Stuck With Mr A-Lister

Chapter 9

Leo’s POV

"Your name is everywhere, Leo."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. "Gee, thanks, David. I hadn’t noticed."

David Sinclair—Hollywood’s best fixer and my long-time agent—leaned back in his chair, watching me with that same calculating expression he always had when I screwed up.

"This isn't just some tabloid gossip we can brush off," he continued, scrolling through his phone. "The press is eating it up. Fans are divided. And the studio—" He sighed. "They’re getting nervous."

I dragged a hand through my hair. "Let me guess. They want me to make a statement?"

David gave me a pointed look. "They want you to fix it. This movie is a hundred-million-dollar project, Leo. They can’t afford bad PR right now. Neither can you."

I leaned forward. "So what do you suggest? A scripted apology? A fake romance with some up-and-coming actress?"

He smirked. "Tempting. But no." He tossed his phone onto the table. "We need something real. Something that makes you look less like a reckless playboy and more like… well, someone people can root for again."

I exhaled. "And how exactly do we do that?"

David studied me for a moment. Then his eyes flicked toward the window.

Or more specifically—toward the estate.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. "No."

His smirk widened. "Yes."

"David, no."

"Leo, yes." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Think about it. You’re spending the next year here. Away from Hollywood. No paparazzi. No scandals. Just you, a vineyard, and—" He gestured vaguely. "Domestic bliss."

I groaned. "You want me to turn this into some kind of redemption arc?"

"Exactly." He grinned. "The misunderstood actor, retreating to the countryside, focusing on self-growth. Maybe even rediscovering an old flame."

I glared at him. "Do not start."

"Oh, come on." He laughed. "America loves a good second-chance story. And let’s be honest, you and Sienna? That history? That tension? If you two played your cards right, you could milk this for—"

"David." My voice was sharp. "She hates me."

"Even better." He leaned back, smug as hell. "Nothing sells quite like enemies to lovers."

I ran a hand down my face. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re out of options."

I stayed silent, gripping my coffee mug.

Because the worst part?

He wasn’t wrong.