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)
Fuck, I liked this far too much.
Correction—I liked him far too much.
Janet leaned on the trailer wall, tapping her iPad as she went over my recently updated schedule and things she thought I needed to know. I hummed and grunted on cue as I flipped through the fight scene on the new Baxter script.
Damn, this one seemed intense. A cliffside jump and a roll down the mountainside, followed by a knife scene. Gory. I was going to have to brush up on my karate and—
“…your brother wants his email address. Obviously, I have no intention of—”
“Whoa. What?” I glanced up and furrowed my brow. “My brother?”
“Phil Allen from Bexley, Ohio, age forty. He’s a computer programmer, married, no children. Date of birth—”
“I know who he is,” I intercepted. “He contacted you?”
“Yes, he left a message. Indicating that he’s interested in meeting his cousin too.”
That fucker. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I was told not to engage.”
“Good.”
“Okay. Look, I hate to prod on personal matters, but you know Seb is going to want to make sure your brother isn’t an issue, so if there’s anything I should know or—”
“Other than he’s a leech and a user? Nope, I don’t think so.”
“All right.” She hesitated, inclining her head. “Next topic. Reminder, you’re a presenter at the Academy Awards.”
I sank into the sofa cushion and sighed. “When is that?”
“Mid-March. They have you doing Best Screenplay.”
“Really? That’s a big award.”
“You’re a big star,” she countered matter-of-factly. “And don’t forget the SAG Awards. The plan is for Daphne to meet you at the studio for photos. And before you ask, she’s the blond from the Golden Globes. Seb said—”
I held up my hand like a white flag. “Got it. I remember. Is that everything?”
“One more thing. The charity and philanthropy promo has been going great. I think we’ve managed the timing well, but if it’s too much, we can pull back.”
“No, I like it. It’s been good for me.”
She pushed a pencil behind her ear and smiled. “Awesome, I’m glad. You seem happy.”
“I am. Anything else?”
“Yeah, don’t get mad, but it’s my job to ask if you and Lorenzo are…serious, and if so, is this going to affect the promo we have in place?”
There was no point in asking how she knew. It was pointless hiding a faux assistant from your real assistant. I hadn’t hidden his presence from Raul or my housekeepers or my security detail, and Janet was paid a small fortune to keep tabs on me and preemptively stay on top of the rumor mill regarding my personal affairs.
Funny enough, this was the first time it felt like an invasion of my privacy.
I liked to think I was a good actor. Fuck knew, I’d had a lot of practice perfecting a badass poker face on-screen. But maybe I was fooling myself, ’cause my cool evaporated like ice on a hot summer afternoon.
“Lorenzo isn’t anyone’s business.”
“Your fans won’t see it that way,” she said gently. “They’ll wonder if something is wrong with you and Daphne. Hey, I know it’s all for show, but we look like idiots if we change the story too often.”
“My personal life is personal, Janet. I agreed to go to the award ceremonies with Daphne, and that’s business.” I held my hands apart and flipped my palms open. “Two separate things.”
“Got it.”
I adjusted my ball cap as I stood and moved to the trailer door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, some wise-ass signed me up for a beach cleanup.”
“That would be me.”
“I know. Are you coming too?”
She grinned. “Yep. Let’s go get ’em, Baxter.”
We rolled up to the Santa Monica pier twenty minutes later and were instantly bombarded by photographers, reporters, and hundreds of fans who’d come to see me pick up trash at the beach. Seriously.
I signed T-shirts and body parts, posed for dozens of selfies, and shook hands till it felt like my wrist was about to fall off. Then I gave a small speech about the importance of taking care of the planet, using a few of Lo’s notes before declaring it was time to clean up.
The crowd roared as I led the way to the sand with a biodegradable trash bag, security team in tow. I mean, c’mon…the whole shebang was so Hollywood it wasn’t even funny. Choose one of the most popular beaches, show up with bodyguards, and rev up the masses like a fucking rock god while oh, so subtly reminding them I was a notch above that. I was fucking Pierce Allen, I was Baxter, and I was about to film a new movie.
Totally obnoxious, right? I did my best to downplay the cheesy aspect and concentrate on the people who’d taken the day off to see me, and in a couple of cases, who’d flown from across the country. This was my job, but it meant something more to my fans. It felt so one-sided sometimes, though. There were so many of them and only one of me, I mused, wishing Lo was here and not—