Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
She swivels an iPad around and stabs a finger against the offending photo on the screen. I cringe again. That really does look bad with a capital B. “This, in the business, is what we call a PR crisis,” she says.
“It is. It definitely is,” I say, hoping the agency isn’t going to explain it away by dropping me. When Holly took a new job at CTM a few months ago, she brought most of her clients with her, me included. But CTM is not only the biggest and most successful talent agency in the world, it’s also more buttoned-up than Astor. CTM has its own reputation to maintain as entertainment royalty and is notorious for tossing out bad sheep clients. With nerves rushing through me, I ask the uncomfortable question.
“Does this mean we’re . . . through?”
She laughs. “Don’t be silly, love. We’re certainly not going to drop you when you’re the talk of the town thanks to If Found, Please Return being all the rage in film right now.” That’s sort of reassuring and sort of not. “And PR crises have PR solutions.”
I square my shoulders, smile, letting her know I’m game for literally anything. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
Holly pats my hand then lifts her teacup, looking ever so proper. “Good. Because here at CTM, we pride ourselves on looking out for our clients’ best interests.”
“And I’m so, so grateful for that,” I say.
She drains the rest of her tea then sets the pink and white cup down with a clink. “Then you’ll be grateful to know we’ve arranged to fix this by giving you a very appropriate fake boyfriend. We have quite a vast client list, after all.”
That’s it? That’s the PR solution? Well, that’s as easy as saying yes to a night out with friends. “Brilliant. I can do that, no problem.” I rub my hands, ready to tackle this simple challenge to fix my tarnished rep. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Holly sighs, the kind that says I wish there were another way, but there isn’t, so don’t fuck this up. “Someone who desperately needs a fake boyfriend too.”
“Even better. What did the bloke do to mess up his life?”
“I’ll let him explain when you meet him. Though meet isn’t exactly the right word.” She gives a laugh—the conspiratorial kind. “You already know him.”
I make a beckoning motion. “Tell me who he is. I can’t wait to charm him for the cameras.”
“And you will be so bloody charming,” she says. It’s unquestionably an order.
I straighten my spine. “Absolutely.”
“Perfect. Then it’s settled. We have another client who needs a little help too. TJ Hardman will be your fake boyfriend for the awards season. Won’t that be fabulous?”
I freeze.
This has to be a lark. But there’s no laughter coming my way. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
The only way I can save my career is by acting as if I’m in love with the man who destroyed my heart.
I guess we’ll see just how good an actor I am.
Whoa. How the hell will these guys find their way back to each other after that painful ending? Find out what happens next when TJ and Jude, now enemies, are forced to pretend to be boyfriends in HERE COMES MY MAN! Turn the page!
HERE COMES MY MAN
BOOK 2 IN THE HOPELESSLY BROMANTIC DUET
by Lauren Blakely writing as L. Blakely.
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PART ONE
Ten Months After Los Angeles
And then we meet again . . .
PROLOGUE
LOST AND FOUND: DESPERATELY SEEKING MY MISSING MOJO
TJ
I have a dirty little secret.
Everyone thinks they know why my pen ran dry. The answer seems obvious if you catalog the public events I was at the center of—and people do that frequently.
He’s the guy who was dumped on national TV by the chicken dude. No wonder TJ Hardman’s in a funk. I mean, could you write an epic love story if that happened to you?
The evidence does seem to add up. Exactly one year ago, my face went viral as the ouch, that’s gotta hurt guy when the dude who ran a chicken café said “see you later” to me on a New York morning show.
But the day my keyboard went silent was a couple of months later, when I got on a plane in Los Angeles and flew away from the swooniest guy I’ve ever known.
I haven’t dispelled the rumors, though, because the public story suits me. It hurts less than the private tale that exposes my deepest hopes and dreams. My dreams of Jude. Dreams that died when I packed my suitcase and left him, returning to New York.