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)
I shudder at hearing the name of the woman who single-handedly runs The Hollywood Scoop. The most powerful blogger in Hollywood, she’s broken story after story. She has sources everywhere. “What is your agency’s publicist going to say?”
“That he’s a friend.”
“He is!”
She deals me an I’ve-got-this smile. “We’re going to make you look all shiny and new. We’ve got a plan. Because here at CTM, we pride ourselves on looking out for our clients’ best interests. These pictures are not in your best interests, so we’re going to brainwash them away.”
I can’t imagine that’ll be easy since The Hollywood Scoop has recently run several allegedly salacious photos. First, Rikki ran a pic of me heading into the guy’s home late at night. For the record, I went to his house to check on him. The site ran a shot of him backing his car into his neighbor’s garage. That was fucking grand. And now this hotel sequence, capped off with him kissing me outside the entrance when I’d only gone there to help him. Yep, it sure looks like I’m entangled with the world’s worst boyfriend.
“But I can explain,” I say, and once those words escape my lips, memories race back. TJ once implored me with those same words, but I barely let the man I’d fallen for explain a thing.
That fight with my American almost-boyfriend haunts me. But then, TJ’s parting words do too. This isn’t what I wanted when I came to LA, he’d said.
I wince, then shove away the painful memory.
Holly shakes her head. “We’ll handle the explanations. You and I will join Slade at the office shortly to review the plan.”
“You’re not going to drop me, then?” As the world’s biggest and most successful talent agency, CTM prides itself on its squeaky-clean rep. Holly’s part of CTM now, and I can’t bear the thought that she’d ditch me.
She gives a pfft. “We’re certainly not going to drop you when you’re the talk of the town. Thanks to If Found, Please Return.”
I translate that as if you weren’t nominated for an Oscar, we’d probably drop you over these pics.
My world’s been a whirlwind since the original star of the flick broke his leg skydiving midway through the shoot last spring. The indie studio scrambled to hold auditions for a replacement. I won the lead, a broken-hearted drug counselor who lost his wife to addiction, and after a twenty-six-day shoot in Vancouver, the film was fast-tracked into theaters late last year.
Now, here I am, a little amazed at the turn my life has taken and a bit shocked at how quickly the press has turned on me because of my friend’s troubles.
“Good,” I tell Holly with a smile. “Because you’re the best agent I’ve had.”
Holly pats my hand. “It’s not a tough competition.”
“True,” I say, since it’s not hard to beat Harry. “But at least you and I have different taste in men.”
“Yes, and I like my men in the rearview mirror and far away from the Pomander Walk apartment—which was the best thing I got in the divorce settlement.”
“It is quite pretty,” I agree. I saw it when she invited me to a dinner party shortly after arriving in New York.
Holly folds her hands, her pear-shaped diamond glinting in the light—the ring she bought herself when she kicked ex-husband number two to the curb for cheating. “Now, do you trust me to fix this?”
Holly knows most of my deepest secrets, so I’d say yes. “Considering I’ve told you I’m afraid of failure, hat hair, and falling madly in love again, I’d say I trust you unequivocally.”
“I promise I’ll do my part to make sure you’re never photographed with bad hair, love. But you must do your part to make sure you’re not photographed with bad boys.”
I straighten my spine, gulping. “I will.”
“Good. What we need to do is combat these images by making sure you’re seen with a very good boy.”
That sounds smart. “A new man will definitely hit ‘reset’ for the press. You want me to find a clean-cut fella and go on a few dates?”
She scoffs. “Oh no. You don’t need to find someone. We have someone. A very appropriate fake boyfriend for galas and fetes, for couple-y dates, and for various public events.”
That’s a huge relief. I breathe a happy sigh. “Brilliant. I can do that no problem.” I rub my hands, so damn ready to tackle this simple challenge. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“More like unlucky. Evidently, he quite needs a boyfriend too,” she says with a sympathetic sigh.
I laugh, commiserating in advance. “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 picks up her cup and drains the last of her tea, then gestures to the door, leaving a tip on the table as she stands. Time to walk and talk. “You already know him,” she tells me as we take off.