chapter 2 — damage control
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A MIX OF TEXTS, MISSED CALLS, and twitter notifications had flooded your phone. you barely had time to register what was going on before a call from your boss came through.
you sat up so fast you damn near gave yourself whiplash. what the fuck now?
and then you saw it. blurry, paparazzi shots of her. looking all sad and brokenhearted, sitting outside some overpriced café with sunglasses on and an untouched oat milk latte. the caption was making it way worse.
“chris’ ex seen looking devastated just days after viral cheating scandal”
oh, for fuck’s sake.
“chris.”
he barely even looked up, shirtless and posted up on his couch, scrolling through his phone like nothing was happening.
“chris.”
“mhm.” he lazily scooped another bite of cinnamon toast crunch into his mouth, unbothered as hell. you resisted the urge to snatch the bowl out of his hands.
“have you seen this?” you gestured at your screen.
“yeah,” he said through a mouthful of cereal. “kinda crazy.”
“kinda crazy?” you repeated, voice high-pitched in disbelief. “she looks like she’s about to drop a whole heartbreak album and you’re just sitting here eating cereal?”
he shrugged, resting the bowl on his stomach. “what you want me to do? cry about it?”
you exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over your face. how was he so nonchalant about his own damn scandal? “okay, well, better start doin' something. because now, you look like the villain.”
he rolled his eyes. “and? people already hate me. why you stressing?”
you scrolled through the endless tweets dragging him, practically feeling your blood pressure rise. “because, dumbass, this makes you look desperate. like you’re waiting around for her.”
and that got his attention.
he paused mid bite, brow raising slightly. “huh.” he chewed for a second, thinking. “yeah, that’s not gonna work.”
you watched him sit up, stretching like this was just another tuesday, not a full blown pr crisis.
“alright,” he exhaled. “guess i gotta do something.”
you crossed your arms. “like what?”
he smirked. “like get a new girl.”
“no.”
“yes.”
“absolutely the fuck not.”
“why not? it makes sense.”
you threw your phone onto his couch, resisting the urge to strangle him. “because it’s stupid. and it’s literally the most obvious move in the book.”
“doesn’t mean it won’t work,” he countered, that signature cocky smirk still on his face. “c’mon, imagine the headlines.”
you already could, unfortunately.
“chris seen with mystery girl just days after scandal”
“chris rebounds with someone unexpected”
“who is the woman stealing chris’ attention?”
except—wait. he wasn’t looking at his phone anymore.
he was looking at you.
“nah.” you shook your head immediately. “nope. don’t even say it.”
“c’mon, ma,” he said, voice smooth, persuasive. “you’re perfect for this.”
“i am not.”
“you literally work in pr. this is your thing.”
“this is insane.”
“nah, it’s smart.” he leaned back, arms stretched over the couch. “you’re already around me all the time, it wouldn’t look forced. plus, you know how to make it believable.”
“you are out of your fucking mind.”
“you’d get hella publicity too,” he added. “like, genius pr agent takes on the impossible task of rebranding me? and then falls for me in the process? c’mon, that’s fire.”
“no.”
“yes.”
but then your phone buzzed with a new headline.
“a source close to chris says he’s ‘doing his own thing’”
you groaned. because if there was one thing worse than fake dating chris, it was letting his ex win the pr game.
he saw your hesitation immediately.
and he smirked.
“knew you’d come around, babe.”
💬 : hope u like this ! what should i do for part 3 ??
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