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)
Their smiles are back, and Denver’s is too.
Later, after I clear all the plates away and put them in the sink, Denver sidles up to me. “Admit it. You miss it.”
I do, but I gave my everything to this industry and walked away heartbroken and lonely. I can’t do that again.
Denver’s breath on my neck makes me hyperaware of how close he is, and I realize we haven’t even touched since I’ve been back.
No playful shoves, no bro-hugs, nothing. I’m sure I’ve brushed against him at some point—when I’m covering him with a blanket maybe—but I can’t be certain.
I miss Denver’s hugs. We were affectionate once upon a time, but he’s been purposefully holding back. I don’t want our issues to come between what we used to have.
I turn to him and grip his shoulder. Warmth fills my gut, and the feeling of coming home tries to consume me. It makes me want to pull him to me, crush his body against mine, but I refrain because we aren’t there yet.
“Tell anyone I miss it, and I’ll kill you.” I say this as serious as I can, but when Denver’s eyes widen, I have to laugh. I nudge him out of my way. “You’re too easy, Denny.”
He watches me walk away like some pod person has taken over my body.
There are a lot of things I miss about Hollywood, but the thing I probably miss the most is my old self. Not my appearance, but the old me. The guy who thought he could conquer the world and saw pessimism as a useless and unproductive emotion.
I want to find that guy again.
Chapter Eleven
Denver
I’ve been consciously trying not to touch Mason because while we’re on the right path, we’re still nowhere near where we were. But last night there was a spark. Just a simple moment where he squeezed my shoulder, made a joke, and then walked away.
It’s good, but … while Mason’s trying to get our friendship back to normal, my heart’s running about ten paces ahead. It’s bypassing friendship and shooting right for cartoon love heart eyes.
Hell. No.
Make it stop. Please make it stop.
Today, I have private one-on-one time with each of my contestants, and when they’re not with me, they’re hanging out by the pool. Declan asks me if any celebrities are going to drop by, to which I reply by pointing at the guesthouse and saying, “I’ve already brought you a celebrity.”
I’ve spotted Mason out there with them a couple of times, but he hasn’t gone in the pool.
The show has given me an entire day to prepare a song for each of the contestants which they’ll perform for the cameras over the next two days.
I’m pretty sure the people of The X Factor never had to put up with this stuff. I’m sure all those “judges’ houses” visits were not a twenty-four-hour thing. But we have to be bigger and better than all those other shows.
It’s not like I’m not used to having people in my space, but all those meaningless parties I’d throw had an ending. I usually didn’t know when. I’d wake up hungover with my house trashed and people gone. That worked for me.
It also doesn’t help, and I’m not being harsh when I think this, that out of my five acts, I think maybe Reggie and Cece have the potential to make it really big.
Right now, I’m with Isla, and every flat note makes me cringe. I’ve thought about turning it into a drinking game where I take a drink every time she screws up, but getting blackout drunk always gets me in trouble, so I refrain.
Knowing this industry, Isla will probably win because she’s blonde and has the right look even though her vocals need some work.
This is the other thing. Yeah, I used to sing in a boy band. I’ve had vocal lessons. But I’m not a vocal coach. I have no idea how to give these contestants what they need to make them great.
I’m not good at this stuff.
Mason would be brilliant at it, and I’m two seconds away from asking him for help because my head’s about to slam into the piano top in front of me.
“You’re frustrated with me,” Isla says.
“Not at all,” I lie. “I’m frustrated because I don’t know how to help you. I want to, but I don’t have the skills to teach. If you were on Alondra’s team, maybe you’d be getting real advice instead of trying a billion different things that don’t work for your voice.” Hell, even if she was on Brian Kimble’s team, the top music exec, he’d be able to tell her how to be marketable with what she’s got.
Maybe that’s the angle I should take.
Isla steps away from the microphone and moves to stand next to me at the piano. “What do I have to do to get through to the next round?”