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)
CHAPTER ONE
BRENDAN LAU GAZED DOWN INTO deep, angled black eyes.
Their endless still rivers reflected him back, dark mirrors capturing his soul until he drowned in those unmoving waters that could swallow all sound—even the beat of his wild and hungry heart. He traced his fingers against supple golden skin, following the delicate lines of high cheekbones; of a jaw as fragile and yet strong as a glass sculpture. But he stopped, arrested, when the tip of his thumb touched red, full lips that lured him closer…closer, his breaths building up in his throat and his blood straining against his body in a constant, demanding throb of desire.
“I need you,” he whispered, bending toward that lush and tempting mouth. “And I will damn myself to hell if it means having you.”
“Why the fuck am I playing the girl in this?” Drake Anderson Chen bit off, staring up at him with his face set in a mask of flat irritation.
God damn it.
Sighing, Brendan let his agent go and straightened to look down at the script pinned open in his free hand. Orange highlighter scrawled in streaks across the blocky all-caps letters filling the page, circling the young Duke’s part.
“Because I need a stand-in,” he said. “Even a mood-killer like you.”
Drake straightened his tie and the sharp, perfectly folded collar of his white dress shirt. “You could at least say it’s because I’m beautiful.”
“You’re stunning,” Brendan deadpanned. “Your lustrous skin. Your glimmering eyes. The fine shape of your lips. Your beauty would move mountains, start wars, and put Helen of Troy to shame. I would call the stars down from the sky for but one whisper of my name upon your tongue.”
“…you’re a prick, and the worst part is you could actually act well enough to make that believable if you wanted to. You just don’t want to.”
“I live to crush your ego.”
“You live to pay the lease on my car with those hefty commission checks,” Drake retorted. “So explain to me why you’re reading the lead, when you didn’t even get the part.”
Brendan rolled his head back, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment. The exposed loft ductwork threw back glints of silvery light from the sun spilling through the east-facing wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. “As soon as you answer why I don’t fire you right now, when your job was to get me the part.”
“Pull your panties out of your asscrack.”
“My panties are firmly lodged cupping my cheeks where they belong.” Exhaling, Brendan dropped down onto the long, low cream linen sofa, sinking against the throw pillows piled in one corner until his shirt bunched up around his shoulders and the back of his head hit the back of the sofa. Holding the script overhead, he thumbed through a few more pages, glancing over the lead’s lines. “I just want to know where I fucked up. Why I didn’t get it.”
“Brendan.”
“Mn.”
Drake groaned, draped his arms against the back of the sofa, and leaned down to look at Brendan upside down, his angled eyes narrowed impatiently against the backdrop of his delicately square, golden face. A few strands of black hair escaped their neatly slicked-back coif and tickled Brendan’s forehead.
“Brendan.”
“I already said mn.” Brendan snagged a throw pillow and shoved it into Drake’s face. “Don’t talk to me. You’re fired.”
“Then why are you even bothering with the script?” Drake batted the pillow aside with an irritated look. “The table readings start today. If you’re planning to ditch, at least let the producer and director know so they can recast the father.”
“They need to recast the lead.”
“…the father’s a good role.”
“It’s not my role,” Brendan bit off, and thumped his fingers against the open pages. “Look at this. It’s perfect for me. After Bridgerton, after Crazy Rich Asians, they sure as hell can’t be hung up on the same shit we’ve been fighting this whole time about a Chinese male lead not making any money. Or an openly gay actor playing straight roles. I pull too fucking much at box office for this, and I worked too damned hard to get where I am. But now you’re telling me some melanin-deficient twink is supposed to command the scene in a production like this?”
“Christ, don’t be reductive.” Drake rounded the sofa and dropped down next to Brendan, stretching his legs out until the hems of his slacks rode up over his trim black dress socks, toes curling against the wool. His shoes sat across the room in the entryway, next to Brendan’s. Drake tilted his head against the couch cushions, looking at Brendan sidelong. “You are too old to be this much of a diva.”
“…call me old again and you’ll find out how much of a bitch I can be.”
“I already know that. I don’t need to tempt my own demise.” Snorting, Drake picked up the throw pillow he’d tossed aside before and hugged it to his chest. “Okay. He’s a little on the twink side. And possibly hasn’t seen sunlight since the last century. But since he’s a little late for the era of body glitter and prosthetic fangs, he got picked up to play a delicate English lord. He fits the type. You don’t. It’s as simple as that.”