Chapter 17

I took a vow of silence against Sophia after our fight. I thought "vow of silence" sounded less immature than the truth, which was that I was giving her the silent treatment like a high school girl.

In my defense, I'd never been spoken to like that before. Ever. Not even before I came famous. I'd always been popular, I'd always been good looking, and people just didn't say those things to me. I didn't know how to handle it – so I didn't. I ignored her instead.

As it turns out, ignoring your costar isn't the easiest thing in the world, but I managed to ignore her whenever it wasn't professionally necessary for us to speak or text.

I did have to break my silence to text her once. She had an interview on the Mark Stavros Show which clearly spelled trouble for me, especially after what had happened the other night. She was surprisingly allowed to be on the show alone. Frank told me they asked for me, as well, but I already had a photoshoot at that time. Some men's magazine wanted me to be on their cover.

Sophia didn't provide the same entertainment value without me to hurl insults at, but I guess it was the best Mark could do. Although I guess my lack of an appearance wouldn't stop her from trash-talking me if she wanted to.

Worst of all, there was no pre-interview so whatever came out of her mouth would be shown live. Mark Stavros didn't believe in rehearsals or editing. He liked catching people off guard. I wasn't sure if Sophia knew that or if she was going into the den of the lion without even realizing it, but I wasn't going to be the one to tell her. What did I care if she made a fool of herself on national television?

Anyway, Frank told me to text her before she went on the show to try to soften her up. I didn't think it would help, but it was all we could do to try to control what came out of her mouth. Although she'd made it abundantly clear she didn't want to be controlled Sunday night.

I know you're going on Mark's show tonight. Watch your mouth – for both of our sakes. Don't forget that if I go down, you go down with me. We're a package until this movie is done with, I texted her.

I almost didn't send it but impulsively hit send before I could talk myself out of it. I twiddled with my thumbs waiting for a response, but it never came. What a shocker, I know.

"Yeah, there's no way she's going to keep up with this lie," I muttered to Frank. We were standing off to the side away from everyone else so we could discuss the situation semi-privately. "It's a miracle she waited three days to talk."

"She only waited three days to talk so she could do it as publicly as it gets," Frank said. He was perpetually annoyed, but he looked especially pissed off at that moment. "All we can do now is hope she comes to her senses."

I almost repeated that that wasn't going to happen, but figured there was no need to keep rubbing salt in the wound. No matter which way we spun it, we were both screwed. He was screwed for lying, and I was screwed for not contradicting him when I had the chance.

I didn't get to watch the show until I got home. I snuck out the back of the studio once the photoshoot was over with to avoid any possible paparazzi. Now wasn't the time for a media photo op.

When I got home, I put off watching the show for as long as possible. I fed Bubba, I showered, I ate, I gave Bubba a bath – sorry, Bubba – and hell, I would've even done my taxes if it were tax season. Eventually, I ran out of excuses and sat on the couch to watch it.

Bubba jumped onto the couch with me, completely unaware of the fact that I was probably about to watch myself get roasted on national television – again.

I fast-forwarded to the part where Mark began asking Sophia the real questions. He started off with the boring questions that were just about her and that I didn't give two shits about. I just wanted to see how bad the damage was.

"So, Sophia," Mark began on-screen. "Christian Ryder's manager said something interesting the other day."

"Interesting isn't the word I'd use," Sophia said with an utterly unimpressed look on her face. This was already going well.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Then what word would you use?"

"Bogus." At least she didn't say bullshit. "Frank Renaldo has the tendency to stretch the truth at times."

She phrased it nicer than I thought she would, to be honest. It still wasn't the best situation for either of us to be in, but it was better than I'd expected.

"So it's not true?" Mark asked. "You're not dating Christian?"

"I'm not dating Christian."

"Are you involved with him then? Not official, but still involved?"

"How could I be involved with him?" Sophia asked, feigning an innocent demeanor. There wasn't an innocent bone in her body. "He has a girlfriend."

I immediately fumbled for the remote to hit pause and process what I'd just heard. "What the fuck?" 

I must have been a little too loud because Bubba barked at me and jumped off the couch.

"Sorry, buddy, but what the fuck is she doing?" I shook my head and pressed play. I didn't have a girlfriend and she knew that.

Damn it. I should've just said it wasn't true from the start.

Mark looked 100% more interested in the interview when Sophia said this. "Oh, really? How do you know?"

"I heard him talking to her on the phone last week," she said, trying to hide a smug smile. She didn't do a good enough job if I caught it.

She must have heard me talking to whipped cream girl. Fuck. She had to have known that girl wasn't my girlfriend.

"I don't take you for a home-wrecker then," Mark said.

"No, I'm not interested in taken guys."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. See, the thing was, whipped cream girl wasn't the only girl I'd talked to or hung out with recently. There were a few others. Fuck me.

"Do you think if things were different and you were both single, you might be interested?" Mark pried.

"Definitely not." Sophia wrinkled her nose. "He's not my type."

What the hell did she mean I wasn't her type? I was everyone's type!

"Not your type? Are you female?" Mark shook his head. "Sorry to all you Rystings fans out there, but it's not looking good. I think Christian Ryder may have met his match. On that note, how about we go to commercial? The Brad Fraiser Band is up next!"

So I did it. I broke my vow of silence to see who the hell Sophia Hastings thought she was meddling into my private life like that and announcing it on live television.

I called her and she actually answered on the first try.

"Sophia Elizabeth Hastings," I said through gritted teeth. The more I thought of the possible repercussions of what she said, the angrier I got.

"You know my full name?" she asked. "That's really creepy."

"Shut up. Don't start. You know why I'm calling."

"Um, no, I don't think I have any clothes you can borrow, Chris. Sorry."

"I'm not in the mood for this," I said. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

"Why, whatever do you mean?"

This whole 'I'm so innocent' act of hers was starting to get old. It was obvious to me – and I was sure everyone else – that it was a bunch of shit. She was the devil personified.

"You know exactly what I mean!"

"Chris. You're kind of overreacting. It's not the end of the world," she said. Of course that was what this was about. That was pretty much what I'd said when this whole thing started.

"I'm not overreacting. You don't even realize. You –"

"Relax. All I said was that you had a girlfriend and that I wasn't her. That's it. Quit having an aneurysm over it."

"When are you going to stop being such a bitch?" I shook my head and hung up on her. For once, I wanted to be the one who got the last word in.

Unfortunately, it was Sophia that got the last laugh. I wasn't overreacting, something she quickly figured out when my private excursions came back to bite me in the ass.  

Namely, my private excursions with a girl named Chloe. I only figured out she was whipped cream girl when I saw a picture of her attached to an article. This nutjob actually went on some gossip show to talk about our "relationship." What relationship? We hadn't talked since I turned down her admittedly tempting offer.

I sat up in bed on Saturday morning to watch the video clip attached to the article Frank had sent me. This wasn't what I wanted to wake up to. Although waking up to a different girl every morning was what got me into this mess in the first place.

"So you are Christian's new mystery girl," the host said. "The girl he was flirting with on the phone with Sophia around."

"Well, I wouldn't say she was around, if you consider the nature of our conversation," Chloe said with a giggle. "If you catch my drift."

At least that part was true. I definitely wouldn't have had a conversation like that around Sophia, and this was exactly why. She couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut.

The host laughed as if she'd just said the most scandalous thing. "Oh, I think we get what you mean."

"I'm just so glad it's not a secret anymore," Chloe said with another giggle. Why did these girls giggle so much? Jesus Christ. "It's such a relief! Now the entire world knows that Christian and I are in love. Now we can be together without any obstacles."

Yeah, it was official. This girl was insane. I didn't even have sex with her. She was just irrationally attached to me. This shit usually came after the first time I had sex with a girl, not before. We'd flirted at the bar, she'd given me her number, and then we'd flirted some more over text. That was it.

This was why I was single. Girls were nuts.

"He hasn't mentioned a girlfriend since breaking up with Cassie Lovett," the host said to Chloe. "Why the sudden openness?"

"It was a secret," Chloe said. "But now it's not, so why not let everyone know? I want everyone to know. I want every girl out there to know he's mine, and only mine."

I started using my fingers to try to count the number of girls I'd slept with recently enough to think I was a dick for this. I didn't run out of fingers, but my prospects didn't look good. They didn't look good at all.