Behind the Silver Curtain PART II
It’s getting real …
PART II
I watched the producer disappear down the hall, her heels clicking like a metronome of doom. My heart was still hammering from the kiss, from Ryan’s heat against me, and now this—being caught in the crosshairs of a media vulture. I turned to Ryan, whose face was a mix of defiance and something I couldn’t quite read. Maybe fear. Maybe regret.
“We’re fucked,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. The businessman in me was clawing back to the surface, trying to calculate the damage, to spin this before it spun us.
Ryan just shrugged, picking up his vape from the floor with a nonchalance that made me want to throttle him. “Could be worse. She didn’t have a camera.”
“Worse?” I snapped, voice low but biting. “She doesn’t need a camera. She’s got us by the balls. Exclusive rights? A ‘vulnerable’ sit-down? That’s not an interview, that’s a goddamn execution if we don’t play her game.”
He took a long drag, the sweet haze of the vape curling between us. “So we play it. What’s the big deal, Adrian? Let her have her little scoop. I’m tired of hiding anyway.”
I stared at him, incredulous. “Hiding is the only reason you’ve got a career. You think those stadiums full of screaming girls are gonna stick around if they find out their ‘Prince Charming’ is locking lips with his chubby gay manager backstage? They’ll tear you apart. And me with you.”
Ryan’s eyes darkened, and for a second, I thought I’d gone too far. But then he stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a rough murmur. “Maybe I don’t care what they think anymore. Maybe I’m done being their fantasy. What about my fantasy?”
My throat went dry. I could still taste him on my lips, feel the ghost of his hands on me. I wanted to shove him away, to lock this shit down before it spiraled further, but part of me—a stupid, reckless part—wanted to pull him back in. “Don’t say shit like that right now. We’ve got a crisis to handle.”
He smirked, that infuriating, panty-dropping smirk that had sold a million records. “Crisis? Or opportunity? Come on, man, you’re the master of spinning. Spin this.”
I shook my head, pacing a tight line in the cramped dressing room. “This isn’t a tabloid rumor about a fake fling I can kill with a press release. This is real. She saw us. She’s got leverage. If we don’t give her what she wants, she’ll leak it herself, frame it however the hell she likes. We’re cornered.”
Ryan flopped back onto the couch, legs spread wide, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. “So give her the sit-down. Let me talk. I’ll tell her I’m burned out on the bullshit. I’ll tell her I’m figuring out who I am. People eat that vulnerable crap up.”
I stopped pacing, staring at him. “You’re serious. You’d risk everything—your brand, your endorsements, your fans—just to … what? Feel authentic for five minutes on live TV?”
“Maybe,” he said, eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my gut twist. “Or maybe I just wanna see what happens when I stop lying. When I stop letting you write every word out of my mouth. When I stop pretending I don’t want—” He cut himself off, looking away, jaw tight.
I knew what he was gonna say. Or at least, I thought I did. And it scared the hell out of me. Not just because of the career implosion waiting on the horizon, but because I wanted it too. I’d spent years burying any personal desire under a mountain of contracts and PR strategies. But now, with him sitting there, looking at me like I was more than just the guy who fixed his messes … it was unraveling me.
“Ryan,” I started, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be, “if you do this, there’s no going back. You can’t just tease the truth and expect to stuff it back in the closet. You say one wrong thing, and it’s over. All of it.”
He stood, closing the space between us again. Too close. Always too damn close. “Then help me say the right thing. You’ve always got the words, Adrian. Tell me what to say to make this work. Or are you too scared to rewrite the script for once?”
I swallowed hard, his challenge hanging heavy in the air. My mind raced through angles, outcomes, damage control. But underneath it all was something rawer, something I couldn’t strategize away. I wanted to help him. Not just as his manager, but as … whatever the hell this was becoming.
“Fine,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the chaos inside. “We’ll do the sit-down. But we do it my way. We control the narrative. We drop just enough truth to satisfy her, but not enough to sink us. You’re ‘questioning things,’ ‘finding yourself.’ No specifics. No names. Got it?”
Ryan’s grin was slow, almost predatory. “Got it, boss. But you know, off-camera …” He let the sentence dangle, stepping even closer until I could feel the heat radiating off him. “We don’t have to pretend.”
My breath caught. I should’ve stepped back, put up a wall, reminded him of the stakes. But instead, I just stood there, caught in the pull of him. “This is a bad idea,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
“Worst idea I’ve had all day,” he agreed, voice low, teasing. Then his hand was on my waist, firm, grounding, and I felt the last of my resolve crumbling. “But I’m not stopping unless you tell me to.”
I didn’t tell him to stop. I couldn’t. Not when his lips were on mine again, harder this time, hungrier. Not when his hands slid under my shirt, rough and warm against my skin. Not when every rational thought in my head drowned under the sheer want of it.
“Fuck, Ryan,” I gasped against his mouth, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. “We can’t do this here. Not again.”
“Then where?” he growled, his teeth grazing my jaw, sending a shiver straight through me. “Your hotel room? Mine? Back of the damn tour bus? I don’t care, Adrian. I just want you. Now.”
I pulled back just enough to look at him, my chest heaving.
His eyes were dark, pupils blown, and there was no smirk now—just raw, unfiltered need. It mirrored everything I was feeling, everything I’d been trying to bury since the day I met him.
“My room,” I said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “After we get through tonight’s meet-and-greet. We can’t fuck this up any more than we already have.”
He nodded, a flicker of something like gratitude passing over his face before the cocky grin returned. “Deal. But just so you know, I’m holding you to it. No backing out.”
I rolled my eyes, stepping away to put some much-needed distance between us before I lost it completely. “Get dressed. We’ve got fans waiting. And try not to look like you’ve just been making out with your handler, alright?”
Ryan laughed, low and rough. “No promises, man. No promises.”
I watched him, my heart still racing, knowing full well we were playing with fire. But for the first time in years, maybe I didn’t care about the burn.
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This is a great story, subtly romantic.