Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
He just shrugged and offered a neutral, “Someone in trouble.”
Drake snorted. “What happened to all that talk about how it’s okay to be selfish?”
“It is all right, for him. He’s in a position to lose everything.” Exhaling sharply, Brendan tilted his head back, staring at the morning light reflecting off the overhead ductwork. “What do I lose, if I become a thorn in Newcomb’s side? A role I’m not particularly enthused about in the first place?”
“So you’ll actually do your job, and make an effort not to get fired?” Drake asked skeptically.
“I would have done that even without this…situation. I do have some measure of artistic integrity.”
“You are such a snob.”
“And you have five seconds before you have a much more intimate relationship with my naked ass than you ever wanted.” Brendan caught the waist of his pajama pants again. “Five…four…three…two…”
A frustrated curse in sharp Mandarin overlapped the sounds of Drake’s socks skidding and sliding on the laminated concrete flooring, the clatter of him grabbing his shoes in the entryway without even putting them on, then then slam of the door. Brendan closed his eyes, just taking a centering, calming breath.
This…this was going to be a fucking day.
But it was already after seven, and he did have a job to do.
And apparently a…something…to take under his wing.
So he made short work of showering and dressing, keeping it casual in his usual button-down, jeans, and dress shoes when he wouldn’t need to worry about costuming today; just being able to stay comfortable during long hours of sitting, standing, posing. Drake waited for him downstairs, outside the private loft apartment building; as Brendan stepped out onto the curb, the locks popped on Drake’s sleek little silver Maserati before the passenger’s side door swung open.
“Shoes clean?” Drake peered past the door at him from the driver’s seat.
“Spotless,” Brendan answered dryly, and slid himself into the passenger’s seat. “Do you really need to play my chauffeur today? Did you think I’d run off?”
“Babysitting is in my job description. Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”
“About…?”
A hard look flicked at him as Drake started the car and pulled out from the curb. “Two to five for assault. Don’t punch Newcomb. I did a little more digging, asking around, little things off the record. He’s got a crack legal team, and seems to enjoy burying people. That’s why, if there’s anyone else he’s assaulted…it never even made the smallest local gossip rag. There’ve been reporters fired. Actors and actresses whose careers suddenly tanked.”
“Someone like Newcomb doesn’t have the influence to make so much as a smudge on my career.”
“No, but he will get you sentenced with a felony record, and it’s not just your career on the line here,” Drake warned. “If you’re serious about protecting that kid…don’t let your temper get the best of you.”
Brendan thudded his head back against the seat, glancing toward Drake. “Have I ever?”
“Don’t lie like that in my car, this thing isn’t insulated against lightning.”
“You’re not funny.” Muttering to himself, Brendan laced his fingers together over his stomach and turned his gaze out the window, watching Los Angeles roll by in waves of buildings as custom-tailored and sleek as starlets’ bodies, sidewalks dotted in pine trees, the ever-watchful heights of tall letters perched up on the hill. “I don’t lose my temper.”
“Maybe not,” Drake said softly. “But everyone knows when you’re angry, and walk that much quieter for it.”
That uncomfortable feeling settled in Brendan’s chest again. He didn’t look at Drake, didn’t want to see the look on his face as Brendan asked, “…are you telling me that people are afraid of me? Am I really so terrible?”
“You’re not…” A frustrated sound bounced around the inner walls of the car. “You’re not terrible. I’d say I know you better than anyone, and I know you’d never hurt anyone. But you take up a lot of space, Brendan. And it’s always your way or the highway.”
“So you’re saying I’m inflexible.”
“That’s…a good word for it, yeah.”
“And temperamental.”
“…a little…” Drake answered warily.
“Would you like to add ‘diva’ to that again?” Brendan lilted. “Let me know a little more about how I need to be babysat.”
“I am so confused right now,” Drake blurted. “Are you mad? I can’t tell.”
Brendan waited just long enough to let Drake stew in it—then glanced at him again, smirking. “No. But you deserved that.”
“Fuck you in the ear, you Humphrey Bogart talking bastard.”
Brendan only chuckled, sinking down in the seat to relax.
But he tucked that away inside himself, and wondered if the amount of space he took up would be a problem if he interfered with the presence of the starring leads.
He was still turning that over as Drake pulled up outside the studio lot, flashing his ID at the security gate before easing the Maserati inside. But as Drake cruised past half-built set pieces and headed toward the parking area at a snail’s pace, his voice bridged the silence between them.