Thirdly （and most importantly） he antagonizes my girlfriend.
Yesterday he tried to corner Lily to ask her questions about her old hookups. We’re not even a month in with the cameras. That’s not fucking okay. I’m trying to stay positive, but shit like this is why I opt for a quiet bar and a bottle of Macallan.
“Then tell your girlfriend to speak up,” Scott replies smoothly, not even breaking a sweat. “She’s so quiet that she literally disappears in the background. We’re making a show around a sex addict, not a wallflower.”
“I’m standing right here,” Lily says before I can chew him out. “You can talk to me.”
His eyes never waver from mine. I could seriously deck him in the face, but I rarely fight with my fists.
“While the cameras are rolling, you both need to stop acting like I’m the producer of the show,” he says, completely ignoring the issue.
“Right,” I say. “You’re Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” It’s nothing but a lie. Just scripted drama. Scott’s creating a fake love triangle between himself, Connor and Rose. His motives are all over the place.
“Exactly,” he says, unbuttoning one button on his white shirt. So what—viewers can see his muscles? This guy—
“Do you think Rose and Connor will make it today?” Scott smiles, like we’re friends. Lily instinctively checks the camera. The red light is on.
Scott already knows the answer to his question. GBA, the network airing Princesses of Philly, wanted more scenes with Lily and me, alone, so they planned a trip to the museum with just us. And apparently Scott. I have a strong suspicion he’s just tagging along to piss us off.
My eyes narrow in contempt, and Lily squeezes my hand to help calm me.
Scott grins wider. “How’s sobriety, Loren? Are you doing okay?”
My blood boils, my glare intensifying. “No, I’m not doing great. I just feel sorry for you, man. For six months, you’re going to watch us drive our expensive cars, attend our exclusive parties, and fly our private jets. And when it’s all over, you’ll go home to your one-bedroom apartment in LA and realize that you’ll never have our lifestyle. You’ll never amount to anything other than a second-rate producer of a garbage reality show.” I touch my chest. “That just makes me feel so fucking sad for you.”
Scott’s smile and pretenses vanish in an instant. “You’re a dick.”
“You’re a slimy prick,” I refute. “Don’t ever ask me about my sobriety again.”
Lily follows me as I storm off towards one of the exhibits in the back, as far away from Scott as I can get.
“He’s trying to provoke us,” she reminds me.
A pressure weighs on my chest. My left hand shakes. “Well it’s working,” I say under my breath. This rabid hate simmers underneath my skin. I just want a sip of alcohol. Anything. God, drinking is so much better than dealing with this bullshit.
“I love you,” she says, her eyes tracing my features quickly.
I take a deep breath. I love you too. The words stick to my throat. Instead of speaking, I rest an arm along her back and hug her to my side.
She brings her hand up to her mouth, about to bite her fingernails. But she drops it before she gets that far.
“I can’t stand here, Lil, and not fight back. He’s making you nervous and he’s pissing me off. I can’t take that crap, not from anybody.”
A sliver of silence stretches where my lie resides. I take shit from my dad all the time, but Lily chooses not to announce this fact. Thankfully.
“I just don’t want you to come off as a villain when the show starts airing in February,” she explains, “because you’re not.”
I’ve tried so hard not to be that guy—the one that terrorizes other people. The one that no one else but Lily can possibly understand. It’s hard to walk away from this instinct. It’s self-preservation. If I don’t attack first, I’m going to be slaughtered by gut-wrenching pain.
I’m saving myself.
“Lo?” Lily says, her voice pitching in worry.
I turn to Lily and hold her delicate face between my hands. I notice Brett filming us from a distance. “We’re going to be ourselves for this show,” I say. “Fuck anyone who doesn’t like us. It doesn’t matter.”
She nods confidently and gives me an encouraging smile. I drop my hands. Her eyes flit around the museum. “Out of all the places production could pick, they chose something more up Rose’s alley.”