LIAM

The words on my script blur. I'm supposed to be going over my lines for the scene we're filming, but I can't concentrate. The pictures of Mia and I hit the internet hours ago—just like I knew they would. They went viral almost instantly. #MiamBreakup is officially trending. God, I hate that nickname.

I collapse back on the couch in my dressing room, the black leather creaking beneath me. My fingers grind against my forehead. You'd think I'd be used to being at the center of a tabloid scandal by now, but I don't think I'll ever be comfortable with millions of people dissecting my private life.

I should probably be more upset about breaking up with my girlfriend right now, but after what Mia said about my dad and all her constant drama, all I feel is numb. Maybe even a little relieved.

I hear the staccato of footsteps coming down the hall and flinch, certain it's Paul on his way to fire me. They get closer, each tread reverberating like a gunshot. I hold my breath, but they pass by, fading into silence until the only sound is the whir of the mini-fridge.

I cover my face with my hands, scrubbing my eyes. I've been on pins and needles since I walked into the building, waiting for the ax to fall. If Paul was already thinking about cutting me, I'm sure my latest media catastrophe cemented his decision.

Groaning, I push myself to my feet and trudge over to the vanity at the far end of the room where the hair and makeup team will descend on me later. I tug the handle of a drawer, squinting against the soft lights that surround the mirror and fish around for the aspirin I keep in there.

I snag a water and throw back a couple of pills, almost choking as the door flies open. It isn't Paul. It's my pubicist, Julian, and my agent, Ruby. They don't look happy.

"Are you intentionally trying to make my job more difficult?" Ruby's voice echoes through the room.

Her long, blond hair is slicked back in a tight ponytail, which strains against the frown twisting her heavily-coated, burgundy lips. She glares at me from the doorway, steel glinting in her eyes, as Julian collapses in one of the armchairs.

Shit. I was planning on dealing with both of them later—over the phone. I didn't expect them to storm my dressing room.

"I'm sorry." I rub the back of my neck. "I wasn't thinking."

"No. You weren't," Julian snaps, throwing up his hands. "This isn't a game, Liam. They're talking about writing you off the show. Is that what you want? Because if so I have better things to waste my time on." He scowls, deep grooves scoring tracks on either side of his mouth.

"Of course that isn't what I want." I walk over to the couch, falling back against it.

I've been working on Cipher since I was fifteen-years-old. This show is all I have. I haven't got a family. My mom ditched my dad's ass before I was old enough to remember her. I can't blame her for that, but I do blame her for leaving me with him. If I have any other living relatives, I'm not aware of them, and my only real friends are my co-stars.

"I'll be at every press event from here on out. I swear."

Ruby pushes the door shut with a click before sitting next to me. Her face is drawn. Fine lines surround her eyes that I don't remember seeing there. She looks tired and almost as stressed as I feel. She can be a cliché, smarmy talent agent at times, but I know she cares about my career. I haven't made things easy on her lately.

"Liam, I don't think you realize the severity of the situation we're facing. This isn't just about the press event. Your character is coming under fire."

"My character?"

"You busted a guy's camera, you punched someone else in the face." Julian tugs a hand through his hair, which is looking more salt than pepper these days. "And you just got into another fight with your girlfriend in public. Do you see the kind of picture that paints?"

"I get that it looks bad, but I was provoked all of those times. It's not like I'm some violent asshole."

Julian massages his temple. "In this business, the only thing that matters is what people think you are."

I swallow. He's right. All anyone wants to believe about me are the stories they've seen in the tabloids. It's all lies, but I can't tell anyone the truth. Not even Julian and Ruby.

"Are they really writing me off the show?" I ask.

"We aren't sure yet." Ruby sighs, tapping her long, polished fingernails against the end table.

I stare down at my hands clenched in my lap. "Well, are there any other roles?" If I'm about to be fired, then we need to get something else lined up.

Ruby, who is usually all smiles and pandering, looks me dead in the eye. "You've been turned down for thirteen of the parts I pitched you for this year, Liam. Thirteen."

Anxiety sinks its teeth into the muscles around my neck. "Thirteen is a lot."

Ruby nods, her eyebrows furrowing.

"What about the part for Alaric in Where There's Smoke?"

Where There's Smoke is the latest young adult book phenomenon that's been sitting on the New York Times Bestseller list for almost a year now. Tom Ackerman—one of the most prolific directors in Hollywood—is adapting the dystopian series for the big screen. They have three major films in the works with the potential for a television spinoff down the road. Landing the lead role would guarantee me work for years to come.

"I talked to Ackerman's assistant this morning." Ruby applies another layer of gloss to her lips. "Apparently, they're investing some serious cash into that thing, and Tom wants someone playing Alaric who can work with the press to promote it. They've got a huge campaign planned: junkets, talk shows, appearances at every major Con in the country, you name it."

"I can do that. I'll do anything. I need that part, Ruby."

My friends all have jobs lined up after Cipher wraps. If I don't get my shit together, they're all going to move on without me. I'm the star of the goddamn show. This shouldn't be happening. I can't imagine my life without acting. Ever since I was a kid, it was always my escape.

I couldn't have been older than seven when I started following one of our neighbor kids to the community theater down the street from our old house out in Jersey. The managing director must've taken pity on me, because she began casting me in small parts that became bigger ones when it turned out I was decent at it.

Whenever my dad got wasted, I'd grab a script and pretend to be somewhere else, someone else. It's all I've ever been good at. My only real contribution to the world is that my acting gives people that same escape from whatever they're dealing with. It's who I am. All I know.

Ruby and Julian exchange a glance.

"Liam, directors want to cast actors who'll help them sell tickets," Julian says. "Teens are the target audience for Where There's Smoke. And the parents of those teens aren't going to want them drooling over a guy known for public outbursts and violent behavior."

My knee bounces up and down, and I bite the inside of my cheek. "What can I do?"

Ruby's phone vibrates, but she silences it with a flick of her finger. "You need to fix your reputation. And you need to do it fast."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Well," Julian clears his throat, "we've got an idea, but you're not going to like it."

"What?" I dart a look over at Ruby.

She's tapping at her phone. "Liam, when was the last time you got online today?"

"A few hours ago. Why?"

She passes her cell over to me.

My eyes drop to the screen.

Wait...Is that...? No. I jump up so quickly, I knock over the cardboard cutout my costar, Wesley, stuck in here as a prank. It's a life-size cutout of me from last year's season finale.

There's an article on StarTracker's website with a picture from this morning.

But it isn't one of me and Mia. It's of me and that photog girl. Someone must've taken it before I realized she was a pap. She's standing there soaked in juice, looking like someone dumped a bucket of slime over her head—which seems perfect considering her profession. From what you can make out of my profile, I look concerned instead of pissed off.

The caption below it reads, A Jealous Mia Harlow Loses Her Cool All Over Liam Anders's New Paparazzi Queen Girlfriend...Or Her Green Juice Anyway.

"Oh, come on, man."

Girlfriend? They think she's my girlfriend? I've always marveled at the media's ability to take a photo and twist it into a story much more salacious than the actual truth. But me dating some bloodsucking photog? This takes the fucking cake.

I dart a look at Ruby. "What does this have to do with fixing my reputation?"

"Well," Ruby holds out a hand for her phone, "dating a photog is certainly one way to show directors you can play nice with the press."

My knees buckle, and I drop back on the couch. "You've got to be kidding me."

Ruby swipes at her screen and hands it back to me again.

It's another article; this one from a celebrity blog. It features the same picture of me with the pap, but the headline says, Liam Anders Defends Photographer Girlfriend From Diva Ex.

I laugh because there's no way they're serious. The articles, the entire situation, it's all ridiculous.

"No. No way. I am not dating that photographer." I say photographer like other people might say serial killer.

"You don't have to actually date her. But pretending to date her for the paps, Liam, it could save your career."

"I'm not pretending to date her either. I don't ever want to see that girl again in my life."

"Fine." Ruby shrugs like she doesn't care even though she obviously does. "You can spend the next however many years it takes playing nice with the paps, smiling for the cameras, and actually showing up for press conferences. We can wait and see if your image repairs itself. But in the meantime, if you want this part—if you want to keep your job—then you need to do something drastic."

I stare at her in disbelief. I can't believe they're asking me to do this. I glance over at Julian.

"You don't have a lot of options here, Kid. What else are you going to do?"

Ruby's cell buzzes again, and she glances down at it. "I've got to take this." She stands, brushing the non-existent wrinkles from her slacks. "Think about it, Liam." With one last grimace in my direction, she turns and struts out of the room. "Hello? Ruby Bryan here."

Julian gets to his feet, looking down at me. "There's nothing else we can do to fix this for you. I know you're not crazy about the idea—"

I snort. Talk about a damn understatement.

"But," Julian continues, "you either need to get on board and commit to repairing the damage you've done, or I'm out. And Ruby is too. We can't help you unless you're willing to help yourself."

My head jerks back like he punched me. They're thinking about dropping me? I can't let that happen. If I'm cut from the show and both my publicist and agent drop me, my reputation will be destroyed. My career will be over.

"Julian—" I start.

Slowly, he shakes his head back and forth. "Figure it out, Liam. You know how to reach me."

He walks out of the room. The snap of the door closing rings through the empty room.

I let my head fall back against the couch, staring blankly up at the ceiling tiles. Pretending to date a photog can't be my only option. There has to be another way.

But if there is, I sure as hell can't think of it.

My cell phone vibrates. It's a text from my dad. Just when I thought the day couldn't get any shittier.

Jack: Need you to send the money a little early this month.

My phone trembles in my hand. I want to throw it at the wall. Hell, I want to put my fist through the damn thing. Because not only is my dad blackmailing me, now he's asking for advances on the money I'm already giving him. He doesn't even have any actual dirt on me, but he'll sell bullshit stories to the press all day to make a buck. And they'll lap them right up just like they did before I started paying him to keep his mouth shut.

It's abundantly clear, more so now than ever, that I made the right decision. I can't risk having him tarnish my image even more and ruin my career. I have no choice but to give him what he wants.

Me: Fine. Sending it now.