With the reality check from April to send me on my way, I walked back to the fountain in the center of the square. I needed time to think to myself.

Everything these last few days had been a whirlwind. And yet, I felt closer to Violetta than I had to anyone in a long time. There was something about her that made me want to chase my dreams, made me want to throw caution to the wind.

I checked my phone; Hayden still hadn't called. He hadn't even texted. Yet I knew if he'd seen the news, I would have a thousand messages from him.

Someone at the bonfire had captured that image of us. Someone had brought it to the paparazzi's attention.

And as much as Violetta seemed to mind the attention, she certainly didn't mind making us her lock screen photo.

I leaned back and smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun across my face. It meant she cared more than she said out loud.

Maybe she was just as scared as I was.

My fingers hovered over the app for CelebG, the web platform for all things hot in celebrity gossip. What was the harm in doing a quick peek at how we were faring in the world of the famous?

The page lit up my phone, with our article front and center. At the bottom, dozens of comments came flooding in by the second. Most of them were positive, offering love and support. A handful complained that it was a publicity stunt and totally fake. Others took to a 'ship name' war.

WrentalCar67: totally here for Ravioli! Violetta is my favorite actress

WattDoYouMean: Ravioli?

WrentalCar67: smh Reaviol! Damn autocorrect

SilverMoon_09: omg ravioli lmao

StarLight_StarBright: uh wat i thought it was Veagan??

RoseyPosey127: ew no Veagan is such a cliche. I like @WrentalCar67's suggestion

YesImFrench: why are we talking about food?

I chuckled to myself, scrolling further through the comments. It seemed no matter what, we were going to have a food-inspired ship name.

My email popped up on my phone screen with a new notification from Spencer, my boss. We'd almost made it two whole days without any work correspondence and I had another full day of vacation left.

Still, why not just check in?

I swiped up on the email, reading it to myself.

Blah blah blah vacation, blah blah report, blah...deadline one week from today.

My eyes widened. No, that couldn't be right. Did Spencer really want my article written in a week?

Another ping on my phone, this time an image attachment from Violetta.

Sooo bored ;p she texted, along with a selfie of herself in what appeared to be a makeup chair. Her auburn hair was up in curlers and she wore a long silk robe that barely hid the bit of lace from whatever she wore beneath.

A blush crept to my cheeks. A mere two days ago, seeing Violetta in lingerie didn't really faze me. But now I couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to run my fingers up and down her arms, to tangle our limbs in bed—

I shook my head. Where did that come from?

Standing up from the fountain, I decided to go for a quick jog around the lake. Maybe that would knock me back to my senses. This is what April had meant. This is what she'd seen between us. A spark, something more than friendship.

And I still wouldn't let myself believe it, let alone feel it.

What would happen when we went our separate ways on Monday? It's not like if I wanted something to happen, it could. The press was already after us for the bonfire. I couldn't imagine what would happen if we actually dated.

"Hey!" a voice barked. They stuck their arm out in front of me, eyes narrowed and lips turned into a frown. "You can't just walk into this studio without clearance."

I gulped. Somehow in my debate with myself, I'd ended up at the studio where Violetta was having her photoshoot and not at the lake.

"S-sorry, sir," I squeaked out. "I'm, um, here for—er, here with—Violetta Dawson?" It came out more like a question, and Frowny McFrownyPants just glared at me harder.

"That's what they all say," he muttered under his breath, glaring at his clipboard. "Name!"

"Reagan Porter? I don't know if she had time to put me on the list."

The guard checked his list, making a satisfied hmph when he found my name. "Stage 3. Keep this badge on you at all times." He handed over a lanyard with a plastic 'VISITOR' placard attached.

"Thank you!" I hurried off to find Violetta. It turned out not to be too difficult since all I had to do was follow the blinding flashes of light and blasting music.

And there she was. Front and center, clad in the tiniest of silver fabrics with a feather boa draped strategically across her body. Her hair now fell in bouncy waves, flowing behind her as giant fans whirred behind her. She posed effortlessly. A hand on the hip; a bent knee; a seductive cleavage reveal.

All of it under the mask of a smile that seemed so different to the one in candid photos, until she saw me. Then her eyes lit up.

"Cut!" she called out.

The photographers frowned, looking at each other.

"Cut, dammit!" she tried again.

The flashing ceased, and Violetta ran over to me out of breath.

"Damn, you don't know how good it is to see you," she said. "I know it hasn't been that long, but I'm glad you get to see part of the shoot."

"Me too." I took in her outfit. From up close, I could see that it wasn't silver she was wearing but sequins. "That looks extremely uncomfortable."

She scrunched her nose. "It is. You can't even believe how much anti-itch cream I had to put around my ass just to keep all the photos from looking like I can't stop scratching my butt."

I snorted. "Sequins are the actual worst creation ever made."

"Violetta!" a woman barked to the left of the stage. "Break's over, hun. Wrap up the social visit and get back up here. We need you for the next set of photos. And—Darryl! We need you with the body glaze over here! Violetta's legs need attention!" The woman gave Violetta a once over, frowning at her long slender legs.

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow, they really treat you like a piece of meat."

"I'm used to it." Violetta sighed. "Anyway, if I want to get out of here this century, I'm going to have to go wrap up this shoot. They're making me shoot a 'bedroom' scene with some male model." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh." I nodded, feeling a twang in my heart. Jealousy? Couldn't be. It was for a photoshoot. Just because she was posing in lingerie with a half-naked, six-pack-to-make-Budweiser-jealous Ken doll didn't mean anything. She was a professional.

I stood there watching as the man I assumed to be Darryl sprayed something that looked like the cooking spray I used on my pans at home on Violetta's legs. Sure, they'd be airbrushed now, but wasn't natural better?

"Hey!" the same voice from before barked somewhere behind me, making me jump. "Visiting hours are over. We're on the clock here, and this is a closed set."

"S-sorry," I said, glancing up at Violetta. Her attention was focused on the pose, with her model partner snaking his hands over her exposed skin.

Back to work, I guess.

Back in the hotel room, it was quieter without Violetta. But she had her job to do, and as much as I hated to admit it, I had mine.

I pulled up my email to re-read the message Spencer sent and then dialed the number for the magazine to connect to his direct line.

"Smokey Tribune, this is Hayden. How may I direct your call?" my best friend answered, his voice strained to sound as cheerful as possible.

I blinked, pulling the phone away from my ear briefly to make sure I dialed the right extension.

"Hello?"

"Hayden?" I said at last.

"Reags!" His tone immediately changed. "How's the vacation?"

"First, why are you answering Spencer's phone?" I frowned. What had changed in only 48 hours? "Second, the vacation has been fine. Definitely well needed. But, um, my text?"

"Oh sweetie, I've been meaning to get back to you." He lowered his voice. "Spencer called an emergent staff meeting, sans you of course. He wants to make some changes to the Tribune."

"And that means you're answering phones now?" Sounds like he already went ahead with the plan. "What about your column?"

"I'm still writing it, but I switch off as social secretary now with our other co-workers," he said.

That didn't sound like a good way to run a business. We were a small company; changes like this could put us in the ground.

"Anyway, enough about me. Tell me the juicy deets." I could almost feel his eyes brightening.

"There's not really a lot, but we did sort of sleep...in the same bed last night."

"Scandalous."

I rolled my eyes. "Not really. It's been a bit of a whirlwind today, though. Ever since her publicist found out and then we made pottery, got some lunch, I watched her photoshoot...just an average day."

"What are you going to do about your article?" The question I'd been dreading. Now sitting in the air between us, it tasted like a spoiled mango.

"That's actually why I called to speak with Spencer." I pretzeled my legs on the bed.

"Ah, right. Let me patch you through. We'll talk later, 'kay?"

"Thanks, Hayden."

The phone beeped while the call transferred over, then Spencer picked up. "This is Spencer."

"Spence, it's Reagan," I said.

"Aha! Just the girl I wanted to talk to." A pen tapped against his desk. "Where are we with that article? I know you're on vacation, but as you know a journalist's work is never done."

Yeah, I've heard that one before.

"About that, I'm not sure if I'll be able to write it." I winced, waiting for his reply.

"Reagan, do you know why I hired you?"

I gulped. "My winning personality?"

"Your results." He punctuated the last word. "You are the best 'local celeb columnist' we could ask for."

"But Violetta isn't a local celebrity!" I protested.

Spencer clucked his tongue. "Then you haven't done your research. Violetta Dawson has a rich history that has put her face on the cover of every magazine and gossip journal across the United States. Except ours. Until now, that is. You should have more than enough to work with, now that you've been spotted on multiple occasions with her."

"M-multiple occasions?" I squeaked. Then another thought hit me, one that turned my stomach to mush as I dreaded his answer. "Did you know she was going to be here when I requested vacation time?"

"We'd heard rumors that she would be in the area."

The mush in my stomach spiraled into a cyclone spinning double time. "So it was a set up? Is that why you agreed to let me take this vacation?"

"Nonsense," he replied. "You think too much, Reagan. So, will I see the story on my desk a week from Monday?"

A week from Monday. That meant I had nine days to decide what to do.

"I'll let you know my decision."

"See that you do. This story will make you the next best thing in all things journalism. You won't disappoint me, I'm sure of it." He hung up before I could say another word.