Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Roe let out a breath and nodded once. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
I was always right. Sometimes.
I had my moments.
*
The first ominous sign was ending up on a floor higher up that didn’t look like the others. This was for venues. This was for the private parties.
The second sign was when we arrived at a door guarded by two guys who’d missed their calling as linebackers. Roe had hired security for this fucking party. At that point, I knew he was gonna take “grand” and run with it. Far. Beyond the horizon. And the music. It was pumping from the inside.
“Happy birthday, bro.”
His grin was the last thing I saw before I was ushered into what could only be described as a small VIP nightclub. Absolutely packed with people. Undoubtedly over a hundred guests.
I didn’t know that many people.
I exhaled a laugh, both thrilled and fucking scared.
It was Roe’s version of a perfect party, but that was okay. More than okay. He knew how I functioned. Gimme a few drinks and I was good to go.
“Happy birthday, Jake!”
“It’s Jake!”
“Jake, over here!”
“Happy birthday, man!”
Fucking hell, it was dizzying already. Purple lights flashed in the darkness with a white static light that made everyone move like robots. Balloons covered the ceiling. Oh, I knew those two. Gina and Neil. Seth was here with his girl. I nodded and grinned at them as Roe guided me over to Sean, Robyn, Thierry, Cub, and Michael. Wait—I was pretty sure I just saw someone famous. Who were these people? Industry folk, no doubt. Everyone was dressed to the nines and partying it up. The DJ—I recognized him too.
I shook more hands and bumped more fists than I could count, and thank fuck, I had a drink in my hand within a minute.
“We’re not Hollywood, Roe!” I yelled over the music.
He grinned up at me and leaned close. “You sure about that? Look around you, Jake. Did you think five million weekly listeners weren’t gonna leave a mark?”
But…
I was just a documentary filmmaker.
I took a big gulp of my drink and watched a woman walk by with a flirty wave. Roe spoke in my ear. She was a famous Instagrammer or influencer. A couple LA-famous comedians were here too. Some up-and-coming actors. The thrifty little fucker that was my best friend had turned this into a networking opportunity, and half the booze flowing had been sponsored in return for exposure. He and Haley had apparently worked on this all week.
“This is the place to be tonight!” Roe finished. “Your sister’s words. Tomorrow, everyone will be talking about Jake Denver’s thirtieth.”
I shook my head, in a complete daze, and replied the only way I knew how. “Get me drunk, you dumb genius.”
“Interesting nickname! I’m on it. Let’s go. I know someone who’s dying to see you again.”
What? Who?
Roe took the lead through the dancing crowd, which I swore was growing for every minute that passed, until we ended up at the bar. And I could only smile like an idiot when I saw who was on the other side.
Juan. Of-fucking-course.
He rounded the bar and threw his arms around my neck, and I chuckled and hugged him back.
“Don’t think I’m gonna let you forget about me, Jake! Happy birthday!”
“Thank you. You’re kinda unforgettable.”
He eased back and lit up. “That’s what I like to hear. Did you see the screens? I swear I’ve Instagrammed each image! My God.” He fanned himself, but I was just confused.
Roe smirked slyly and linked his arm with mine. “I’ll show you! You can blame Haley for providing the footage, but this is my production! I put it all together and edited it!”
Okay, noted.
As Roe’s first lady, Lady Gaga, blared from the speakers, some wild remix of “Just Dance,” we arrived at the wall nearest the terrace, and I blinked and did a double take as four flat-screens showed an all-too familiar face. My own.
The year “2010” flashed by, and in the background was a black-and-white photo of me taken up in Big Sur. “Jake meets Roe, and nothing was ever the same.” Jesus Christ, he’d put together a slideshow, hadn’t he? But he couldn’t blame Haley for that photo. Roe had taken it. He’d taken the next few too, and same went for the ones that followed for “2011.” Pictures of me, all black-and-white. “Two Condor Chicks Production is born.” When I was adjusting the settings on my camera, when I was eating, when I was smirking at Roe, when I was mid-laugh… 2012… Nikki had taken a photo of Roe and me; we were lit in that one, grinning like fools. “Jake gets nominated for his first award, and it wasn’t for how sexy he is.”
I laughed and draped an arm around Roe’s shoulders. I couldn’t fucking believe he’d done all this.