Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I smirk.
Her arm reaches out, but just before our hands entwine, I hear the voice of the very person I came to see tonight.
“Paxton.”
Shit.
“Stefan,” I greet him, unable to hide the irritation from my voice.
I need him, but I can't help but resent his horrific timing.
“I know I said I wasn't coming, but I moved stuff around.” He hurries toward a seat, motioning for me to sit.
Has he not noticed the incredible blonde in our company? Surely, he can't be that blind.
“I want in. I want Twisted Lily.” The words come out in a rush, as though he's been holding that in for far too long. “This will be the project of the century. The script. I see it now.”
He's talking so fast that I'm having trouble keeping up. My brain is too foggy from the allure of Mal and the raging hard-on I'm attempting to hide.
Fantastic timing.
“All we need is a young, innocent actress. Combine the purity with Brad's seasoned masculinity, and we will change the world—”
“Stefan.” I look over at the girl in my arms. “Can you just give us a few minutes?” I ask her.
Her eyes ping-pong back and forth between Stefan and me before she stutters out, “I’m—I’m just . . . I'll be leaving.” Her voice pitches as she steps away from me, and I instantly feel like the world's biggest asshole for pushing her aside.
Why?
She was only meant to be a distraction from this man's absence. He's here now, and my entire career rests in his brilliant hands.
Still…
“Mal—”
“Another time.” It’s all she says before she turns her back on me. Blonde hair swishes as she practically glides away.
She's gone, and I'm left standing here hard as a fucking rock and desperate for her.
Nonetheless, this is a dog-eat-dog world, and business comes first.
Always.
1
Mallory
@Stargossip: Word around town is the project of the century has imploded before it even got off the ground. If our sources are correct—and they are—Teagan Steward has left negotiations. Guess the teeny-bopper princess is too good for Hollywood legends. Thoughts?
@Ihatehollywood: She couldn't act if her life depended on it.
@Fairytalelover: I love Teagan. It's Brad who's got to go!
@Deathtothesystem: Burn it all to the ground!
I can do this.
Or at least that's what I tell myself as I stare out at the view of the city from the conference room where I'm sitting . . . patiently.
The floor-to-ceiling window overlooks the large buildings like a massive frame, stretching from one end of the room to the other. It's a view I'll never tire of. It’s absolutely breathtaking, but what really captivates me is that every time I look, there's something new to see.
Luckily, the view of New York City keeps me company because my appointment is making me wait.
My knee bounces up for the four millionth time in the last minute, calling me out on my lie.
I'm not patient.
Nope.
It's not in my nature.
I'm a take charge and make things happen kind of girl. Which is why I'm currently in this conference room, a place I shouldn't be, and drumming my nails on the armrest of the chair.
My meeting was supposed to start thirty-five minutes ago, and my anxiety is firing up. The monotonous tapping of my fingers echoes throughout the space and calls me out. It's a nervous habit.
I should stop, but alas, it's like trying to stop breathing for me.
In the distance, I can hear the chatter around the office. The sound of voices makes my pulse beat frantically.
Each footstep has me looking around, ready for someone to appear.
Still, I'm left waiting.
My heart hammers in my chest as I sit here, fighting off the anxiety crawling up my stomach to sit firmly in my chest. Is that a bit of fear, too?
You got this. You know why you're here. You're a fucking legend.
Oh, the things we tell ourselves to tamp down the self-doubt. I'm here to get my client more money, and that's always nerve-wracking.
What I'm asking for is a lot.
I'm pretty sure my client would kill me if she knew.
I take a deep breath, willing strength to fill my lungs.
She deserves this, and it's my job to ensure she gets what she deserves.
The sound of footsteps approaching pierces through the air. I take a deep breath, composing myself. I'm about to be thrust full force into the biggest moment of my career.
My heart skips a beat as I look up.
The air is knocked out of my lungs.
It's him.
The man from the party. The one who played my pussy like a goddamn guitar right in the middle of Hollywood's elite. And I would've let him take it all the way without one thought of who witnessed my fall.
I thought I would never see him again . . . Pax.
Holy hell.
My memories don't do him justice. He's so incredibly tall.
Staring back at me are still the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They rival mine, and I've been told a time or two that mine radiates. Cringey, but it's been said.