Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Don’t be an asshole,” I snapped.
“I’m keepin’ it real, Piercy. Just keepin’ it real.” He paused to take a telltale drag of a cigarette or maybe weed before continuing. “What do you know about Jasper Gowan?”
“Nothing. He’s a nice man who—”
“Yeah, whatever. Let me tell you what I know—the old dude is fuckin’ loaded. I did a background check. He’s gay as fuck and has more dough than Pillsbury. And according to that sweet story your people did, we’re the geezer’s only relatives. So if Mom inherited something, it’s ours—and since you don’t need the money, it can be mine. I’ll use it to do some repairs around this joint, fix the roof, repave the driveway…”
I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at the screen for a hot second in disbelief. “Nice fantasy, but you’re not entitled to a stranger’s money.”
“It’s called an inheritance, dufus. Here’s what I need from you…stay close to the guy. Buddy up, then fly me out to meet him, so I can—”
“Good-bye, Phil.”
Fucking dickwad.
I shut my cell off, willing my shoulders to relax. Time to get a new number and let Seb and Janet handle the tricky business of family extortion. Been there, done that. I was used to Phil doing his best to help himself to my bank account. But going after a dying old man’s estate was a new low…even for my asshole brother.
Just when I thought I’d put that lunch-gone-wrong behind me, something or someone reminded me. I went back to watching a James Bond flick I’d been trying to focus on for an hour. Don’t ask me which one—I couldn’t concentrate to save my life. It was like reading the same paragraph over and over ’cause all I could think about lately was…
Ugh. I turned my phone on again, scrolled for the newest number on my contact list and typed,
How is he?
I studied the message for a full minute before pushing Send and stared at the screen for another minute, waiting for a reply. Nothing. I tossed my cell facedown onto the coffee table with a sigh. What the fuck was I doing?
I had to get this guy out of my head.
And no, I wasn’t thinking about Phil…or even Jasper Gowan. I knew the old man was stable. Janet told me he’d been admitted and was in the process of undergoing a battery of tests for his lungs. She’d heard about his trip to the hospital from Raul, who was better at his job than I was at mine. As for how she got someone from the hospital to give private info—I didn’t ask. The studio had connections.
To be honest, I was a little irked by Janet’s interference. This was mine. It wasn’t high on my list of priorities to keep my team informed about Jasper…or Lorenzo, ’cause I wanted them for myself.
Buzz. Wrong answer.
I wanted Lorenzo, and this wasn’t just sexual attraction. He was definitely hot, but he fascinated me too.
Lorenzo was loyal, protective, and kind of fierce for a little guy. Like a chihuahua. I snorted at the comparison and wondered what he’d have to say about that. No doubt he’d get all up in my business and rip me a new one.
Plenty of people thought I was an asshole. Hey, I didn’t take it personally. I was in a rarified position where millions judged me based on meticulously and professionally orchestrated sound bites.
We’re not talking Internet-sensation stuff here. This was next level. I had almost nothing to do with the actual selling of my image. My job was to be the image: the adventure-seeking badass dude who upheld justice like a superhero, battled evil with ice in his veins, then wooed romantic conquests wearing a cocky grin and a perfectly fitted designer suit.
It was fun to play someone who always had his shit together, always knew what he wanted, and didn’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of justice.
Reality check—I was not that guy.
Look at me, for fuck’s sake—sitting in my man cave, wearing boxer briefs and an ancient concert tee, watching a movie I’d seen a hundred times in between reading the new script and admonishing myself for not being in my gym. I could have gone to the studio, but…meh. They didn’t need me there. I could have called a friend to hang out, but that felt like work. And the sad truth was…I didn’t know how many of my “good” friends really gave a shit about me.
Lorenzo and I weren’t friends, but at least I knew he was real. I saw him in action, caring for an old man he wasn’t related to, who hadn’t offered him anything other than dozens of stories about people he didn’t know.
I liked being in their company. It reminded me of being invited to a friend’s house for dinner as a kid and getting a peek at how they lived and interacted with each other. It was always different from my house, where my dad was usually drunk and slurring every other word in his lounge chair in front of the television while my mom spoke above the canned laughter…asking about my day at school.