Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
He’s a grizzly bear and I’m a collie. And we’ve already established that inter-species dating (or hook-ups) is a dangerous practice destined for catastrophic failure.
There’s a lengthy pause of silence. “Wait… you don’t know there are five types of Scotch?”
“No… You do?”
“Of course, I do. It’s covered in talent management 101. You’d be surprised at the useless and potentially criminal shit I know. If I Googled half of what I hear and see on any given day, the FBI would be kicking down my door.”
Jess has shared enough wild stories about the agency for me to know she’s not exaggerating. “Man, you are living the dream.”
“Blame the game, not the gamer. I work with werewolves jacked on Viagra disguised as respectable businessmen. And those are the nice guys. A girl’s gotta compete.”
I dump the now-empty dish on the bedside table and shut the lamp off, a shaft of moonlight coming through the window casts shadows in my new, much smaller bedroom. “And you had the gall to call my life an episode of Naked and Afraid.”
“Best job on the planet.”
“You scare me sometimes.”
“Not as much as I scare myself.”
Chapter 4
The convoy of cars starts early the following day. Early for lazy entitled movie stars with a predilection for crime. Not early for me; I’ve been up since 5 a.m., dragging my tired ass around to care for the animals. I didn’t even get the chance to shower before they started coming down the driveway at 10.
“Here we go,” Mona says, bursting through the screen door and onto the front porch.
On the other hand, it looks like the owner of this fine establishment has had plenty of time to shower… among other things. “Are you wearing fake eyelashes?”
“Yeah, they’re great. Aren’t they?”
She’s actually excited about this near-certain disaster in the making. I don’t know whether to feel sympathy or shake some sense into her. She put on a dress for these people and her signature rhinestone Kippys belt. I’m leaning toward shaking some sense.
“Remind yourself that he’s a bad man,” I feel the need to say out loud while the two of us stand side by side, staring into the distance like we’re in eighteenth-century England waiting for the Lord and Lady of the manor to return home.
“Will do.”
“You are not to trust him.”
“Never,” she coos indulgently. Her glossy lips spread into a bright grin, dimples on full display. She fluffs her hair and runs her polished fingertips through the ends.
We’re doomed.
A Mercedes with all-black tinted windows is the first to pull up to the house. It’s followed closely by a silver Airstream trailer the size of a 747 Boeing jetliner hauled by a pickup truck. A black Range Rover is next. Pulling up the rear is a vintage Mustang Cobra, Shane Hughes behind the wheel.
Aidan Hughes steps out of the back of the Mercedes and the surprise is audible. I’m almost certain I just heard Mona suck in a breath. Not because of the earth-shattering beauty he’s known for or the blockbuster charisma that has people forking over their hard-earned dollars just to watch him do stuff on screen. Noooo. That is not why. The very opposite of that, in fact.
His light brown hair is in dire need of a cut, and frankly, a wash. Good rule of thumb: if I can tell from a distance that you’ve gone a week without holding a bottle of shampoo, then we have a problem. In addition to that, his face is covered in an unkempt beard, and he’s wearing a shapeless, faded US Army t-shirt with black track pants that have seen better days. I won’t mince words, he looks ripe enough for children and dogs to avoid him on a sidewalk. Heck, even vagrants.
I don’t doubt he’s had a tough couple of weeks, but this is dramatic. Even for an actor.
“Poor baby,” I hear Mona whisper.
This can’t go unchallenged so I turn to face her with a questioning glance.
“He’s obviously depressed,” she continues, hiding the last word behind her hand.
“Really?” I cynically drawl.
“Yes, really.” She shakes her head. “Look at him.”
My eyes focus on the ankle monitor he’s wearing and I’m reminded why he’s here. Jess told me he drove his fancy car into someone’s house, narrowly missing an old lady and her cat. In my past life, I would’ve been called out to the scene of the crime. The only thing saving him from my abject scorn is that he was neither high nor drunk and didn’t hurt anyone. I’ll chalk it up to stupidity for now. Until I know him better. In the meantime, I’ll reserve my sympathy for someone who deserves it.
“Look, I’m sorry he’s having a personal crisis of sorts––I get it,” I admit in a hushed voice, knowing what it feels like to get stuck in a dark place you don’t know how to crawl out of. “I really do. But cruising into someone’s living room isn’t the answer to any problem. He’s an insanely wealthy celebrity with the world at his disposal. He should’ve gotten help.”