David woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows, the warm California morning painting everything in shades of gold. For the first time in what felt like weeks, his mind felt clear—no fog of anxiety, no weight of indecision crushing his chest.
He'd spent too long second-guessing himself, too long letting other people's opinions dictate his actions. Harvey's words from last night echoed in his head: You are one of the big dogs now, not a poodle. Start acting like it.
It was time to stop apologizing for existing and start taking control.
Beside him, Scarlett stirred, her blonde hair spread across the pillow like spilled honey. She blinked awake slowly, those blue eyes focusing on him with sleepy concern.
"Morning babe," she lightly pecked his lips with a humm, studying his face. "You look... different. Are you feeling better?"
David grinned—not the weak, apologetic smile he'd been wearing lately, but something more confident. "Much better."
Before she could ask what changed, he pulled her closer, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Scarlett made a surprised sound that quickly turned into something else entirely as his hands started mapping the curves of her boobs beneath the sheets.
"David—" she gasped against his lips, but whatever protest she'd been forming died as he rolled her onto her back, settling his weight over her.
"I have a lot of lost time to make up for," he said, voice low and rough. "And we've got at least an hour before you need to leave for set."
Scarlett's laugh turned into a moan as his lips found her neck. "An hour? I have shooting to do today babe. " Then she gasped as his fingers inserted inside of here. "oh god, right there..."
The next hour was a blur of tangled limbs and breathless laughter, the sound of passion filling the room as morning light painted patterns across bare skin. David poured everything into it—all his renewed determination, all his need to ground himself in something real and immediate and utterly his. Scarlett as always eagerly reciprocated, trying to comfort him with her presence and warmth.
By the time they finally collapsed back against the pillows, both sweating and breathless, Scarlett was wearing an expression of dazed satisfaction.
"Okay," she said, her voice hoarse as she curled against his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "You are definitely feeling better. I'm going to have trouble walking on set today." She gasped as she felt his boner rubbing against her. "Down boy! You want me to stay in bed all day? You know I can't say no to you."
David chuckled, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips, his hands still caressing her body possessively. "Worth it?"
"Absolutely." She looked up at him, her smile soft but her eyes serious. "What changed? Last night you were... I don't know, lost somewhere inside your own head. And now you're..."
"Now I'm done letting other people control my life," David said simply. "Harvey gave me a reality check. I've been acting like a victim—apologizing for having money, for being successful, for defending the people I care about. That stops now."
Scarlett's expression shifted into something fierce and proud. "Good. That's the David I fell in love with. The one who doesn't take shit from anyone."
"I promise," David said, meeting her eyes, "I'll make sure everything is alright again. Evelyn, Paris, all of it—I'm going to handle it."
Scarlett hugged him tightly, pressing her face against his chest. "I trust you." She inhaled then sighed. "I wish I could stay like this all day. You have corrupted me."
David grinned. "You were the one who aroused me with your dirty talk, and asking for more."
She blushed then spoke haughtily. "Aren't you my boyfriend? You are supposed to fulfill my requests."
David chuckled and gave her ass a light spank. "Yes ma'am."
They lay like that for a few more minutes before reality intruded in the form of Scarlett's alarm. She groaned, reaching over to silence it.
"Duty calls," she said reluctantly. "Sofia wants to run through my scenes before we start shooting."
"Come on then," David said, sliding out of bed and offering his hand. "Let's get some breakfast in you before you face the cameras."
Downstairs, David made coffee while Scarlett showered and changed. By the time she emerged—dressed in jeans and a simple sweater, her hair still damp—he had toast and eggs waiting at the kitchen counter.
"You cooked?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?"
"Funny," David replied, sliding the plate toward her. "Eat. You'll need your strength after that exercise. We'll continue again tonight."
She bit her lip and gave him a sexy look. "Mhmm, I'll be looking forward to it."
While she ate, he retrieved the folder Harvey had left and pulled out the section specifically prepared for Scarlett—media talking points, strategies for deflecting invasive questions, ways to redirect conversations back to her work.
"Harvey said you need to read this," David explained, setting it beside her plate. "Reporters are going to come at you hard, asking about me, about us, about last night. You need to be prepared."
Scarlett flipped through the pages, her expression growing more serious as she read. "He really thinks it'll get that bad?"
"He knows it will," David said. "But if you stick to the script, you'll be fine. And your new head of security will make sure nobody gets too close."
"My what?"
David smiled. "I'm hiring a security team today. Harvey gave me some names. Full detail, male and female professionals. She and her team will handle your protection whenever you're in public. No more paparazzi ambushes, no more random people getting in your face."
Scarlett looked like she wanted to argue—probably about the expense or the necessity—but then she just nodded. "Okay. If you think it's necessary."
"I do," David said firmly. "After what Paris threatened last night, I'm not taking chances with your safety."
They finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and when it was time to leave, David drove her to the studio lot where they were filming Lost in Translation. The drive took about thirty minutes, winding through Los Angeles traffic while Scarlett continued studying Harvey's materials.
As they pulled up to the security gate, Scarlett leaned over and kissed him—long and deep, pouring everything unsaid into it.
"Be careful today," she whispered against his lips. "Whatever you're planning with Evelyn, don't let her drag you down to her level."
"I won't," David promised. "I'm just going to make sure she understands what happens when you come after my family."
When they reached her studio, there were already many reporters waiting. The camera's flashed nonstop as question's came flying.
"Scarlett, what can you say about the allegations about your boyfriend?"
"Is it true that he is a drug addict?"
"Did he hit his mother really?"
The questions were nonstop and absurd.
Scarlett smiled and in front of them, kissed David deeply, caressing his face. She looked sharp and satisfied, then climbed out of the car. She waved once before disappearing through the studio gates, and David watched until she was out of sight before pulling back onto the road as the reporters rushed at him with questions.
His next stop was a coffee shop in West Hollywood where he'd arranged to meet the band. Tommy, Emily, and Avril were already there when he arrived, occupying a corner booth and looking various degrees of concerned.
Tommy spotted him first and waved. "Yo, boss man! You look way better than I expected after reading the news. You holding up alright?"
David slid into the booth beside Emily, accepting the coffee Avril pushed toward him. "Yeah, well, the news doesn't tell the whole story. I'm better now Tommy."
"They never do," Emily said quietly. Her dark eyes studied him carefully. "You okay? Really?"
"I'm fine," David said, and meant it. "But I need to apologize to all of you. This media shitstorm with my mother, you didn't sign up to deal with my personal drama. I'm sorry you're getting dragged into it."
Avril shook her head immediately. "Don't apologize. We're a band. That means we deal with stuff together, right?"
"She's right," Tommy added, his usual grin softening into something more genuine. "Man, if it weren't for you, I'd still be playing dive bars for drunk college kids. Emily would be doing session work for commercials, and Avril—"
"Would go back to Canada and still be playing in coffee shops in Ontario," Avril finished. "You gave us a chance. You made us successful. Whatever heat you're taking, we've got your back."
Emily nodded. "What do you need from us?"
David felt something loosen in his chest—gratitude mixed with relief. "Just stick to the script Harvey prepared for media questions. Don't engage with reporters beyond what's written. And..." he paused, meeting each of their eyes in turn, "be ready for things to get uglier before they get better. My mother isn't going to stop. Always be alert."
"Bring it on," Tommy said, cracking his knuckles dramatically. "I always wanted to be in a scandal."
"You're an idiot," Emily told him, but she was smiling.
They spent another thirty minutes going over strategy—what to say if approached by reporters, how to handle social situations where people might try to provoke them, the importance of never being caught alone in vulnerable positions.
By the time David left, he felt more grounded. His band had his back. Scarlett had his back. Harvey had his back.
Now it was time to start pushing back.
The security agency was located in a nondescript building in Burbank, the kind of place that specialized in high-profile protection without advertising its services. David had called ahead, and the owner—a former Secret Service agent named Marcus Chen—was waiting in his office.
"Mr. Harper," Marcus said, standing to shake his hand. His grip was firm, professional. "I understand you need comprehensive protection services."
"For myself and my girlfriend," David confirmed. "Starting immediately. I need people who can handle aggressive paparazzi, potential harassment, and..." he paused, thinking about Paris's threat, "possible setup situations designed to manufacture scandals."
Marcus's expression didn't change, but something sharpened in his eyes. "You're worried about being compromised."
"I'm worried about someone trying to make it look like I'm being compromised," David clarified. "I need people who can spot that kind of setup and shut it down before it happens."
"Smart," Marcus said approvingly. He pulled out a folder containing personnel files. "I have ten agents available who meet your requirements. All former military or law enforcement, all experienced in celebrity protection, all cleared for both physical security and counter-surveillance."
He spread out the files. "I'd recommend splitting them into two teams. Team Alpha, led by Jacob Torres—former Marine, six years in close protection. He and his team would handle your detail. Team Beta, led by Riley Morrison—former FBI, specialized in threat assessment. She'd handle your girlfriend's security."
David scanned the files. The credentials were impressive—special forces backgrounds, advanced tactical training, experience protecting everyone from politicians to A-list celebrities.
"What's the cost?" David asked.
Marcus quoted a number that would have made most people's eyes water. David didn't flinch.
"Done. When can they start?"
"Today, if needed." Marcus picked up his phone. "Let me call them in."
After the call, he joked. "You didn't even blink at that number. Usually clients try to haggle a bit."
David shrugged. "I want the best, and for that I will pay the best as well. Now let me see if they are worth it."
Marcus smiled. "They are. And since you are paying premium, you will get premium service. We got reputation to uphold."
Twenty minutes later, David was meeting his new security team. Jacob Torres was exactly what you'd expect from a former Marine—tall, solid, with the kind of watchful awareness that came from combat experience. His team consisted of four other men, all cut from similar cloth.
Riley Morrison was different—shorter, compact, with red hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and green eyes that seemed to catalog everything about David in the first three seconds. She could have been a model if not for her stern expression. Her team of four women had the same predatory alertness.
"Mr. Harper," Jacob said, his voice carrying an edge of command despite being technically in David's employ. "Understood you need immediate deployment."
"Starting now," David confirmed. He gave them a quick rundown of the situation—Evelyn's media campaign, Paris's threats, the overall hostile environment.
Riley took notes on a small tablet. "Your girlfriend—Scarlett Johansson. She's filming at Sony Studios today?"
"Yes. She doesn't know you're coming yet, so make the introduction smooth. She's not used to having security."
"We'll handle it," Riley said confidently. "My team specializes in low-profile protection. She'll barely notice we're there until she needs us."
They spent another hour going over protocols—communication systems, shift schedules, emergency procedures, rules of engagement for different threat levels. By the time they finished, David felt significantly better about both his and Scarlett's safety.
"One more thing," he said as they were wrapping up. "I have a press conference tomorrow. Full media circus. I need both teams on high alert. If someone tries to manufacture an incident, I want it shut down immediately."
"Understood," Jacob said. "We'll coordinate with the venue security and set up proper screening."
David left the agency with Jacob and two other agents following at a discreet distance—close enough to respond to threats, far enough to avoid making him feel like a prisoner. It was strange having shadows, but also oddly reassuring.
Back in his car, David made the next call. His Sony contact, Richard Lane, answered on the second ring.
"David! I was just about to call you. How are you holding up?"
"Better than the media wants to believe," David said. "Listen, Richard, I need to arrange a press conference for tomorrow. Something big enough to get all the major outlets there."
There was a pause. "You sure that's wise? Your lawyer might want you to stay quiet while—"
"Harvey knows," David interrupted. "This is part of the strategy. We're getting ahead of the narrative instead of letting my mother and Paris Hilton control it."
"Alright," Richard said slowly. "What time were you thinking?"
"Morning. Ten AM. Give them enough time to cover it for the evening news cycle."
"I'll set it up. Sony headquarters auditorium?"
"Perfect. And Richard? Make sure security is tight. I don't want any surprises."
After hanging up with Sony, David made one final call.
"Yo, little brother!" Charlie's voice came through loud and slightly slurred—apparently he'd already started drinking despite it being barely noon. "Saw the news this morning. You okay?"
"I'm fine," David said. "But I need to talk to you about something. Can I come by later?"
"Of course, man. I'm making drinks right now. Come whenever. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever the fuck."
"Thanks, Charlie. I'll be there in an hour."
David ended the call and sat back in his seat, his mind already working through the plan. Tomorrow's press conference would be the opening move—controlled, strategic, designed to take back his narrative from Evelyn's poison.
But before that, he needed Charlie's help. His brother had his own complicated relationship with their mother, his own stories of her cruelty and manipulation. If Charlie was willing to speak publicly about it, to corroborate David's version of events...
It would be devastating. Not just for Evelyn's credibility, but for her entire carefully crafted image as the victim in this scenario.
David smiled—cold and calculating—as he started the car.
Harvey was right. He was one of the big dogs now.
And it was time Evelyn Harper learned what happened when you tried to take down someone with actual power.
Time to drag her into the streets if that's what it took.