Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Even if I didn’t agree with the results, I loved the spectacle, glitz, and grandeur. In the farthest reaches of my mind, I’d wondered what it would be like to be in the room where it happened. And now I was.
It blew me away to think there were kids out there watching me, dreaming of the day they’d get their shot.
I could guaran-fucking-tee you they didn’t care who made my tux. Which was good since I had no idea anyway.
“Pierce, are you filming soon?” someone called.
“I am.”
Good talk.
I waved to the crowd screaming my name as I moved on. An official-looking woman wearing a glittery silver evening gown and a headset motioned for me to join her near the entrance, but someone else pulled me toward a familiar face on the sideline. I couldn’t place her, but I was pretty sure she was an actress in a popular kids’ series when I was growing up. She was obviously one of the premier reporters tonight. No doubt her interview was being televised live and with any luck, she wouldn’t ask about my wardrobe.
“Pierce, it’s so good to see you again!” she gushed.
“Thanks, it’s good to be here,” I replied with a lopsided grin.
She clutched my arm and fluttered her lashes. “Oh, my gosh. It’s seriously such an honor. Listen, I won’t keep you. I know you’re probably anxious to get to your seat with your lovely date, but I have to ask…Baxter—you’re filming this summer?”
“Yes, in Canada and Europe.”
“We’re all on the edge of our seats excited about the next movie.”
I widened my smile and stepped aside, ready to move on. “Thanks, I apprecia—”
“No, thank you for giving us the world’s most compelling crime-fighting hero…who just happens to be the real deal.” Her eyes twinkled with manufactured earnestness. “You’ve spent your free time with local charities recently. Do you have a favorite organization you’d like to give a shout-out to?”
Oh. Right. This was a sales pitch.
Janet had given me a brief rundown on the ride over. One of the founders of the ocean preservation charity just happened to have invested a small fortune in a new Rourke Studios production. It wasn’t Baxter, but I had a suspicion it was whatever show my date was on.
This, my friends, was the real Hollywood. Forget the glamour and magic of moviemaking. The engine under the Rolls Royce facade was a tireless, cutthroat machine fueled by a network of high-powered producers and well-connected investors with deep pockets.
I might have been at the top of the food chain, but I wasn’t a lone ranger. I had an obligation to use my brand to help those rich investors get even richer so they’d pour more money into the business. ’Cause at the end of the day, that’s what this was…a big fucking business. The real story was sales. And a hint of romance was the sneakiest and most effective way to advertise two shows at once and sell, sell, sell.
Now that I was in the good boy column again, the studio would weave whatever web would inspire interest.
So yeah…Daphne. She hadn’t said much to me tonight, but she’d played her part well, waving like a prom queen to the crowd cheering us from across the street.
I hadn’t been kidding when I told Lo I wished he was with me tonight. I wished for something real in the midst of the mayhem. The errant vision in my head of Lo in a tux or unpeeling that tux later was enough to make me chub up on national television. I pushed that thought aside and smiled into the camera, modulating the wattage like a pro. Too big a smile came across as insincere, too small could seem dismissive. It was important to hit the sweet spot.
“The folks at Ocean First do amazing work. I’ve loved spending time with their team.” I held up a hand before the reporter could sign off. “I also want to give a shout-out to the kids at LA Children’s Hospital. Chase, Carlos, Bella, Toby, Annie, Kayley, Garrett, Emily…you guys rock. You inspire me every day. Thank you. And to my friends watching at home—cinq with a q is still not a word, Jasper.”
The reporter chuckled on cue, undeterred by my ad-lib moment. She motioned Daphne to step forward and gushed over her dress, her hair, her jewelry, then widened her eyes as if shocked she was about to ask the killer question she claimed the nation wanted to know. “Are those wedding bell rumors true?”
Daphne leaned into the microphone and winked at me. “I think she’s asking if you’re going to make an honest woman out of me, Pierce.”
“Not sure that’s possible,” I mumbled for her ears only, pulling her away from the reporter.
“Careful. This dress cost a fortune.”
“Careful,” I countered. “You’re going a little overboard.”