to her FaceTune app like she's...like she's going to post the photo.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't post that."

"Why not?" She frowns as she flips through different filters.

"Why not? Are you kidding?" I reach out, snatching the phone from her and deleting the shot.

"Hey!" Her eyes flash as she looks up at me for the first time since we got out of the car. "Give that back."

The woman in front of us turns around, shooting me an arched look like she's already decided I'm a complete jerk.

Praying she doesn't recognize us, I duck my head. "Mia, you know I'm supposed to be at that press event. If you post pictures of us here, Julian's going to murder me."

"If you're so worried about it then why didn't you go?" She grabs her phone back.

After six months of dating, I shouldn't need to explain this to her. Every time the paps start firing away, every time a reporter asks me some ridiculously invasive question, all I can think about is my drunk of a dad and how he sold me out to them just to buy some booze.

My hands clench into fists, and I shake my head in disbelief.

"Besides," Mia purses her perfectly painted lips, "it's not like Julian would even know I took that this morning. You wear the same stupid outfit every single day."

"Yeah, I do, but you sure as hell don't."

I try to discourage the photogs from following me around by wearing the same clothes whenever I venture into the city. The idea is to make it seem like all their pictures were taken the same day so the rags won't buy them. It's not working as well as I'd hoped, especially since I'm usually with Mia, who's probably never worn anything twice in her entire life.

"I can help you right here." The string bean of a kid standing behind the cash register waves his hand to get our attention. He looks like he just graduated middle school. His eyes go wide as he takes Mia in.

She notices and smiles at him like he's the sun in her damn universe as she strides up to the counter. Most guys would be jealous if their girlfriend smiled at another dude like that, but this is par for the course with Mia. She lights up like a flashlight anytime someone pays her the slightest bit of attention.

"What can I—" His knobby Adam's apple bobs and his voice cracks. "What can I get you?"

"Hmmm." Mia twists her lips to the side, studying the menu. "I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" I turn to her, incredulous.

Mia doesn't try to hide the irritation in her voice. "That's what I just said."

"You didn't bother looking at the menu the entire time we've been standing in line?"

"I've been busy."

"Oh my God." I grip the back of my neck with both hands and stalk to the other end of the counter before we get into a full-blown shouting match. A few people are already watching us, an all-too-familiar glint of recognition in their eyes.

I keep my back to the room, foot tapping out a beat against the tile floor. It's only a matter of time until those flashes of recognition turn into a storm of glaring cameras and the thunder of hollering paparazzi.

"Do you need me to give you a recommendation?" the kid asks Mia, eyes darting between the two of us.

"That would be great." Mia's voice is sweeter than honey as she turns back to him. "Keep it low-carb though."

My phone starts blowing up again as the two of them debate the calorie content of different vegetable juices. A muscle in my jaw twitches as I slide it out of my pocket. I expect it to be Julian again, but it's Faye.

Faye plays my sister on the show. She's as good as a sister to me in real life too. I was seventeen when everything went down with my dad last year, and Faye insisted I come stay with her and her mom in their Upper East Side apartment.

I swipe to answer the call. "Hey."

"Where are you? I know you aren't sick, so there better be a good reason why I've spent the entire morning covering for you." Faye sounds as pissed as I've ever heard her.

Shit. I didn't mean to drag her into this. I don't even have a decent explanation to give her. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Faye, I'm really sorry. I just couldn't do it today."

She sighs. "I understand your issues with the press, Li. But you can't keep doing this. Julian is losing his mind. He had a statement prepared for you about breaking that photog's camera last month. Now the rest of us are going to have to deal with a million questions about it."

She's right. I didn't think about that. God, when did I turn into such a self-absorbed ass?

That photographer deserved to get his camera busted. I'd asked him to get out of my face more than a dozen times, but he kept coming at me, his flash exploding in my eyes again and again until I couldn't see to walk. But my friends shouldn't have to try and explain that to a room full of reporters.

The combination of guilt and the intolerably sweet smell of this place makes my stomach roil.

"I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sorry, Faye."

"This is serious this time, Liam. I overheard Paul talking to Julian. He's worried your image is bad for the show. Between the camera and that pap you punched last year, he thinks Cipher's going to start coming under fire for letting someone prone to violence stay in the lead role."

"Prone to violence?" I'm so staggered, it comes out louder than I intended. I glance behind me. A woman sitting at a nearby table is staring at me. She leans over to whisper something to the girl next to her.

I whirl around, dropping my voice. "Paul knows it's not like that. I'm not walking around the city looking for a fight."

"Yeah, he knows that, but the critics don't. And neither do the parents of the teenagers, who watch the show. Paul said..." Faye trails off.

My heartbeat turns sluggish. Faye's the kindest person I know, but she's also a straight shooter. Whatever Paul said must be bad if she's holding back.

"Faye, what did he say?"

"He said he's thinking about cutting you from the show."

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead intensifies until all I can hear is an incessant ringing in my ears. I can't believe this.

I've been the star of the most popular series on Netflix for the last three years. I might've missed a couple of press events, but I've shown up to the set on time every day, and I've worked my ass off. They can't seriously be considering cutting me during our final season. My agent is already having a hell of a time booking my next job. I don't want to think what getting written off the show would do to my career.

"You there?" Faye's voice is light-years away.

"Yeah." I clear my throat. "I'm here."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to freak you out. I think I convinced Paul you really are sick, but I thought you should know."

"Right. Hopefully I won't be the next victim of the prom episode." I try to joke, but the words fall flat. A major character dies every season during prom. It's Cipher tradition. I never imagined it could be me.

Faye doesn't laugh. "I'm worried about you, Li."

The last thing I need is my friends worrying about or pitying me. The whole situation is already humiliating enough.

"Everything's fine. I'll figure it out."

Mia saunters over as I hang up the phone. "Who was that?"

"Faye." I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that's settled there in the past several months.

Mia clucks her tongue. "That girl needs to get a life and stop worrying about yours."

I blink at her at a loss for words.

When Julian first introduced us, I thought dating someone else in the business would be great. That Mia would understand everything I was going through, and she did at first. Or it seemed like she did. It's becoming abundantly clear though that not only does Mia not understand me, she doesn't want to.

"Mia Harlow!" the kid behind the counter calls out Mia's order loud enough for every person in the room to hear.

My blood turns to ice as she sashays over and takes the drink from his outstretched hand. I feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the room land on me like a noose around my neck.

"Jesus, Mia," I hiss. "Would it have killed you to ask him to call out a fake name?"

"Okay, first I'm not allowed post things on social media, and now I can't use my own name? What's next, Dad? Are you going to take away my phone and ground me for the weekend?"

I put a hand on her elbow and try to hurry her out of the shop. I've got to get out of here before someone pulls out a phone and starts shooting. I lock eyes with Briggs, and he nods.

"Slow down!" Mia's steps are infinitesimal in the ridiculous shoes she's wearing.

"We need to leave." I lower my chin to my chest and hold up a hand to cover my face.

"Well, I'm not ready to go." Mia jerks her arm out of my grasp.

"Mia, I'm not losing my job over your green juice. Let's go." I yank the door open, and an automated bell lets out a high-pitched whine.

She folds her arms, taking a swig of her drink and arching a brow like she's daring me to try and make her.

"You know what, fine." I turn and storm out the door, Briggs on my heels.

My entire career could be on the brink of imploding. I can't handle Mia's drama today.

The bell above the door moans again as Mia wrenches it open.

"It's always all about your career. I have a career too, you know," she yells after me.

I bite the inside of my cheek and raise a hand in the air, not turning around. I won't let her bait me into another public blowout. Not today.

I fight my way through the stream of people flooding the sidewalk toward the waiting SUV, keeping my head down, eyes on the ground.

"I'm so over having to dim my own light because of your daddy issues, Liam!"

My head snaps up. I stop walking so abruptly, someone collides into my shoulder, almost knocking me to the pavement.

The ringing in my ears is back. There's no way Mia, my girlfriend, would throw the worst moment of my life in my face like that...except she just did.

I turn to her.

"What did you say to me?"