Chapter 5: The Queen of Realness

He probably hated my guts, so working together would be a mess.

Denise warned me not to clash with him. I promised, but knew it was a long shot.

Sure enough, trouble started on day one.

After photos and signing the big board, I was holding a glass of champagne, working the room, when Blake came over.

He leaned in, sneering. Here we go.

“You, as the lead in ‘Radiance’? How many times did you sleep your way in?”

I didn’t want to answer, but then his hand crept to my waist.

I smacked it away in disgust. Not today, Blake.

He yelped, glaring:

“Still pretending? With your reputation, you’ll be begging me in bed soon, then we’ll see…”

I’d had enough.

So I slapped him.

“You’re like a dog chasing its tail—pathetic and going nowhere.”

Blake clutched his face, stunned.

He stopped whispering and yelled: “Are you nuts?!”

Cameras swung our way.

Ethan, who’d been talking to Martin, looked over, put down his glass, and hurried over.

“What happened?”

Blake, holding his cheek, complained: “This psycho just hit me!”

I rolled my eyes, not bothering to argue.

Ethan frowned at him, voice low: "Reese isn’t crazy. She wouldn’t hit you for no reason."

Blake was floored. He stammered:

“Everyone knows about her attitude…”

Ethan was clearly pissed.

“I know her better than anyone—she’s always had class. You, though, that’s up for debate.”

The producer strolled over.

Blake latched on to him:

“Mr. Carter, you’re always fair. You’ll…”

I snorted:

“Old lady with a lollipop—just licking, never biting.”

Blake looked like he’d faint from rage.

The producer rolled his eyes, played peacemaker, and sent us to different tables.

“Stay put, people—it’s a celebration, not a brawl.”

Of course, my outburst was online in minutes.

Everyone trashed me for being rude.

Some vowed never to buy a ticket if I was the star.

I hid in a corner with some cake, wondering why the video only showed my slap.

With all those cameras, why wasn’t Blake’s groping caught? Figures.

Just then, my phone buzzed—a text from Ethan, with a video attached.

It showed Blake’s wandering hand in HD. Clear as day, no denying it.

I glanced at Ethan, who was still typing on his phone.

“Do what you want with it.”

I paused, then replied, “Thanks.”

I’d never tried to defend myself before. Not really.

But now, working with a director I respected, I had to clear my name.

Besides, Ethan handed me the proof.

After the ceremony, I posted the video with the caption: “There’s always a reason.”

The post exploded.

Twitter lost its mind.

“OMG, Blake is gross? I used to think he was hot—my eyes!”

“How filthy is his mouth? Reese didn’t even cuss him out—her patience is unreal.”

“This guy is disgusting, brain in the gutter.”

“Reese, you said what I wanted to say, did what I wanted to do!”

...

Soon, every entertainment blog started exposing Blake’s scandals.

Juggling three actresses, cozying up to male directors, sleeping with his top fan—the works.

Once again, fans were shocked.

“Now I get why Reese called him a bullfrog playing prince—ugly but cocky. Gross.”

“Look at Reese’s post—everything has a reason. She must’ve known, that’s why she dragged him!”

“If that’s the case, maybe everyone she’s dragged before…”