Hollywood Prince (Hollywood Royalty 3)

“Good,” Ryan says. “Now here is the job. We need you to recreate his image.” The minute he says the words, my mouth hangs open.

“What?” I ask him. Surely, I didn’t hear him right because there is no way I, or anyone else, could recreate his image.

“I don’t think that’s humanly possible. His image is so far down in the gutter that even the rats have a better image than he does right now.”

“Well,” Ryan says, getting up and pushing away from the table, “then you have your job cut out for you. You have one month to make it happen. Basically, you are going to have to live through a nightmare in order to get the job of your dreams.” He nods his head to everyone at the table and looks back at me when he gets to the door. “Thirty days. We meet with him tomorrow.”

I sit here in shock, wondering how the hell I’m going to do this.

Chapter Two

Erin

The walk back to my cubicle is slow, and the clicking of my heels is now dull, considering I don’t hear anything else because my heartbeat is so loud in my ears. “There has to be a mistake.” Mumbling to myself, I sit down in my chair and stare at the list I was working on before I got called into what I’m going to call my life-changing career moment.

“So what are you thinking?” I hear Sylvia’s voice, and I turn in my chair to see her standing at the entrance of my cubicle. She is wearing a black pant suit with a pink ruffled shirt under it and peep-toe shoes. Her short blond hair is curled under perfectly, her blue eyes with just mascara, and her red framed glasses sitting on her nose.

“I’m thinking it’s an impossible task,” I tell her honestly. I’m expecting her to agree with me, but she crosses her arms over her chest instead.

“I’m not going to lie, had you asked me that five months ago, I would have said you didn’t have the balls to do it,” she says, and I’m wondering if she’s ever actually given anyone a pep talk. “When you started here, I have to say I had bets you’d leave within the first three weeks. But you didn’t; you came in, day in and day out, and worked harder than anyone else in the department.” She smirks. “Except me, that is.” I chuckle. “We meet with him tomorrow at four. How about we sit down before that and go over strategies and see what we can come up with?”

“I would love that,” I tell her, “because I’m going to be honest. I have nothing. There is nothing I can think of that will change his image. I mean, besides him changing his name and starting over. And maybe plastic surgery. There’s always plastic surgery.” I try to instill some humor into a humorless situation.

“That will be hard for someone who has been in the game since he was ten,” she tells me. “The good old Mickey Mouse Club.” Her phone beeps in her hand, and she looks down at it. “I have to run, but tomorrow, meet me in my office at ten. Obviously, do your research beforehand and detail some of his biggest scandals and what they involved so we know exactly what we are dealing with.”

“I will,” I tell her and then look down and then up. “Thank you so much for the talk.”

She doesn’t say anything else as she turns and walks away. Leaning forward, I look at the list I started before I walked into the meeting and crumple it, throwing it in the garbage, and then I start gathering information on Carter. A list that I started this morning that will no doubt be shoved into someone else’s workload now that I have my next assignment.

By the time I look up, the sun is long gone, and no one is left in the office. With my stomach growling at me, I grab my jacket and make my way home to grab some dinner and go to bed, hoping upon hope that tomorrow looks a little brighter than it does today.

The next day, I walk into the office before anyone else. I gave up on sleeping at four thirty this morning and decided to start the day early. I’m just hoping I don’t crash before the meeting. I even went to the gym and put in an hour and a half on the treadmill. I press the button in the elevator to take me to the thirty-seventh floor. Looking down at my black Louboutin stilettos, I take a deep breath. How ironic that I’m dressed for a funeral. I’m just praying it’s not my own. My black pencil skirt falls right below my knees, and I paired it with my black long-sleeved shirt with white polka dots. The wrists are tight, making the sleeves flow a little.