NUDES: A Hollywood Romance (Exposed Book 1)

Aria sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her father. "Dad, I'm so sorry. I'm...God, I'm horrified at what you must think of me."

  Her father's face scrunched up and he sighed. "Aria, I haven't seen the photos or anything. God knows I wouldn't want to, and I made your mother promise to hide any of that from me."

  "Good!" Aria was relieved to at least know that much.

  "But...knowing they are out there? None of that makes me think any less of you, Aria. There were two people in that room—the blame for what occurred between you two is not yours to carry alone."

  She swallowed, sniffing lightly. "I know, but you should see the things they're saying, Daddy. All of it is...she's a slut, he's a playboy."

  "Fuck that shit." Her dad tossed his arm up in the air with a dramatic flair. "Fuck all of them. Nothing wrong with what you did. Now, what he did? First, taking the photos and then releasing them? Downright criminal, and I hope he rots in prison, because I swear to God if he doesn't I'll kill him my damn self."

  Aria laughed and moved to give her father a hug. "Thank you, Daddy."

  He hugged her back, gently ruffling her hair with his hand. "I love you, baby girl. No matter what. Nothing can ever change that."

  "Aria, you ready?" Steele popped her head into the living room. "Oh, shit. Am I ruining a moment? Go back to your moment."

  Aria and her father both laughed.

  "Go get ready for that audition," he told her. "You're going to kill it."

  "Thanks, Daddy." Aria followed Steele into the dining room which was entirely covered in hair and makeup accessories, along with a rack of clothes against the wall. "Holy crap, Steele."

  "I know. I brought everything. Made Xavier carry it all in here for me, too." She ran her hands across the row of clothes. "He's out getting us all some coffee and donuts."

  "No donuts for me." Aria quickly shook her hands in front of her body, then patted her stomach. "I really should drop a few pounds."

  Steele huffed and took a step back. "Aria, I swear on every tattoo on my goddamn body that if you let those internet troll comments get in your head, I will slap you silly."

  Warmth rushed to Aria’s face as she took a seat at the table facing her friend. "Okay, okay. Maybe half a donut."

  "You're going to eat an entire goddamn donut with extra icing and you're going to fucking like it," Steele threatened, pointing a giant makeup brush at her. "Now, close your eyes because I'm about to prime the fuck out of those glorious cheekbones."

  Aria laughed, already feeling a million times better than she'd felt all day yesterday. Good friends and family...she was beginning to realize that that was all that really mattered in this world.

  Ben. Russell. Every man who'd hurt her. Every woman who’d looked down on her. She didn't need them. She didn't want them, and damn it, she'd be just fine without them.

  At least, that was what she was going to tell herself today.

  Today, she was focusing on the audition, and nothing else. This wouldn't be the moment her career ended. Russell wouldn't be the one who'd take it all from her.

  She'd earned every moment of her career, and if she was going down, she was going down fighting.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "That's unacceptable, Arthur!" Ben paced back and forth in his office early Monday morning, his hands rubbing across the top of his head. "This is on us. It's on me. I have to fix this."

  "Don't you think I know that?" Arthur's gruff English accent was even thicker with the stress they were under. "The liability on the company is astronomical. This could bankrupt us if she sues."

  Ben stopped in his tracks and turned to face his right-hand man. "If she sues us? She should sue us. We deserve it—I deserve it."

  "Damn it, Lawson. Enough with the self-flagellation. I get it. You're the big boss and this is on your shoulders, but for Christ's sake, son. She's just an actress, and they are just some photos. Not that unusual in the grand scheme of things."

  Ben gripped the edge of the desk, trying to calm himself, but his words came out stilted and furious. "She. Is. Not. Just. A. Fucking. Actress!"

  Arthur narrowed his eyes for a moment, then pointed at him. "Oh, bloody hell. So, you weren't just shagging her? You went and caught feelings? We're up to our fuckin' eyeballs in liability right now!"

  Ben didn't reply, sagging into his desk chair instead. He picked a pen up from the desk, tapping it against his knee as he tried to think of a solution.

  They'd managed to recall a lot of the photos yesterday and last night, removing them from the majority of websites and convincing the rest to censor the photos with black bars. It had cost thousands upon thousands of dollars, and every man on deck, but they'd at least managed that much. Today was the start of the week though, and certainly the damage control was just beginning since the originals would always be out there, and God knows how many downloads or screenshots.

  Ben groaned, overwhelmed at the scope of the disaster they were facing. He rubbed his hands over his face for the hundredth time, trying to collect his thoughts.

  Aria hadn’t returned his phone calls since he’d last seen her at Russell’s house yesterday. And now her phone number was disconnected today. Not that he was surprised. The number of calls she’d probably gotten from the press could have made her have to switch numbers.

  Or she'd just blocked him. Either way, he was fucking miserable.

  He'd tried to visit her apartment again, but it was still surrounded by reporters, and her car was nowhere in sight. Ben guessed she was staying with her family, but he didn't know where they lived and strongly doubted showing up on their porch would go over well right now.

  "I think we should push for charges," Ben finally suggested.

  "Against Rains?"

  Ben nodded. "At the very least, he needs to be let go from the project. Publicly."

  Arthur frowned, unconvinced. "Filming is already wrapped. It would be pointless. It's mainly..."

  "Symbolic. Exactly." Ben stood from his desk again, unable to get comfortable. "That's the point. That this behavior isn't tolerated. It's not the type of message that resonates with Scarlet's Letters, and it's not the type of person we want involved with our studio."

  "We'd have to pay him off. He's got us hooked in his contract now that he's delivered his end." Arthur mused, but seemed to be warming to the idea as Ben continued to pace back and forth. "But...it could work."

  "If we have to, we will. Money isn't worth our morals." Ben stopped at his window, staring out onto the lot stretching out below. "But have the lawyers scour his contract anyway. A morality clause. A loophole. Anything. If there's a way out—find it."

  "On it," Arthur said, already pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing as he stood and headed for the office door. "In the meantime, Lawson, keep your 'feelings' for Miss Rose private. I know some people mentioned you in the press, but, so far, it just looks like they are throwing out a large net to see what they'll catch. If you don't give them the bait, they won't find the story."

  Ben nodded, watching Arthur go.

  There wasn't any story left to find anyway. He and Aria were over. She'd made that very clear on the front steps of Russell's home—and he understood.

  If there was ever a way to redeem his actions, he would find it, but so far, he was coming up empty. He couldn't imagine a world in which Aria—or any woman—could what he’d done, or what he’d let happen.

  He wanted to explain, wanted to tell her he hadn't known what he was doing, and that it was a horrible accident. But that really didn't matter. It didn't make anything better. It didn't change what he'd done, and it didn't change the damage he'd caused her. His carelessness had not only been a failing as a studio head, but as the man who promised to protect her.

  The man who loved her.

  As much as he wanted to wish away those feelings now, he couldn't. Every inhale, he missed her. Every exhale, he grieved her. He was walking around his life like a ghost, already gone. He hated every moment of it. br />
  He'd spent thirty years on this planet relatively happy, and generally led a pretty full life. Until he'd met Aria and realized exactly how empty and miserable all of it had been without her. In some ways, he barely knew her, but in others? It felt like half of him had been ripped away and he didn't know how to go on breathing without her.

  Fuck. I sound like such a pussy.

  Ben shook his head, trying to push the misery away. This was not who he was. Ben Lawson was an independent, successful, experienced man who took command over his life, his career, and his relationships. At least, that was who he had been.

  Picking up his phone one more time, he dialed Aria's number.

  Aria glanced down at the screen on her new phone—a necessity after the insane volume of calls she'd received since yesterday. It was five minutes past the time the producer and director had said they'd come get her. The audition had gone really well, and despite all the misery of the last day, a tiny spark of hope was returning to her.

  She had no doubt she could pull off this role. In some ways, she felt born to play it. A strong woman who risks everything for her art and her beliefs. It was everything Aria was raised to be, wanted to be, and strived to be.

  "Miss Rose?" A young woman wearing a headset walked out into the hallway where Aria was sitting on one of the folding chairs that lined the wall. "Come on in."

  "Thank you." Aria rose to her feet, smoothing out her dress and following the young woman as calmly as she could. Her stomach was flip-flopping, and her head was screaming, but she was worked damn hard to make sure none of that showed.

  "Hello again, Miss Rose." The director greeted her from a long desk on one side of the room where several people sat. "We won't keep you long. We just had a few questions."

  She stood in front of them, her hands clasped together. "I'm happy to answer anything."

  The director glanced at the man next to him, the producer, and a nervous energy passed between them that Aria immediately didn't like. "Well, honestly, you did an amazing job at your audition. You’re clearly the best fit for the role we’ve seen so far."

  Relief flooded her body. "Thank you so much."

  "But—" He paused, and waited for the nod from the producer. "We're concerned about the current publicity. It's not the image we want for this movie."

  Aria swallowed hard, but nodded. "I completely understand, sir. It's not the image I want for myself. Those photos...it wasn't with my permission. Police are already looking into it, and the studio I was last with is already removing them from sites. We're working hard to put it behind us as quickly and quietly as possible."

  "Yes, that's a good start." The producer spoke up this time, tapping a pen against the surface of the desk. "But we definitely frown on on-set relationships because of this type of thing. We need a certain class of woman to play this particular role. I'm not entirely sure we're ready to cast you until we see how this plays out.”

  Aria tilted her head to the side. "Excuse me?"

  "Like I said, you're absolutely perfect for the role," the director explained again. "But we're going to need some time to watch what direction this goes. You know how it is with the court of public opinion and all that."

  "Are you...are you telling me I didn't get the part?" Aria tried to control her tone, but anger was starting to swell inside her. "Because of my personal life being exploited and illegally published online? Because being the victim of a complete invasion of privacy and sexual exploitation doesn’t make me ‘classy’ anymore?"

  "No," the producer quickly responded, alarm in his eyes. Probably because what he was saying was downright horrifying. "We're definitely not saying that. We all feel for you, Miss Rose. Truly."

  Aria stood still for a moment and carefully looked around the room of men. They all stared back at her, looking uncomfortable and fidgety. An intern, a producer, a director, and some other administrative staff filled the small space and every single one of them was a man, the majority older than her own father.

  Everyone but the young woman with the headset who’d led her into the room originally.

  Aria’s eyes came to a stop on her, but the woman looked away with just as much discomfort as her male counterparts. Aria wanted her to speak up. Help her. Defend her. We are women, hear us roar. “And you, ma’am? Are you okay with this?”

  The woman swallowed, a lump pushing down her throat as she lifted her chin to stare Aria down. “Well, I’m not really the deciding vote—”

  Aria shook her head, interrupting, “But, as a fellow woman, are you okay with this?”

  A coldness entered the woman’s gaze, and she pushed her shoulders back. The original waver in her voice from moments before gone as she finally spoke her mind. “Well, Miss Rose, this studio does want to portray a certain image for this film, and for this character. I know I would never exchange sex for a promotion.”

  Fury suddenly built inside Aria, rolling waves of rage surging through her body. It was both exhausting and energizing all at once, and suddenly everything became very clear.

  "You know what?” Aria shook her head. “I'm rescinding my interest in this project. Have a good day, folks."

  "Wait!" The director jumped to his feet. "Miss Rose, please. Don't be hasty. You were fantastic! Very talented. Really, you'd be perfect for this part."

  "I know." She stared pointedly back at him. "And for that reason—and that reason alone, —you should have given me the role."

  He didn't have a response for that, and she didn't wait around for him to think of one. Her head held high, Aria walked out of the room with a new sense of confidence she'd never experienced before.

  She deserved better—from this industry, from the press, from her fellow women, from it all. And she was going to fucking take it for herself. No more soft and sweet Aria Rose.

  It was time to find her thorns.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "Thanks for coming by." Ben closed his front door behind the last visitor at the open house.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Lawson." The realtor he'd hired was piling her brochures together and putting them in her bag. "It's a great house—amazing location—but the architecture is...unique and the price point is high. It's just going to take some time."

  "I understand. Thank you for all the work you're doing," Ben replied, showing her out. The open house had been busy, but ultimately, no one had been interested enough to even take a brochure, let alone fill out an application.

  Ben walked across the cold marble foyer and headed for his office. The sooner he could be out of this house, the better. It didn't fit who he was. It never had. When he'd been married to Marion, they were a power couple—at least, that's what she always liked to call them—and this house had fit that image they’d created for themselves. It was in every way…powerful.

  Ben had liked that picture once upon a time, but now he realized that's all he’d liked. None of it had been real. He’d been living a lie. Finding himself, finding the truth…it had all started when he’d decided to take the first step and divorce Marion. The job at Shepherd Films had been the next step toward finding who he wanted to be.

  But Aria? She'd been an unexpected step, and, yet, she was the person who'd taught him the most. She was soft and nurturing, but she could command a room, not only with her talent, but with who she was. There was a selflessness to her and a kindness about her that he admired, and he could see so many others did as well.

  She may not want anything to do with him anymore, but he wanted everything to do with her. He wanted to take everything she'd taught him, everything she'd inspired in him, and reflect that in his life going forward. He was already scouting new homes on the ocean—warmth and light being his top two requirements.

  Grief squeezed his heart as he sat down at his desk. He'd never known it was possible to miss someone as much as he missed her.

  He logged onto his computer and pulled up his email. Opening his draft folder, he pulled up the same email he'd been working on for week
s. The one he desperately wanted to send her, but just...couldn't.

  She didn't want to hear from him. He wanted to respect that, but...damn it, it felt wrong. What they'd had, what they'd felt, or at least, what he'd felt...how could she just walk away from that?

  How could she not be missing him as badly as he was missing her?

  Clicking away from the email, he saved it back to his drafts. She needed more time, and he needed...he just needed her. That just wasn't an option right now.

  Switching over to his inbox, Ben noticed that Arthur had sent him a website link. He clicked on it and Aria's picture appeared on the screen.

  Dear Hollywood, Do Better. Our Daughters Are Watching.

  Boys will be boys, they said, and then they turned to me and called me a slut for the exact same thing. They critiqued every part of my body, broke me down piece by piece like cattle at an auction. The graphic comments from men, the disparaging remarks from women. No one had a kind word. No one had empathy. I read every comment, ingested that hate, and let it poison me. I let it make me question who I was, and who my mother and father had raised me to be.

  Until I didn't.

  Until I looked in the mirror and realized that the actions of one man changed nothing. What he did, how the press ran with it, how the public reacted…it hurt. It hurts so much, but it changed nothing.

  I know who I am. I love who I am.

  That's the lesson we should be teaching the next generation of women. That's the moral we could tell at the end of this story—rather than slut shaming, body shaming, or any other type of shame. Hollywood could use movies and films to lift women up, to empower an entire gender, and foster sisterhood and empathy for one another. They could lift the spirits of everyone who was ever told they're held to a different standard than their counterparts because of the body parts they were born with.

  Judge me for my spirit. Judge me for my attitude. Judge me for my talent on the silver screen, but don't judge me for being a victim. I'm not, and you won't make me.