Archive of Our Own

Tom Ryder's whole life was destroyed.

Before the trial, he was doing better than ever. Sure, he was being trialed for murder and a long list of crimes he couldn't even begin to count, but plenty of people were still defending him. Innocent until proven guilty, and all that. His fans didn't want to believe he was capable of hurting anyone. But, you know, if someone is gonna be an asshole and try to make Tom look bad, he's gonna swing. It's not his fault he's just so insanely strong and good at fighting. Besides, stunt-men were supposed to be good at dodging. That was like, their whole thing. Really, it hadn't been Tom's fault at all.

Also, he'd been #1 on trending for weeks. That only ever happened when he came out with a new movie. What was there to be upset about? He had a lawyer, a really good one, and he also had money. A lot of it. Besides, he'd gotten arrested plenty of times: driving under the influence, drug possession, unlawful gambling, and that one count of indecent exposure. He'd never had to serve any time for those, so surely it'd be the same this time around. 

But it wasn't the same. And on top of prison being the worst place he'd ever stayed, he'd lost all the brand deals and partnerships he'd ever had, so by the time he'd finally been released on good behaviour (read: lots and lots of money), his career had been completely destroyed.

Nobody wanted to hire him. Not even that shitty pizza chain that only had four stores left in the country. Tom was a failure. 

So maybe he didn't have his connections anymore. So maybe Gail was locked up in some cell she didn't have the money to get out of, and all his more underground people didn't want to be associated with someone in such a public scandal in case they got pulled under the next time something happened. It didn't matter. He was still Tom fucking Ryder, and he wasn't going to let himself disappear into obscurity so quickly.

Finding a new team was surprisingly easy. The entertainment industry was full of people desperate for any opportunity to get with the in-crowd, even if it meant doing something unethical. That's how he'd ended up there, anyhow. Even if his agency had dropped him, there was still people willing to work for Tom Ryder. Such as Eliza Benidy, his new PR manager, a woman only a few years older than him with a bleached buzzcut and a glare that could kill. She might not be the most experienced person in the world, but, well, she was eager. And hiring cost practically nothing.

“You can get back into the industry,” she said, leaning back in her armchair in her tiny office, “We just have to spin this the right way. It’d be a lot easier if you hadn’t admitted to attempting and committing murder, but—”

“For the last time, I didn’t know I was wearing a microphone!”

“They didn’t count the confession anyway, so legally speaking its water under the bridge,” Eliza continues smoothly, not bothering to pause at his interruption, “the public, however, is far less forgiving. You need to do a full rebrand.” 

“I’m not doing any more of those weird romance films,” he swears, shaking his head intensely, “I don’t care if they perform well, Tom Ryder is an action star. I’m not doing any movies with less than two explosions. That's my brand at risk right there.”

“Well,” she presses her lips into a thin line, “I wasn’t exactly thinking of a film. I doubt we’d be able to get you casted for much right now, anyway. I was thinking about your personal life.”

Ah. Tom grins, leaning across the desk between them, “Well, if you want to go on a date, you can just say so. I’m flattered, really. I suppose even prison can't run the charm out of a man like me, huh?”

Her face remains unimpressed, “You’re not my type, Ryder.”

And— rude. Because Tom Ryder was everybody's type. There’s a reason he’d won sexiest man of the year twice. There was a reason that once upon a time his face was plastered across every goddamn billboard in New York City. There was a reason he had brand deals with practically every underwear and swimsuit brand out there. He went to inform her as such, but he didn’t have time to interject, because she was already blazing past. 

“The ‘playboy’ persona isn’t going to cut it anymore. You need to seem different. Honest. Changed. A healthy, stable relationship, with a healthy, stable woman.”

He huffs out a laugh, crossing his arms across his chest, “Hate to tell you, but those aren’t the kind of women I go for.” 

If anything, she manages to look even more unimpressed. That was actually impressive. “It doesn’t have to be real. We can hire someone, for all I care.”

Was it too late to fire her? His last PR manager had never tried to talk back to him like this. Granted, he'd never actually spoken to the man— that had been Gail's job. She just told him the key details, like 'stop flirting with the interviewers' and 'take down that video of you smoking a joint at a party'. Boring stuff. Tom shakes his head, focusing back in on Eliza.

“And what if I don’t like the person we hire?” he counters, arching a brow. 

She mirrors the expression.

“You’re an actor, right?” she says, “So act.”