reputation

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  I glanced around the lobby of the Plaza, bustling with couples bundled up for the cold, cheeks red and spirits high. We were standing by where their huge Christmas tree resided a month or so ago. The best part was that no one noticed me. No one noticed Blake Tyler or southern hunk, Zach Parker of the Parker Project. We were just Blake and Zach—one more couple about to begin the day together.

  Couple.

  Just outside these walls, Bad Blake, not inside.

  Still, a nervous thrill shot up my spine and I wiped my palms on the sides of my legs.

  “Can’t tell you.” He grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Wha—” I broke off. “What do you mean?”

  “Calm down, baby Blake,” he teased lightly, “We just have to wait for the guys to get back. I sent them on an errand.”

  Surprises. Valentine’s Day. Zach Parker. All the things I liked that I shouldn’t.

  Bad Blake was having a field day.

  “While we wait, let’s go downstairs and get you that cup of coffee.” He held his arm out. “Unless you want to go to Starbucks.”

  I shook my head. “Just as long as it’s good coffee, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  My coat hid my goosebumps as he touched the back of my elbow, leading me over to the staircase. Below the main lobby was The Plaza Food Hall—one of NYC’s best hidden secrets, according to Tay. Shop after shop of specialty food: sushi, subs, pizza, chocolate, doughnuts, dumplings, ice cream, cheese and wine—you name it, we walked by it. Most importantly, we ended in line at Billy’s Bakery.

  My eyes rolled when we got to the counter, but even that not-so-subtle hint wasn’t absorbed by Elle, the girl working, who was staring blatantly at Zach with her mouth hanging wide open. Good thing she wasn’t making coffee or she would have been drooling right into it.

  Only I was allowed to embarrassingly ogle Zach Parker.

  “Hey,” she said with a low, sexy voice that made me hate her even more.

  My voice could do a lot of things. Obviously. It was my job. But that voice was one I never could seem to master.

  “What can I get you?” she continued, batting her eyelashes at Zach like she was trying out for Major League Baseball.

  Strangely, this was one of those rare, unicorn situations where I’d gone unrecognized. I should have loved it. I should have been jumping in excitement at being mistaken for the normal person that I was.

  But, no. Zach went and ruined that, too.

  “Two Americanos, please,” he replied with a genuine smile. Of course, he’d be nice to her.

  I wanted to plaster myself all over him. Correction: Bad Blake wanted to plaster myself all over him and autograph his forehead so that she knew he was mine.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked huskily, pushing the tiny laminated menu towards him with both hands…

  I bit my lip but it didn’t stop the tortured groan from seeping out as the blonde bimbo blatantly pushed her boobs together like they were the daily special.

  “Oh. My. God. Elle.” An annoyed, flamboyantly shrill voice broke through the incredibly awkward scene. “Good God. If you’re going to use your tits to sell things you might as well just go work over in Times Square. This. Is. The. Plaza. And these fine people—” he looked over to us as he spoke, but then did a double take on me.

  And my momentary incognito was gone.

  He cleared his throat and with a kindness that made me want to jump the counter and kiss him, he continued, “These fine people just want their coffee. Not,” he paused to wave his arms around in front of her, “whatever else you are trying to give away. Plus, do you have eyes? Can you see he is here with someone? I just… I just can’t.”

  And with a final wave of his hand and aggravated sigh, he grabbed the two cups and walked over to the espresso machines, nodding his head for us to follow.

  Leaving Embarrassed-Elle sufficiently red-faced, I murmured, “Thank you,” to my new favorite barista.

  “Oh, please,” he said like it was nothing, looking at the cups. “If I had anything to say about it, she would have been gone by now. I swear, the only drink she knows how to sell is a cafe-au-laid.”

  My hand flew to my mouth as Zach and I broke out laughing.

  “Sorry, I’m Claudio, and the only thing that has a filter around here is the coffee machine. Now, what did you want? She didn’t write anything on these,” he huffed.

  “After that,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes, “just something tall, dark, and strong. Very strong.”

  “Mm mm girl,” he drawled out as his eyes flicked up and down over Zach. “I’d say you already got yourself one of those.”

  And there went all of my hard work on my eyeliner.

  While he expertly made our drinks, I reached around for a coffee collar, writing ‘You’re the best. With love, Blake’ on it.

  “Thank you, Blake. I love you,” he mouthed when I traded him the signed collar for my cup.

  It was only on the way back up the stairs that I realized he’d written ‘tall, dark, and strong’ on Zach’s coffee with a heart at the end.

  “I just tried to call you, Zach,” my brother’s voice echoed through the space. He and Ronnie stood with their hands clutching at least six white pastry bags.

  “Hope you’re hungry, Blake!” Ronnie exclaimed with a grin.

  “Where were you?” Ash demanded with possessive eyes and a threatening tone.

  “Downstairs for coffee while we waited for you,” I grumbled; the guy still acted like I was thirteen and needed to hold his hand to walk across the street. “What is all of this?” I reached for one of the bags but Ronnie quickly pulled it back, looking to Zach for permission.

  I couldn’t see, but I could smell; the scent of warm pastry and sugar invaded my nose. Like Christmas cookies and freshly-baked bread were warring to see which could make me drool more.

  “Have you ever heard—”

  “Nope,” Zach cut Ron off and grabbed the two bags from his hand. “Time for us to get going.”

  “The press won’t entertain themselves,” Ash grumbled, stepping back and motioning an arm to the front door.

  The sting of his words was like a Band-Aid being ripped off. Zach and I had been… fine. Better than fine, actually. Sometime between coming downstairs and getting coffee to right now, the fact that it was all for show had been lost in the back of my mind.

  “Time to bundle up, Baby Blake,” Zach said with a grin. “We’ve got places to go.”

  Earlier

  “MR. PARKER,” BRUCE PILLARS SAID stiffly as he walked right into my hotel room before being asked. “We need to have a little chat.”

  “By all means,” I stepped back and shut the door.

  He looked around the room like he was afraid to touch anything other than the hat and briefcase he’d brought in with him. Shit, I wasn’t messy by a long shot, but the way he looked at my sweatshirt that was draped over the couch and the one barstool that was pulled away from the counter… you’d think I was a fucking slob.

  “I don’t have a lot of time, but I needed to speak with you about tomorrow.” He cleared his throat, adjusting the tiny glasses that were dwarfed by the size of his nose. “Blake is in a very perilous position right now. Before the start of the tour, you know how we worked to build the hype surrounding your addition to the tour. Then Miami happened. It could have been a lot… a lot worse. Thankfully, the fans love you, but the press is still searching for that fall—for another break-up; they want her to fall right back into where they want her.”

  I nodded, folding my arms over my chest. Was this guy going to tell me something that I didn’t know? He might read the papers, but I held the girl. I held her when they said those things to her face. I held her when she tried to pretend like it didn’t hurt. And I held her when she tried to excuse their cruelty, taking the fall for their character failures.

  “You… you both need to get yourselves together.” His tone dropped swiftly and my head tipp
ed back in surprise. “This is a performance—just like every other one you go out and put on each night. Every moment can make or break your career—her career. Let me ask you something. Do you care for Blake?”

  “Yes.” Without a second thought or hesitation. “Very much,” I don’t know why I added.

  Too much; I cared too much.

  “Then you need to put aside the war going on inside your head because everyone can see it in the hot and cold tug-of-war between you two. What they need to see is Blake falling in love with the perfect boyfriend; this on and off thing is worse than a strobe light and more than likely going to give her reputation a scandal-stroke. I don’t care what you do when you aren’t around her and I don’t care what you have to tell yourself in order to do as I’m asking, but if you care about your career or you care about her, you will do this.”

  I stared in silence. His words were like freezing rain, falling smoothly from his mouth and then stinging with the cold truth when they landed.

  “Now then, tomorrow is the day before Valentine’s Day; tomorrow is a new day and I need it to be perfect. Tomorrow is the day you start giving her a reason to fall in love with you.”

  I bit my tongue. She never needed a reason before. Hell, she’d gone and done it in spite of all the reasons I’d given her not to.

  “Of course.”

  “If you want,” he stopped and cleared his throat again, “I can have Miss Hastings prepare a list of activities for you that will keep you sufficiently in public for the majority of the day if—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pillars,” I interjected abruptly, “but I can handle wooing Blake.” My hand reached for the doorknob even though Bruce had made no move to leave. “After tomorrow, there will be no doubt in the public mind that this is for keeps.”

  I needed that doubt—the doubt in my own mind, the doubt that would keep me from falling just as surely as the damn New Year’s Eve ball did every year on the stroke of midnight. I needed that doubt like a drug addict needs Narcan. Yeah, it was painful and it made me angry and perpetually unfulfilled, but it was saving me from the life-threatening addiction I had to Blake Tyler.

  And that’s what it would become if I let it.

  “Can you please tell me where we are going?” She rubbed her hands together before hugging them in over her chest.

  “No.” I laughed, shaking my head.

  New York. February. It was a good thing it was fucking cold outside. Then again, it was the cold that had her bundled up so fucking adorably and her cheeks splashed with pink from the wind. All the layers she wore made me desperate to unwrap them, like the biggest present under the tree on Christmas morning, knowing what was inside was all I’d ever wanted. I wanted to pull her into my arms and warm her from the inside out. Not for the news story. Not for anyone else’s benefit but my own because she was mine.

  “Fine, well can I at least eat one of whatever is in those bags? It smells so delicious.”

  “No wonder those Christmas cookies never actually make it until Christmas.”

  “I still can’t believe you told them that…” she grumbled, a shiver springing through her body causing her teeth to chatter for a second.

  My jaw ticked as I dove head first into this damned enticing charade and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to my side. Even in the busy streets, the flutter of camera shutters rang like sirens.

  They’d been following us since we left the hotel—parkas on and cameras shielded with bags to protect them from the snow. I had a feeling that Bruce had tipped the press off. No detail left to chance.

  “Zach…” she said, eyeing me from under the wool cap that managed to turn her into some sort of sexy snow bunny. A hat for fuck’s sake. My cock was rock solid over a damn hat. “What are we doing in the park?”

  I gave her a devious grin as I led her through the entrance to Central Park. There was still snow on the ground from the Nor’easter last weekend; the flurries today only added to the Winter Wonderland charm.

  “Are you…” She trailed off, stopping mid-stride, as her mitten-gloved hands came up over those perfectly arched lips in delight. “Are you… is this for real?”

  Her eyes flicked between me and the horse-drawn carriage that was waiting for us. The horse pawed at the ground as the driver turned towards us and tipped his black top hat.

  “Are we really going for a carriage ride?” she asked in breathless disbelief.

  She loved animals. She always had. I noticed the carriages lined up when we checked in yesterday and after my chat with Bruce, I knew this was the first stop for the day, confirmed when Taylor said that she didn’t think Blake had ever gone on one before.

  Oh, I knew how to woo Blake Tyler. Don’t you fucking worry about that, Bruce.

  I took a step ahead of her and couldn’t stop my smile as it spread wide at her unabashed excitement. I didn’t give two shits if someone was capturing this moment on camera right now, her excitement was for me alone, and I was going to fucking hold onto it like it was gold. Because, to me, it was.

  “I can’t believe this,” she gushed as we settled into the cushioned seat, mounds of faux-fur blankets heaped on top of us to keep us warm.

  “You haven’t even gotten the best part,” I drawled as the driver signaled the horse to move.

  “The food?” she asked, her head spinning to face mine.

  I broke out into laughter. Baby Blake was all about her food. Especially sweets.

  I opened one of the pastry bags. “Have you ever had a cronut?”

  She didn’t have to answer ‘no.’ Confusion quickly became moans of enjoyment as she devoured the love-child of a croissant and a donut. Dominique Ansel was the devil and I was going to tell that fucker to his face if I ever met him. Even though I’d been the one to purchase them, I placed the blame squarely on him as the inventor of the orgasmic treats. Since that’s what Blake sounded like as she ate them. I would know…

  My arm pressed down hard on the blankets trying to ease the strain of my dick against my jeans. You’d think she was naked and touching herself, I was that fucking hard. Shifting in the seat, I opened the other bag and pulled out one of the damn things for myself.

  “So, did Tay tell you about these?” she asked with her mouth half-full.

  It was a mistake to look at her. It was punishment to watch the moist pink tip of her tongue dart out to lick every crumb from her reddened lips.

  “No,” I said gruffly, mostly because I was so damn uncomfortable. “I picked everything for today.”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t think I could come up with date activities?”

  “N-no,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth with a napkin and tossing in back into the empty bag. “I just figured you would ask for help picking out stuff… you know… that I like.”

  “I know what you like, Blake.”

  I shouldn’t have loved the hopeful fire that warmed her blue eyes. But that fire set off sparks inside of me. Sparks that I rarely allowed myself to feel.

  She tore her gaze from mine, color deepening in her cheeks. At least she wasn’t going to push it; I guess I should be happy I’d taught her that never ends well.

  “So, what happened?” I found myself asking. “With the other guys.”

  She sighed, relaxing back into the seat. Her head tipped away from me in a heart-wrenching mix of sadness and self-reflection.

  I hated the way her face fell further when she realized there was a carriage behind us and a carriage coming the other direction that were filled with paparazzi.

  “Ask them.” She nodded back over her shoulder.

  “I’m asking you.”

  “I’m bad at love, that’s what happened.” I watched the way she pulled a smile to her face even as she said it, hearing the cameras flashing, because even a moment of self-reflection couldn’t be her own. “You can’t blame me for trying… but they can.”

  I put my arm back around her and she looked up to me with wide eyes.


  I hated how I had to bite my cheek until I tasted blood so that I didn’t tell her that I pulled her close to comfort her. I pulled her close so that she could feel safe telling me about what happened… So that I didn’t tell her that those other guys were fucking tools who didn’t know her because I knew her. And I knew that she’d always been mine.

  “Liars. Cheaters. Narcissists. Oh my.” She sighed, her head falling onto my chest, fitting as though it had been carved right from it. “They were nice when I met them. Obviously. But I guess the show was on me.”

  “They all seemed fake to me,” I ground out, annoyed with how much hearing about her failed relationships bothered me.

  “Well, I guess I’m just not as smart as you, Mr. Parker,” she bristled.

  “Comes with age,” I said lightly, drawing a small chuckle from her and an eye-roll that I didn’t see but knew had happened.

  “I just thought they knew what it was like to live lives that tipped between real and fake… that they were guys looking for something real. But I was grasping at straws, hoping they’d be one more tether I could add to the real me.”

  “Blay,” I said hoarsely, trying not to focus on the way she shivered and her cheeks turned pick when I called her that.

  There was a beat of silence—maybe like a whole-note’s worth—before she spoke again in a low voice as though the wind would take her words and use them against her.

  “I know Taylor thinks it’s easy for me to differentiate between what happens on stage and off—but it’s not. It’s lonely up there, Zach. How do I even begin to comprehend how I have to reach inside of me and share some of my most private—sometimes most heartbreaking—emotions over and over again because that’s what makes the music; it’s not the lyrics or the melody. It’s the soul. And, at the same time, it’s also just a show. The lines get so blurred, I don’t even know what they look like anymore. And when I walk off that stage, I walk into a fog unable to see who and what in this world is real. Myself included.”