Page 35 of Shapes of Love
CHAPTER 9
Asher’s profile picture (@asherandmuse) is a picture of his cat, Muse, an orange tabby. Most of his videos are of himself posing with awards, at red carpets and events. It’s so bland that I’m confident his socials are run by a team. He’s got a few on-set photo dumps; landscapes he finds beautiful, mostly sunsets; and Muse, who apparently likes to be taken out on walks.
After a quick search, I discover he’s much richer than I thought. His mom, Nadia, is a famous actress/director/producer with two Oscars under her belt. His dad comes from a humble background, but he invented a processing unit that reduced the environmental impact of most tech, so his fortune is estimated to be in the hundreds of millions, if not more. He and Nadia have started a foundation and pledged their entire fortune to social, health, and ecological causes, so apparently Asher won’t receive an inheritance. According to interviews, he seems okay with it.
Frustration rolls through me. It looks like he already haseverything he wants, so why the hell did he ask me to PR date him with all the nonchalance in the world yesterday?
“Vô, estamos bem. Te mandei algumas fotos de Londres no Whatsapp.” Kai’s voice echoes from his room while he talks to his grandpa.
“Tell him I say hi,” I call. “I’ll send you more pictures you can send him.”
“Did you find anything?” he asks me after he hangs up, his voice echoing through the door. “About Asher.”
“Nothing. Not a single comment out of line.” I sigh. “Asher’s good at keeping his social media presence palatable.”
Who are you, Asher Grish?
I feel like I’m staring at his own version of Sassy—a mask he puts on to hide his real self.
I keep scrolling through his socials, waiting while Kai finishes getting ready. We’re about to go on our first outing as acouple. In other words, Marissa and my PR team organized a date for us to be photographed on. We even got a script on how to interact, which is ironic. As a kid, I used to wish I had one before hanging out with my classmates, like a cheat sheet of questions and topics to talk about. I still do sometimes, but not with Kai. A scripted date seems unnecessary.
“What did you tell Asher when he went all Sherlock on you, accusing us of dating for PR?” Kai asks.
“Nothing. They called us to the set right after. I avoided him like the plague after we wrapped and went straight home.”
My skin prickles with goose bumps at the memory. Asher’sintense stare, that confident smile, as casual as breathing.I can spot a PR setup from a mile away.
I rub my hands against the fabric of my leggings. Are we that obvious? Am I that obvious? No matter how hard I try, I don’t know how to pretend to be head over heels for my alleged boyfriend. Maybe I do need a script to pull this off.
“Do you think he wants to blackmail you?” There’s a cautious edge to Kai’s voice.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He could have exposed us if he wanted to.”
“Then what’s his angle?” Kai asks.
“He said he wants to date me. After you and I break up.”I’ll make it worth your time.“Maybe he wants to make his ex jealous.”
I’ve looked through some articles detailing the timeline of Asher’s confirmed relationships. Kelsey, from sixteen to seventeen, his first love, who he met at boarding school. Cece, a noncelebrity he dated for a few months from seventeen to eighteen. Rosa,Friday’s lead actress and his current relationship until a month ago, who he dated from twenty to twenty-one. Their breakup is fresh, and there are rumors swirling around that she’s seeing someone new. Maybe that’s why he pitched me the idea? Because he’s heartbroken and wants to make his ex jealous?
I could ask Marissa to do some digging, but I don’t want to bring her into this. At least not yet. My label might like the idea of another boyfriend after Kai, and I don’t want to put ideas in their heads.
“So he wants to date you to use you as what, a tool? I’dlike to see him say that to my face.” Kai emerges from his room in a carefully curated sports outfit picked out by our PR team—loose sweatpants and a compression shirt that clings to the curve of his waist and the cords of his muscles. His hair is still dripping water as he slicks it back with his fingers, damp wavy strands falling into his eyes, accenting the sharp angles of his face.
He looks impressive, like a sculpture in a museum—there’s just something that draws your gaze to him. He throws on a hoodie and sits on the couch next to me, pulling out his phone and navigating to Asher’s social media. A video of him doing shirtless yoga comes up.
Kai swallows hard, like he’s tasted something bitter.
“Look at him. I’m sure he thinks he can get with anyone because he’s hot and has a pretty face.” He furrows his brow, like he’s trying to convey his disapproval of Asher through the screen. “It’s like he— Shit. I liked the post by mistake.”
Been there, done that.And now I’m in a PR relationship.
“Don’t worry. He probably gets thousands of likes. He won’t see it.”
“Undo. Undo.” Kai tries to remove the like, but his screen is cracked, and he refreshes the page instead. “Ah, shit. Shit. Go back. Nothing there to be liked.”
“Let’s go.” I shake him by the shoulders. “If we don’t leave now, Marissa will kill us. She will literally fly here and kill us.” I offer him a hand to get up. “Ready?”
“Right, let’s date the heck out of each other.” He puts his hand up, and we high-five.
