Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“And if they go overtime like they’ve been doing every single day?”
“I have Netflix. I’m all set. And hey, starving me will help me lose weight faster.”
“Healthy,” I say. “Real healthy. Staying in your room sounds ridiculously boring. Not to mention, that’s only the film crew who will be here for that long. The contestants are staying the whole time. Am I going to have to feed them? Water them? How often do they need to be walked?”
Mason laughs. “It’s fine. I’m assuming they have NDAs in place for the show.”
“Yeah, they went through that with them all on the first day. Anything that’s not caught on film is strictly confidential.”
Mason smiles at me. “I can handle a few hours in my room per day. I don’t care if the contestants see me. Well, I do, but I’m assuming they’re too green to be an industry vulture yet.”
“Green might mean they won’t know how to shut their mouths.”
Mason purses his lips. “We’ll work something out. If they’re here a day and they freak out or whatever, I’ll go to a hotel. And if the film crew do happen to spot me, I won’t sign a release, so they legally won’t be able to show any footage they take of me.”
“If … if you’re sure?”
“Definitely.”
My heart returns to a normal rate, and I can breathe again.
Mason’s not leaving.
Chapter Ten
Mason
The first day of having the film crews at Denver’s does go overtime like he thought it would, but it’s okay because I’ve spent the whole time thinking I’ve made a mistake. I should’ve gone to a hotel after all. I realized I’m going to have to go into that house. Which has people in it. People. My peopling skills are a little rusty. Not only that, I have to trust them not to tell anyone where I am.
It’s probably why I spend the afternoon in the bathroom, trying to look as presentable as possible. The beard is still there—it hides my double chin—but it’s trimmed now and looks a lot less like a bird’s nest.
My hair is the next thing to go. I find clippers in the bathroom cabinet, so I shave the sides of my head and use scissors to trim the hair on top so it’s still long but not ponytail long. I have no idea if it’s even or not, but I use product I find to spike it up. It doesn’t look half-bad if I do say so myself. I’m more “Hey, isn’t that guy Mason Nash?” and less “Hey, who’s the Sasquatch who kinda looks like Mason?”
I’m starving by the time the film crew has gone for the day. They were here extra early, turning two of Denver’s guest bedrooms into shared rooms for the contestants with separate beds. Three guys and two girls are who he has left. Denver’s been texting me throughout the day to keep me updated and offered numerous times for me to make my escape.
I should’ve taken it, because as he texts me that pizza is in the main house and he’s going to tell the contestants I’m here, dread fills my stomach.
My time hiding away in Montana might have given me stage fright. Or maybe it’s my lack of confidence in who I’ve become.
I don’t mind the way I look, and I was happy at home tending to my trees and not having to worry about much, but Mom was right. I do miss performing. I do miss LA. And the current me is not what is expected of an ex-A-lister.
I was burned when I walked away from this life, so coming back to it, I’m still heartbroken, yet there’s that little part of me that craves approval. It’s fucking twisted, and maybe I should see a therapist about it.
I suck in my nerves and try to swallow them as I make my way across the lawn and up the back steps onto the balcony.
Denver’s voice stops me just short of the door. “So, I have a little secret to share with you guys, and it’s really important when I say you can’t tell anyone. No producers, no friends, nothing.”
“Is this where you induct us into Scientology or something?” one of the guys asks. Smartass.
Denver laughs. “Uh, no. I have a friend staying with me at the moment. Someone who’s trying to stay out of the spotlight for a while.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Can I trust you all to keep his location to yourselves?”
There’s a feminine squee and a couple of half-hearted promises.
“Need us to pinky swear?” a girl asks.
“Nah, this type of thing needs a blood oath,” the same smartass voice from before says.
“Your word will be fine. As long as I can trust you won’t break it.” Denver’s using his professional voice. The charming, nice, and manufactured one.
He was given the nice-guy role. The naïve persona. Probably because he was the youngest of us. In reality, he drinks like a fish and swears like a sailor.