Married To An Anti-Fan

Chapter 2

JUNIPER'S POV

I wasn’t going to cry over a lawsuit. I was going to storm the gates of hell—or worse, a Beverly Hills PR firm—and tell Lance Sterling exactly where he could shove his cease-and-desist.

“Are you sure about this?” Haley who was now at my apartment asked as I shoved my knockoff tote bag onto my shoulder.. “You know they probably have security dogs. Or lasers. Or worse,guns’

“They won't kill me Haley,trust me it won't be any good to them either” I reassured Haley.

“I know, I'm just worried about you”

“I'm going to be just fine. I just need to sort it out with America's golden boy” I said, making Haley laugh before heading out of the apartment.

Sterling Media Tower was everything I hated: sleek, smug, and silver. The kind of place where your shoes echo dramatically and everyone speaks in acronyms. I walked into the marble lobby like a woman with nothing left to lose and a phone full of bookmarked labor rights articles.

At the top floor, I was escorted into a glass conference room so sterile it could double as a Bond villain’s lair. Three people were already waiting: a platinum-blonde woman in Gucci heels who introduced herself as Tatum, a PR shark,a bored-looking man with a man bun and iPad who was introduced as Devon, Lance's manager and—of course—the man himself. Lance Sterling.

He looked like a cologne ad. Glossy brown hair, chiseled jaw, tan like he’d been blessed by Zeus himself. He was slouched in the chair like this was all a minor inconvenience to his otherwise luxurious life. He looked breathtakingly handsome.

He didn’t stand. Just raised a brow and muttered, “So this is Twitter’s reckoning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snapped, plopping into the seat across from him. “Should I curtsy, or do you prefer groveling?”

Tatum cleared her throat with the elegance of a firing squad. “Miss Cole, we’re willing to drop the lawsuit. In exchange, we’d like to propose… a compromise.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Compromise? What kind of compromise? I’m not retracting my tweet. Every word was true.”

Devon scrolled his iPad. “Technically, no. You said he had a ‘negative IQ,’ which—while entertaining—could be construed as malicious slander.”

What the hell was he talking about?

I crossed my arms. “So sue me. Wait, you already tried that.”

Lance smirked. “She’s mouthy.”

“God, I hope that’s not your pickup line,” I muttered. Already getting angry and confused at the same time. What did Tatum mean when she said compromise?

Tatum pressed on. “Here’s our proposal. Public opinion is tanking. We need to soften Lance’s image. Your tweet is the most viral thing he’s been part of in months—and unfortunately, people love you.”

“Love me? You must be kidding, I'm literally getting dragged because of one tweet I made about America’s golden boy. The people that don't like me are more than the ones that do. At least the ones that believed my tweet knows the kind of person he is”

“You brought the hate upon yourself by making that tweet. And what you tweeted is a lie,not everyone has it easy” Lance said.

“Right,like I'm the one with a billionaire as the father” I said, rolling my eyes.

“So…” Tatum said, breaking into our conversation as she smiled in a way that made my skin crawl. “We want to spin this. You two—engaged. Getting married, even. Just until we ride out the wave.”

Silence.

Then laughter. From me. Barking, incredulous laughter. “You want me to fake-engage the human equivalent of a yacht fire?”

“Fake marry, actually,” Devon added, checking his calendar. “We’d time the wedding announcement for, let's say tomorrow”

Lance looked… smugly entertained.

“I think I liked you better when you were threatening to sue me,” I said. “I’m not faking a relationship with someone whose biggest life achievement is abs.”

“You’d be well-compensated,” Tatum said smoothly. “A monthly stipend. Full media control. And exposure, if you want to pivot your career—”

I stood up. “You think I’d sell my name, my voice, my independence just to patch up the image of a guy who’s never worked a day in his life? Absolutely not. I’m not a prop in a PR stunt. I’m a person. A very angry one.”

Lance finally looked up, eyes gleaming. “You’ve got fire, Junebug.”

“Call me that again and I will tweet about your chin filler.”

And with that, I stormed out. No plan. No ride. Just adrenaline and the knowledge that I was now public enemy number one to America’s golden boy and his corporate circus.

Back at the office, things were… weird.

Diana, my boss, usually spoke to me in clipped tones like I was an unpaid intern. Today, she nearly tripped over herself trying to get me coffee.

“Juniper! That was quite a… morning for you. I saw the TMZ photos—Lance Sterling! You didn’t tell me you were… involved.” Diane said after handing me the coffee.

I blinked. “We’re not—”

Then I looked around.

Everyone in the open office had paused to stare. Phones were out. Some people were whispering. Someone had already put a grainy photo of me outside Whitney & Rice on the break room bulletin board under the words “Queen Behavior.”

“Do you think you could get him to meet my daughter, she's a big fan of his” Diane continued.

And just like that, panic gripped me.

If I told them the truth—that I’d stormed in there ready to fight and walked out almost jobless and lawsuit-prone—it would go viral for all the wrong reasons. I’d be a joke. An internet punchline.

So I did what any over-caffeinated, emotionally unstable, cornered woman would do.

I should have said no. I should have walked away. Instead…..

“Actually…” I smiled, channeling all my inner chaos. “We’re engaged.”

Gasps. Diana’s eyes lit up like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. “Engaged?! My God, Juniper—”

“Yep. It’s… recent. Very hush-hush.”

Haley sent me three skull emojis and a text:

WHAT DID YOU DO.

I was already mentally spiraling.

But I smiled wider.

Fake fiancé. Real mess. No way out now.