Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“If you must know, I got myself a gig at your hotel.”
I shot her a glare. “Sexual solicitation is prohibited in—”
“Holy shit, Ollie, not that.” She slapped my shoulder hard enough to dislocate it. “I’m interning for Hollywood’s most coveted intimacy coordinator.” Frankie practically beamed.
“A what?”
“Intimacy coordinator.”
“Intimacy doesn’t need a coordinator. I can tell you what goes where. It’s an all-of-the-above answer, but you don’t need an expert to point out the pros and cons of each hole.”
“An intimacy coordinator is a member of the film crew that ensures the well-being of actors and actresses who participate in sex scenes.” She licked her lips, picking at the seam of her skirt. “This is actually a huge opportunity for me. The film is produced by this three-time Oscar winner. And two of my favorite actors star in it.”
I’d never seen Frankie taking anything but her hair care routine seriously, so I very much doubted this would pan out as something more than a catastrophe once she realized what hard work actually entailed. Then again, maybe Frankie was like me. Maybe she only pretended to be a ditzy woman with nothing but boys and designer clothes on her brain. Maybe she had dimension. Wants, and needs, and desires. Desires I wouldn’t fulfill but desires, nonetheless.
I saluted security guards and two porters as we cruised from the back entrance toward the main hotel, passing rows of sculptured fountains and white dogwood trees. “They’re filming in the hotel?”
Now that she mentioned it, I remembered signing off the fine print and insurance documentation. It was a major film. We’d agreed to close off an entire wing for it.
“Yes.” Frankie swung her purse onto the crook of her elbow. “I can’t guarantee the survival of your seamless silk sheets.”
The Ferrari slid past rows of long-term lease bungalows, two highly acclaimed golf courses, four outdoor pools, eight tennis courts, and the arena, home to some of the biggest annual medical and technology conferences in the universe. Frankie took it all in with the typical boredom of a jaded rich girl who had already tasted all things decadent the world had to offer.
I turned into the underground staff parking, dipping into the darkness, my favorite place.
She stared out the window, unusually quiet. “You’re not truly dumb, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
Sometimes – not often – my mask fell off. Sometimes I wasn’t fun-loving, skirt-chasing Oliver von Bismarck: billionaire, playboy, and world-class knucklehead. Sometimes I let myself just be … me.
“I already figured out you’re not as erratic and depraved as people think you are.” She whipped her head to look at me. “You’re just pretending. You want people to think the worst of you. You actually want people to dislike you. I’ve never seen anything like that. Why?”
I had the answer, of course. But I never shared it with anyone. Not even Romeo and Zach, my best friends. She wouldn’t understand. No one did.
The truth was, I didn’t deserve any love, remorse, or sympathy from anyone. I deserved hate. And because I couldn’t tell people why they needed to send it my way, I sought it through other means.
I reversed into my designated parking spot and killed the engine, throwing her a blank stare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Frankie. Now get out. I’m late for my golf match.”
Chapter Six
Oliver
Frankie Townsend: i quit my job
Nancy Noor: Excuse me, ma’am. This group chat is for the neighborhood watch.
Dallas Costa: Quit or got fired?
Frankie Townsend: it just wasnt for me, sis
Nancy Noor: I’ve reminded you folks before. Will you please take your private chat elsewhere?
Frankie Townsend: i would but i need witnesses in case im found in a ditch somewhere. MY SISTER AND HER HUSBAND DID IT.
Zach Sun: Who is the number starting with 404? Does she even live in this neighborhood?
Romeo Costa: And is she allergic to basic grammar?
Frankie Townsend: har. har. verrry funny.
Frankie Townsend: anywayyyyyyyyy i think ive found my calling.
Dallas Costa: And that is …?
Frankie Townsend: i want to be an influencer.
Zach Sun: Who have you ever influenced in this life?
Romeo Costa: Except me – to suicide.
Dallas Costa: Or me – to murder.
Frankie Townsend: well then … everyones a critic.
Farrow Ballantine-Sun: I believe in you, Frankie. <3
Frankie Townsend: i knew you’d never abandon me, fae.
Farrow Ballantine-Sun: But I’d believe in you more if you learned to capitalize words.
Chapter Seven
Oliver
My initial reception as CEO de facto of The Grand Regent could only be described as ice cold. I had two Ivy League degrees, a graduate one from Cambridge, and an award-winning thesis on grassroots marketing. I also had one gubernatorial affair, two congressional scandals, and a reputation that would make a corrupt politician weep. Not my fault no one else found these feats equally impressive.
Eventually, I’d gained the staff’s respect through hard work, record guest satisfaction, and annual yields so high they funded three extra rounds of employee bonuses. And occasionally, such success required some sacrifice by my vocal cords. Like today.