Page 160 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

“Sourcesclose to the pair report Mr. Bryce has been a paid escort for several years. After some investigative work, that is confirmed to be true. However, efforts to track down the agency Mr. Bryce works for were fruitless.”

I read the report in real-time with Milo still in my arms. We’re both in bed. We didn’t even get a chance to fuck before both our phones blew up.

The heat rises in my chest. I’m screwed. I’m well and royally screwed.

I let out a growl and throw my phone across the room. I don’t miss the cracking sound it makes. Fucking flimsy things.

I can’t believe it’s come out. I can’t believe the whole world knows the truth. Am I slightly embarrassed every Tom, Dick, and Harry knows I’ve used an escort service? Absolutely. But the thing I’m most frustrated about is how the article paints Milo as this cheap, undignified person who’s selling his body to save his grandmother.

I growl again as I remember the points about her being a poor, delicate woman, as if she’s a victim because of her Alzheimer’s. They have no right to say that about her. About anyone, really. And actually, they have no right to bring her into this at all. She’s got nothing to do with my arrangement with Milo.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.” Milo pulls out of my arms and buries his face in his hands, turning away from me.

He keeps mumbling apologies until I touch his shoulder and give it a squeeze.

“What are you sorry for? I should be apologizing to you. I thought the paparazzi would be harmless. I didn’t think they’d stoop this low. Sources close to the pair, my ass. They just went digging, those assholes.”

I give him another tug, and he finally reveals his face and red eyes.

“I don’t think that’s the case. It was me.”

I grimace.

“What do you mean it was you?” I’m so confused.

“Well, not me, exactly. My friend? Rhett?”

He’s not crying, and I would hate seeing him break down over something that’s not in any way his fault, but I wouldn’t blame him if he were. Spotlight Entertainment just put him on blast as a whore. He has every right to be as upset as he wants to be.

“Who? He tattled on us?”

I try not to come across as upset, but I don’t think I’m very successful. To ensure Milo doesn’t think I’m angry at him, I cup his cheek and stroke the bone there with my thumb. I don’t know if it does the trick, but it certainly soothes me.

“No. Not on purpose anyway. He was talking to my grandma, and the manager bitch heard him. She’s a cow, so, of course, she called the tabloids.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s the source. The person who spoke to the press knew about us and your job.”

He nods.

“Yeah, um…my friend Rhett left me a voicemail. He knows she heard him talking about us to my grandma. I don’t know exactly what he said, but Madelyn knows he’s an escort, so I’m sure she can put two and two together.”

“Wait, a minute. Isn’t she the one who got a disciplinary notice for letting the press take a statement from your grandmother?”

He nods, and my heart sinks.

“Yeah, and apparently, she didn’t lose her job.”

Not yet, but this time, I’ll make sure she does. Using a resident, someone she’s supposed to care and provide for, is the most despicable thing.

“I’m so sorry, Keaton. I don’t know…I don’t know how to fix it. It’s all my fault. You’re going to lose your company because of me.”

Oh. Right. The company.

I completely forgot about that.

“Fuck the company. I don’t want you feeling bad about yourself. You didn’t do this. You’re not responsible for her or anyone else’s actions.”

I raise my other hand and take hold of his other cheek so his face is in my hands and close—so close—to my own I can almost taste him.

“But Cinderfella. That’s why we’re doing this. How can you say that?”

Yes, of course. That’s the whole point of this arrangement, isn’t it? We’re not a real couple. We’re not faking it to fool an ex. This is…business.

“Yeah, right.” I let go of his face and take a deep breath. A breath that feels like lead in my lungs.

This is a disaster on all fronts.

I’m sure the board will not be happy with this development. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, of course, but then again, if people feel tricked, cheated…

I can’t imagine the story will do any wonders for the stock market. Or my position in my own company.

“I think…I think I need to go and manage this media storm before it…gets out of hand.”

I get out of bed, find the broken phone, and realize it’s still working just fine. But it’s cracked everywhere. Which doesn’t stop the notifications from coming through by the gazillion.

Great.

Now, the internet hates us too.

“Yeah. You really should.”

I make an attempt to get close to him again, but he turns his back to me and, this time, buries his face in his knees.

He hates me. He absolutely hates me. I basically went and ruined his life. First, I made him a celebrity by fake-dating him, and then I outed him to the whole world as a prostitute. Why wouldn’t he hate me? This was supposed to be a simple business deal, and I’ve made everything impossible for him. And no amount of money can fix that.

That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.

I know we’re not a real couple. I know he doesn’t really love me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let some pathetic little people who have nothing better to do than go digging where they’re not welcome destroy his future.

It kills me that this is over so soon. It kills me that I don’t get to have more time with him. That I don’t get to drink up every last part of him for as long as possible.

As I leave the room and shut the door behind me, a little part of me dies inside at the thought that I may never see him again. That I may never kiss him again. That I may never fuck him again. That I may never spend any more meaningful, wonderful, wondrous moments with him.

Shit. I’ve ruined his life. And I ruined my heart.

Great job, Keaton. Great fucking job.

I need to fix this. I need to find a way to fix all the bad shit I’ve brought on him. I need to save his future.

But first…

It’s time to deal with mine.