by Ally Decker
She stared through the window for a moment, worrying her lower lip with her teeth—and Greg's eyes weren't drawn to that sight, they weren't—before she took out her phone from her purse.
"No, I have a better idea," she said, sliding her fingers over the screen. "We're going to see my brother. He will fix this."
Greg turned to her with a frown. "Your brother? Why?"
Sylvia already had her phone to her ear, tapping the fingers of her free hand over the car upholstery. "He's a fixer."
Greg's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Jake in the rearview mirror, but when their gazes met, his driver shook his head. He had no idea, either.
"Fixer?" Greg finally asked, but a person on the other side of the call picked up, and he could hear a male voice.
A fixer. Was that supposed to tell him something?
***
It was almost eleven by the time they stopped in front of an office building in downtown Manhattan, so Greg was surprised the light was still on in so many windows.
"Why are they all still working at this hour?" he asked Sylvia as he followed her inside.
"Most of the offices here are law firms," she said as she waved a pass at the night guard, who nodded at them without taking his gaze off of the TV. Good for Greg, but not terribly conductive to the guy's line of work. "They just don't know when to quit."
"And your brother?"
They paused by the elevator and she shrugged. "He was a lawyer, so he got that knocked into him already. Now he and his friends have a young company, so they're working around the clock to establish themselves."
In the car, Sylvia's whole explanation about her brother's occupation had essentially boiled down to "They fix situations that can turn into a scandal or have already become one". It fitted their current situation very well, but Greg still didn't know what to expect.
When they got to the seventh floor, a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties was waiting for them, arms crossed against his chest.
"Only you," the guy started but then pulled Sylvia into a hug when she walked up to him.
"If it was only me, you'd be out of a job."
Greg noticed the man roll his eyes above Sylvia's head, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face, and Greg could see some resemblance between the siblings now. Then the guy's piercing gaze fell on Greg, and he narrowed his eyes.
"You have to be kidding me," he said, releasing Sylvia, who looked at Greg, at her brother, and then at the floor.
"Um, yeah, surprise?"
Greg realized that Sylvia hadn't told her brother over the phone who she was coming with. He stepped closer to the guy and extended a hand. "Greg Abrams. Nice to meet you."
"Nate Urban. Welcome to Foster, Young, and Urban." The handshake was firm, but not too strong, and Greg relaxed a bit. He'd met way too many men who liked to grip his hand blue to try to put him down.
Nate led them through to the office foyer, and Greg noticed the gray letters on the matte glass entry door.
Foster, Young, and Urban
New York City Fixers
"We'll go to our private conference room," Nate said, turning his head to glance at him. "The rest of the team is already there."
The front of the office looked like yet another law firm with the big reception desk and glass and wood everywhere. When they walked into the conference room, though, the decor changed significantly. The doors were still glass, and there were big tinted windows on one side, but instead of a big table with the chairs all around, there were couches in a semicircle with the middle one facing a wall with a big screen on it and two white boards on either side.
There were two guys with laptops in their laps sitting on the couch closest to the door. They turned their heads in unison and nodded at them before getting up.
"Hi," said the one with short, curly, black hair. "Sorry for the casual Friday look, but we're technically off the clock, so…" He shrugged.
"Consider yourself back on the clock, guys," Sylvia said, flopping onto the biggest couch in the middle and gesturing for Greg to sit down as well. Nate circled them and sat on the third couch, picking up his legal pad and pen from the long coffee table.
The guy with black hair reached out his hand to Greg. "Shawn Foster. Nice to meet you."
"Greg Abrams. Nice to meet you, too."
He repeated the process with the other guy, Dean Young, a blond with the shoulders of a football player rather than a lawyer—or a fixer, Greg supposed. Then, after everyone had sat down, Nate clicked his pen off and on and looked straight at his sister.
"Why don't you tell us exactly what happened? Beat by beat. Don't skip anything."
"I'm sorry." Greg leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "I'm not trying to be rude, but I'm not exactly sure what we're doing here. Sylvia was short on details as to how you can actually help." And what the hell fixing means.
Nate shook his head at his sister before looking at Greg. "No, I'm the one who's sorry, I jumped to conclusions. We are fixers and that means we handle our clients' problems. We figure out how to put out the fires—or, ideally, prevent them from happening."
"Like a publicist?" Greg asked, frowning.
Nate nodded. "Our job's part publicist, part lawyer, part detective."
"We fix your mess," Dean told him bluntly. "We spin the story in your favor, which, depending on the case, may mean different things. But you have to be honest with us, so we don't accidentally open a can of worms that would make the situation worse."
Being honest with the guys he met five minutes ago? Greg had been in the entertainment business for too long not to be suspicious about it. They seemed okay, and he needed to get out of the mess he and Sylvia had found themselves in, but he wasn't going to trust them on a gut feeling.
"We keep everything confidential," Nate added. "We always sign non-disclosure agreements." He leaned forward. "We don't look for sensation, Greg. When we ask the question, it's because we need to know the answer to do our job the best we can, not because we have a gossip website on speed dial."
Greg nodded, relaxing slightly at the mention of signing the NDA. He glanced at Sylvia, who sat silently, letting the guys explain. She gave him a weak smile and a nod, and he took a deep breath. They wouldn't fuck this up for a sister of one of their own.
Greg nodded back at her, sealing their fate, and she turned to her brother.
"So, what happened was…"
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN SYLVIA finished telling the guys the story, her stomach was once again tied in knots. She'd managed to slightly relax earlier when they'd arrived, because she trusted Nate and his best friends—men who were like brothers to her as well. She'd seen them work their magic and get their clients out of bigger shitstorms than this.
But now, after reliving her crazy night as she talked, the stress was back in full force. Sylvia hated the mere thought of the paparazzo's photos being out there on the Internet or in the papers.
Nate looked down at his notes and then at Greg.
"Do you have anything to add?"
Greg had been silent while she was telling the story, and his only input was a nod whenever she glanced at him for confirmation. Now he rubbed his thumb over one of his eyebrows before looking at Nate.
"The photos… They're going to look bad."
Sylvia frowned, but her brother beat her to it. "Bad how?"
"We didn't walk out of a restaurant or even a hotel." Greg grimaced. "We walked out of the dark corner of a back alley, flanked only by the two dumpsters."
Sylvia needed a second, but then it clicked. "Oh my God." Oh my God. "They'll take me for a hooker."The flashes of various possible headlines went through her mind in a rapid speed. None of them were kind. Oh God.
She narrowed her eyes at Greg. "That's why you said 'if we're lucky'."
"Yeah," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "I'm sorry."
She nodded. So was she. For herself, mostly, because come tomorrow morning, she was going to be smeared for public en
tertainment. But she also felt bad for Greg, because he was going to be dragged through the mud while all he had done was act like a decent person.
"I'm sorry, too," she whispered.
Shawn, who was taking his own notes on his laptop, tilted his head and looked at Greg. "Why does it bother you so much?"
"What?" Both Greg and Sylvia asked at the same time.
"You're a movie star. You're constantly in the papers or on TV," Shawn pointed out. "Paparazzi aren't exactly a shocking thing for you. Even a prostitution rumor probably isn't new."
"It's not as shocking, but it's still very unnerving," Greg said. Sylvia could feel him tensing even more right next to her. "It's a constant violation of my privacy."
"I get it." Shawn nodded, but when Greg sent him a disbelieving look, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I can imagine that," he corrected himself. "But still, there's something else."
They both stared at each other for a long moment before Greg deflated. "Yes, there is. But I'll need at least a basic NDA before I get into it."
Shawn simply nodded and left the room, but Sylvia frowned and clasped her hands together tightly. What was it? Did he have a secret girlfriend or, God, a wife? They hadn't done anything other than some light flirting, maybe, and while she definitely appreciated how handsome he was up close, that didn't make her the other woman or anything. Still, his quiet admission made her heart beat a little faster.
There was a few minutes of tense silence, and Sylvia almost pushed for the explanation three times before the forms were signed. Finally, Greg put down the pen and started talking.
"I'm in the fifth year of a six-year contract with Dot Entertainment, the company that owns Collectibles. When you sign up to be in a franchise like that, you're not only agreeing to do the movies. There are months of promotional appearances and a bunch of other stipulations—including having a say in what I do even outside of shooting and promo tours." He paused and rubbed his temple again. "I've come to New York to do a limited run on Broadway in a musical I really wanted to be a part of."
Sylvia's eyes widened at that. Greg Abrams on Broadway? How the hell had she not heard about this? She opened her mouth to ask, but then she took another look at Greg and closed it. Her questions could wait.
"The thing is, even a limited run takes a lot of time. It's two and a half months of commitment between the rehearsals and performances in this case. And with the contract I have, Dot Entertainment was in their rights to tell me no." Greg's face hardened. "They finally agreed, but they threw in a clause that basically comes down to me keeping out of trouble."
"A morality clause," Nate said.
Sylvia frowned. She remembered a few headlines about Greg dating this actress or that producer, but she didn't recall anything bad. No drugs, no DUIs… Why would they insist on something like this?
Greg nodded. "These days, they are pretty standard in contracts for anything involving a big franchise, especially one that has a massive young audience. The one I have in my main contract isn't bad, but when we negotiated this time, they insisted on adding things. They knew they had an advantage, and they used it." He grimaced. "So now, if I were to…misbehave in New York, they could pull the plug on their agreement—up until a week before I start actually performing, which isn't for another three weeks."
"Why would they?" Sylvia asked, no longer able to keep quiet. "If they don't need you for anything—"
"They don't have to need me." Greg rubbed his eyebrows again. "Let's just say I don't…see eye to eye with someone on that team. If he can make my life more difficult, he will."
"And a story like this would be perfect for that," Shawn said.
"Exactly."
Sylvia hated how defeated Greg sounded. He was probably already envisioning going back with his tail between his legs, and Sylvia hated to even think that she would miss seeing him on a Broadway stage. Now that she'd imagined that, she couldn't unsee it. And she wanted it. Badly.
"So not only do we need to bury this story, we also have to come up with a different one," Dean said, leaning forward in his seat. He put his laptop on the coffee table and rested his elbows on his knees, tangling his fingers together.
Sylvia looked at her brother. "Can't we simply tell the truth?" Greg was against it earlier, but she still thought it was worth a shot.
Nate shook his head. "Sadly, no. It's not going to be enough to interest anyone other than maybe Greg's mother—and ours, but that's a stretch," he added, quirking up a dry smile for her. Their mother was hardly interested in either of them."We need something that will be a better story, a bigger one."
"Can't we focus on Greg's Broadway show?"
All four men shook their heads, but Greg was the one who spoke first.
"I can't talk about it yet, especially since it may not happen at all."
"And it doesn't hold enough weight to distract the world from a possible sex scandal," Shawn added before wincing at Sylvia. "Sorry."
She was trying hard not to think about being involved in a sex scandal. Very hard.
"So…"Dean's eyes pinned Sylvia to her seat and she held her breath. "How do you feel about pretend dating?"
She tightened her hands into fists on her lap as her heart started beating faster. She couldn't even glance to the side at Greg as she searched for something to say. But the three fixers didn't wait for an agreement. They started throwing ideas around and forming a plan right away.
It wasn't even that Sylvia was surprised, really. Pretending to date was a logical choice, a smoke screen that could turn a few photos from a back alley into just one element of a romantic story. Sylvia had been working for this company for about nine months now, and she had seen quite a few arranged matchups. She had even been pulled into selecting a perfect candidate half a dozen times, at least.
This time, both candidates are already here. She finally gathered enough courage to glance at Greg. He was sitting in silence, watching the fixing trio's back and forth as if it was a tennis match. She couldn't read him, couldn't see beyond the supposedly calm persona.
It had to be fake, right?
Sylvia had seen a few famous people in real life—some of them in the theater, some of them here in the office, seeking help. She understood that people living in a spotlight had to perfect their public faces, their ways of blocking off the world. And somehow, she knew this was what she was seeing on Greg now. He'd cut himself off, and she was left trying to make sense of it all. How the hell had her life become so surreal in little more than an hour? Meeting Greg in the alley, running away from the paparazzo, and now this?
Pretend dating Greg Abrams…sure, of course. No big deal.
The guy was just as handsome as he was in all the movies and photos she'd seen. Back in that alley, when he smiled, she could feel her interest pique and her body responding. But it was nothing, an instinctive reaction, because she couldn't not respond to the universe suddenly putting an international movie star in her path.
Ironically, talking to him in a dark alley between dumpsters seemed less surreal than sitting next to him here, in the familiar surroundings of F.Y.U.'s private conference room.
Then Greg turned and looked at her, and everything was real again—maybe too real, if the way her chest tightened was any indication. Could she do it? Could she pretend to date him? As she stared into his blue eyes, she realized that while she might not be any good at acting most of the time, it wouldn't take much pretending to do this.
Which could be good for the plan, but potentially dangerous for her heart.
"You okay?" Greg whispered, leaning closer to her.
Sylvia started to nod out of habit, but she stopped herself in mid-gesture. She shrugged instead. "Not really," she admitted in a whisper. Having those freaking photos taken and becoming a topic for gossip was bad enough. But if she'd also get lost between what was real and what was pretend, she was going to end up hurt when the act would inevitably be over. "You?"
He nodded. "Same."
His mask slipped for a moment, and she could see once again how stressed he really was over this as she took in the frown on his face and the slump of his shoulders.
Sylvia worried her lower lip between her teeth and glanced down on her lap. "I'm sorry about all this. I—"
Greg shook his head. "It's not your fault."
"But if—"
"Hey, you're not to blame for this. I mean it." He tilted his head down a bit and sought her gaze once again. "I thought you'd blame me for dragging you into this."
"You helped me when I felt sick, and you're getting punished for it."
"The paparazzo was there after me, and now you'll—"
"Guys," Shawn's voice interrupted their whispered conversation, and both of them drew back. Sylvia realized that she'd leaned closer to Greg than she'd thought while they were talking. "Trying to out-guilt each other won't help anyone. It's not about whose fault it is or isn't. It happened, and now we have to fix it."
Sylvia nodded, pulling back from Greg, and she took a deep breath. "By pretending to date?"
"That seems like the best option. Dean's bringing Kevin back," Shawn said, pointing a thumb at Dean who was texting on his phone, "and then we can start putting things in motion. In the meantime, this is what we—"
"Who's Kevin?" Greg cut him off, frowning.
"Our resident computer wizard," Nate explained. "We're going to need his help, and it needs to be done before tomorrow when the photos get out."
Sylvia sat up with a wave of new hope. "Can't he block the sites with the photos?"
Shawn shook his head. "He can manage it a bit, and he's probably going to try to contain their spread, but there's no way to block it completely, since he can't hack the press or TV outlets. Erasing the photos too extensively would draw attention and suggest we're trying to hide them on purpose."
"So we contain the spread to some degree, but we won't clear all the sites." Nate looked at Sylvia. "I'm sorry, sis, I wish we could get rid of them all, but that's just not going to work."
She tried to smile but probably grimaced instead. "Don't worry about it. You're already helping by taking this on."
