Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
I stalked up the front walk and knocked twice, resisting the urge to bang the side of my fist against the blue-painted wood. Real wood, too, I couldn’t help but notice. It was a nice house. Surprisingly understated. I’d taken him for a penthouse kind of guy.
But then Garrett’s face replaced his nice door, and I forgot that there was anything redeeming about him.
“Hey, kid,” he said, surprised. “How was your date? Is everything—”
I pushed past him and shut the door. I was almost positive I hadn’t been followed, but I didn’t want any shots of me yelling at my crisis manager to hit the internet. And I had a bad feeling I was going to yell. The rage had flipped back to mortification and then back to rage again, and now it had all congealed into a burning pit in my stomach that was threatening to erupt.
“It was going fine until you embarrassed the hell out of me,” I said, the words coming off in a jagged, sawed-off way as I tried to get my breath under control.
Garrett’s brows hiked up his forehead. He leaned back against the wall of the narrow hallway and waved his hand in a go on gesture.
“I told you I would handle it, and you went to Andrew’s people anyway!” I walked the length of the hallway, then back. “I hadn’t even decided if I could go through with it!”
“Let me get this straight,” Garrett said slowly. “You’re mad at me for doing exactly what we agreed I would do.” Annoyance simmered in his voice.
“I didn’t agree you could go over my head and make decisions for me!”
“Actually, kid-” his arm shot out and checked my pacing. “-like it or not, that’s what a crisis manager does. You’re in crisis because you made some dumb fucking decisions for yourself, and now you need me.”
“I don’t need you.” I shoved at his arm, feeling ridiculous when I couldn’t push past him. Garrett was long and lean, but I’d never realized how strong he was before. His arms weren’t corded with muscle, but they were hard as granite.
“Yeah, you do.” Garrett’s voice was brusque, unapologetic. “This morning, the whole world was questioning whether Destiny Pollock was giving blowjobs to billionaires below deck. By tonight, the narrative will be about Magical Melody and Michael and whether the onscreen romance has left the page. You’re welcome.”
The blood had drained from my face at the crude way he spelled out my dilemma. “No one really thinks that,” I said, repulsed.
“Wake up, kid. You know how this industry works. The day you turned eighteen, you became fair game.” Garrett’s eyes traveled over my face, then flickered up and down my body. It was brief, but I had a feeling he didn’t miss a thing. Not the way the dress hugged my breasts and clung to my waist before flaring out and ending abruptly mid-thigh. The dress I’d worn to coax Andrew into playing along before I realized that Garrett had gone over my head. Garrett’s eyes darkened as they returned to my face. He said almost reluctantly, “You know because you’re playing it. You’re just not doing a very good job.”
“I was doing fine before Geoffrey—”
Garrett shook his head impatiently and cut me off. “No, you weren’t. You’re trying to prove you’ve grown up with your looks, your body. But you’re acting like an airhead teenager, hanging out with those vapid bimbos on old men’s yachts.”
He’d pushed himself off the wall at some point, and now we were toe-to-toe in the narrow hall. The air was thick with tension and…something else. Something I was too angry to contemplate right now.
I put my hands on my hips. “I’ve been working my entire life. I’m entitled to have some fun.”
He rubbed his lip and looked down at me, irritation filling his face. “And they’re entitled to spin that fun into whatever story sells magazines. Here’s a hint, kid. Magical Melody blows off steam while waiting for a career resurgence doesn’t sell nearly as well as Magical Melody blows old men to pay rent.”
My fists balled at my hips so tightly I felt the tips of my expensive manicure dig into my palms. I’d never in my life wanted to slap someone, and in my industry, that was saying something.
“Listen,” Garrett’s voice dipped, and he said almost reluctantly, “You’re beautiful. Apparently, you’re talented. Important people like you in this town. You just need to be smarter.”
“You mean the old men with yachts like me,” I said bitterly. I wished he would back up and give me some space. It was overwhelming being this close to someone, especially someone like Garrett whose physicality could literally overwhelm mine. And as much as I hated the mocking light that had been in his eyes earlier, this focused, serious, complimentary version of Garrett was equally unsettling.