♪ seventeen ♪
That first staged outing went well, according to Cameron and Leo. I got messages from them, the next day, with links to online tabloids that had captured us entering the coffee shop. There were pictures of us inside the café, too, proving Leo was telling the truth when he'd said some of the patrons might have been recording us without us knowing.
So we organized a few more staged events. Leo took me on a shopping spree—a fake outing that ended with real items, since he let me keep everything he bought me. My apartment was crowded with bags from all the major luxury clothing lines, and I panicked wondering where the fuck I was going to hang everything up. Leo had mentioned I should move, after finding out I lived in a tiny studio in Harlem. But at the time, I wasn't certain what my paycheck would look like.
After seeing the amount of zeros on the first transaction I received, I realized he was right. I could save up some money and find a larger place to live, in southern Manhattan.
Some of our staging was silly little things, like being seen entering a building together, or leaving one hand-in-hand. I'd get into Leo's car, and his driver would drop me off at home, and that was that. Those were the easy stages; Leo and I would chat in the car, but we had distance between us and there was no touching and fake-lovey dovey stuff involved. His staff was in on the ruse.
Then there was the nightclub outing. That one had nearly killed me when we entered the venue. The line to get to the door was half cramped with paparazzi, the other half adoring fans, and a handful of annoyed celebrities who had to wait like everyone else, while Leo and I waded through like VIPs.
I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to the flashes of cameras, the yelling of reporters, the ogling eyes on me. Or the open critiquing of my outfits—a few magazines printed pictures of me in columns with other celebrity girlfriends, and pulled apart every item I wore. Sometimes with positive feedback, and sometimes harshly negative. Fashion was my thing, but I wasn't a model. I preferred to be the one studying the pictures, writing articles to go along with them. Being in the spotlight wasn't my cup of tea.
Once inside the nightclub, things were more laid-back. In the VIP section, we sat and drank, and Leo did a few drugs I didn't approve of, but he never forced me to partake. We danced together, which definitely populated some wild fantasies in my mind. We rubbed up close, and Leo held my waist, and his hand wandered down to my ass, that he squeezed with a smirk. I'd detected his excitement a couple of times—his erection was hard to ignore—as we worked the dance-floor, but I didn't say anything or imply that I knew he was turned on. That was a button I wasn't ready to push, no matter how much more comfortable I'd been with him lately.
Daphne texted me the next day to warn me she'd seen me in several magazines, online and printed. "Look at you, girl!" There was pride in the tone of her texts, which made me smile. Pride in me making a name for myself, though for now, I was still Leo's girlfriend. I was Emma, the hidden significant other. No one knew of my fashion ambitions, but Leo told me soon enough, I'd be able to tell the world who I was and what I wanted, and I'd get it all.
Between those staged outings, I got to see Cameron, but not as much as I'd hoped for. I spent many nights alone, either passed out in exhaustion from my meetings with Leo, or with my hands in my underwear as I worked out the frustration of being in Leo's presence for too long.
He was intoxicating—in good and bad ways.
When we weren't in the public eye, I sensed a friendship forming between us. He made me laugh, he said I made him blush, and we'd gotten cozy together. Our conversations were deep, our bond was growing strong, and believable. He and Cameron had a lot in common, meaning he and I had a lot in common, too.
But my attraction for him grew worse by the minute. Every moment near him made me want to tie my hands up to not get my fingers all over him, or lock myself in a room to chide myself for my mounting desires.
Even though Cameron's recent words repeated in my head, to "do what you're comfortable with, and don't forget I consented to all this," I couldn't stop picturing him getting upset over Leo and I touching, taking it to the next level. Which, in this case, would be kissing—Leo and I hadn't let our lips touch yet, but I knew that was coming.
"Fuck," said Leo, storming into one of his living rooms, as I lounged on the sofa. We'd finished a staged moment of us getting in his car together, heading towards his house, and he'd invited me over to unwind a bit before attempting to go home. Paparazzi hounded me when I was alone now, too, so I often had to borrow his driver to get home in one piece.
"What?" I looked up from my phone; I'd been exchanging steamy texts with Cameron, in anticipation of us hanging out later that night. My face was flushed, and I blew out my cheeks hoping to cool myself down. I'd been minutes away from sneaking my fingers into my pants, but remembered where I was—Leo's townhouse. Risk touching myself here, when he could—and did—walk in at any moment? No, thank you.
Upon our arrival, thirty or so minutes prior, he'd taken me into his recording studio and introduced me to Leela, his famous red spotted guitar. I'd started drooling. He then had to take a phone call and directed me to the main living room area, telling me to kick back and relax.
I was relaxing, but his furious energy brushed into the room and got me all tense.
He plopped onto the sofa beside me and thrust his phone in my hands. "Look at this shit." He pointed at the screen, where he'd pulled up a tabloid page.
I scooched away from him; even in his hot-headed moments, his magnetism was so intense, so close to irresistible that I didn't trust myself. Despite what Cameron said to me, giving in to Leo and letting him get too intimate felt wrong. Naughty. Forbidden. It didn't matter that I'd signed a contract, that I'd agreed to this...a part of me couldn't do it, because of my feelings for Cameron.
The article was straight to the point: "Are Leo Lee and his fashionista girlfriend really an item? We're digging deep into this situation, and based on what we've seen...it's all fake."
I shifted my seating position, bringing one leg beneath me. "This is stupid." I set his phone down between us. "There's no way they're not buying this. No one in your staff would dare reveal that we're not all over each other behind closed doors, right?"
"Right." He leaned into the cushions and brought his arms up, one of his hands grazing my shoulder. "We've been photographed together every day this week, yet they doubt us?" He puffed out a breath. "Ugh, what the fuck do they want from me?"
I winced; what they wanted from him was another scandal. The press loved to see Leo misstep, loved to have an excuse to criticize him. Because otherwise, he was perfect, and untouchable. Yes, he was dramatic and partied too much and tended to mix drinks and drugs too much for my taste; but he was a decent dude, and it was hard to find his flaws. Cameron had warned me about tantrums, but those he'd thrown in proximity to me were mild, especially compared to Mr. Ivy and Marshall at LuXe.
I wouldn't tell anyone, but I kind of enjoyed spending time with him. Staging outings was tiring, but in those moments when we got to unwind, when we could drop our facade and be friends, I liked him. He was polite, instinctive, and a great listener.
"Shit," he said, sitting up straight, twisting to me. "I know what they want."
I grimaced, hoping he hadn't read my mind. "I'm not doing anything crazy, I already warned you." This was regarding his request for us to go skinny dipping in a hotel rooftop pool, a week or so ago. I had boundaries, and stripping to swim naked was something I wasn't too fond of, even in a fancy place like the one he'd suggested.
"Not that crazy," he rolled his eyes, "but I do think we should...kiss." His lips lightly pouted, and I couldn't help but focus on them.
"Uh," I perked up, "well, okay. Staging a picture of us kissing, you mean?"
He nodded, and a strand of his dark blond hair fell over his cheek. I resisted the urge to tuck it behind his ear. Last time I'd done that—in public—I'd enjoyed his smooth, baby-soft skin and it had haunted me for days. Right now he was scruffy, and something told me I'd lose my shit even more at that.
"I mean, if you think about it..." He clicked on his phone. "We have no kissing pictures. Rubbing up on the dance-floor, holding hands, kissing cheeks, but not kissing-kissing, you know?"
I gulped. Leaning slightly sideways, I saw that he was scrolling through his social media. There were a ton of photos of us, but definitely none of us lip-locked.
I knew it was coming, I'd sensed it. Four weeks of staging our fake-dating and we hadn't shown a single glimpse of us giving each other a peck?
"Others have reached out to me, but I guess I was blocking their comments out." He put his phone down and dragged a hand down his face. "There's a lot of doubt. It's too sudden, too coincidental." He turned to me again, eyes narrowed. "I know we didn't talk much about the limits, and all that, and I'm sure you're hesitant, but...I think we need to do this."
He was correct—we hadn't discussed much of the physical aspect of our fake relationship, or how far to take it. I'd been avoiding the topic, worried what would come of it. Worried he'd say he wasn't attracted to me at all and couldn't pretend. Or worse, that he was attracted and fearful of not being able to stop himself at the boundaries we might establish.
"Right," I said, biting my lower lip and moving my gaze from him, from his perfect body as he sat inches away from me. I couldn't make a decision while staring into his dreamy eyes or ogling his plump, delicious-looking lips. "A kiss, for the media."
"You're thinking of Cameron." He set a hand on top of mine, and his warmth startled me. "He knows, I know, you know that you're allowed to go as far physically as you're comfortable. It wouldn't be a shock for him to see us kissing; he's likely expecting it, to be fair. Have you talked about it?"
I nodded. "I'd feel more comfortable giving him a heads' up, though. He might not be prepared. I gave him the impression we wouldn't be going that far because I wasn't sure of my limits, but..."
He held on to my hand, gently drawing me closer to him. "Is this a limit? Kissing, I mean. It's okay if it is, and I can ask my team to Photoshop something—"
"—no, no, I'll do it." I sucked my lips in, rubbing them together, before puckering them. "Are you taking a selfie of us, or asking someone in your staff to snap a picture?"
"Someone in my staff, for now." He stood up, his body so close to my face that I had to angle back to not seem like I was about to shove myself into his junk. "I'll go get Nikky before he gets started on dinner; he can take a few pictures of us lounging and kissing. Text Cameron."
I took a deep breath, and interrupted my hot message thread with Cameron.
Me: Hey, sorry to have to cut this short, but...Leo and I have to stage a kissing picture. I wanted you to be aware before it happens and shows up on our pages.
I put the phone away as Leo returned with Nikky, who'd agreed to take a few fake-candid pictures of us.
"Look happy," he said to us, as Leo settled next to me.
He crept closer, and I hesitated, sensing Nikky aiming the camera at us, waiting. He knew of the situation, but if we could convince him, too, it'd be better, right?
I turned my face to Leo, and our noses squished together. We laughed, both strangely nervous, fumbling to get in a comfortable position to do this. Leo's hands were trembling as he placed one on my cheek, the other on the back of my neck, tugging me closer.
"This will be easy," he said, his warm breath tickling over my lips. "One picture like this, then one of a quick peck, and it'll do. I hope."
Another heavy intake of breath on my end, and next I knew, his lips touched mine. Soft, subtle, at first; a light kiss, an innocent joining of two timid teenagers. It didn't feel naughty or wrong as I'd anticipated; it felt good. Thrilling, different, and borderline nauseating.
I'm kissing Leo Lee?!
I was about to pull away when his grasp on my neck became firmer. He held me nearer, deepening the kiss. Our lips pressed harder together, growing wetter as our tongues danced in our mouths, waiting to meet. Something jolted in my stomach, and he must have felt it, because he moaned. I sensed the reverberations thrumming through me.
I thought it was going to be a quick peck, like he'd implied; so when his tongue flurried into my mouth and found mine, chills ran down my spine. The feel of him inside, the delicate, silkiness of his tongue stirred way too many emotions in my body. He was deft in his movements, almost too much to keep up with.
"Yes, perfect," said Nikky, his voice distant, as if there were three glass walls separating us. I'd forgotten he was there. "Looks authentic, guys."
Leo didn't stop. I didn't want him to. He tasted sweet and tangy all at once; salted caramel with a touch of smoke. A malt scotch with a hint of spice. God, he was delicious. The way his hand wrapped around my neck, keeping me steady when I worried I'd been about to melt off the couch—it made me more delirious.
Our tongues continued to twirl around one another for long enough that I grew dizzy, my legs shaky, my mouth sore from the opening and closing.
He stopped, and pulled away from me. I expected him to sigh, to flutter his eyelashes, to touch my lower lip with his fingertip and entice me into more kissing. But instead he gave me a swift nod, patted my hand, and fetched his phone from Nikky.
"I don't think we need a selfie after all that. How many did you take?" He laughed, looking up at his personal chef. "Damn, these are good. If you weren't such a stellar cook, I'd tell you to quit and be a photographer." He patted my hand again, kind of absentmindedly. "Thank you, Emma. These are great. I'll post one today, and another tomorrow. Do you want me to send them to you?"
How he'd recovered from such an excellent, body-shuddering kiss in such little time, I'd never know. Meanwhile, my heart was racing, my mouth was dry, desiring more of him, and I feared I'd be leaving a wet spot on the couch when I stood up.
"Uh, yeah, okay. Thank you."
He hurried out of the room, Nikky on his heels. Once he was gone, I crumbled, becoming a puddle of water, molding into the cushions.
What the fuck was that? I'd been anticipating a sweet peck, a few seconds of our lips colliding nervously. That wasn't a peck; it was a passionate kiss, one exchanged between two lovers burning for one another. And then he'd broken it off so quickly, so unaffected, but how? I was hot and bothered and sweating as if he'd been fingering me, and he'd sauntered off as if nothing had happened.
Was it bad for him? Did I fuck it up? Or was he that good of an actor, even with kissing?
My phone buzzed.
Cameron: Thank you for the warning, babe. I hope it doesn't go further than that, knowing him...but as always, do only what you're comfortable with. We knew what we signed up for.
After that fervent affair, I had no clue what I was comfortable with. Had that intimidated me, or turned me on more and convinced me to take it to the next level? Did we need to take it to the next level? How would the next level be necessary for our public relationship?
"Phew," I fanned myself, "this is getting out of control."
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