Hollywood Prince (Hollywood Royalty 3)

Is Carter Johnson getting tamed?

Reading the headline, I shake my head and then see fifteen different pictures of us on Google. My phone rings in my hand. Looking down, I see it’s my father, and when I check the time, it’s just past eight.

“Good morning,” he says when I finally answer. “Did you sleep okay?”

“No,” I tell him. “I’m going to Montana. Fucking Montana.”

“It’s very pretty there. Big Sky Country and all,” he says. “Are we still on for lunch?”

“Yeah, I know about Big Sky Country. Dad, I have to pack,” I tell him.

“You have to eat also and relax a bit from the sound of it,” he tells me. “I already told Christina you are coming, and she’s been cooking since seven.” He mentions his personal cook who has been with him for a decade.

“Fine, I’ll swing by but not for long,” I tell him and then hang up. “Two weeks.” I shake my head. “Fourteen days.” I sit on the couch still baffled.

Chapter Nine

Carter

“I can’t even believe that you got them to agree to Erin accompanying you,” Jeff says from the phone that I’m holding with my shoulder to my ear as I throw my things into my luggage.

“I have to pick Erin up in forty-five minutes. Should I bring her coffee? How does she take her coffee?” I stop packing and think about what I just said. Not once have I ever given a fuck about how a woman takes her coffee. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

“Just order it black and bring the stuff on the side,” Jeff answers, and I have to sit on my bed. Am I dying?

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t forget to cancel my other number,” I tell him and toss my new phone on the bed. I was not going to fuck up this opportunity with temptation and invitations from women, so I went online and bought a brand-new phone. Cancelling my other one. I’ve given my number to one person so far, Jeff, for now. “What do I care what she takes in her coffee, and why do I even want to bring her coffee?” Because you want her to like you. I shake my head and rub my face with both my hands. I haven’t had sex in two days. Wait, when was the last time I had sex? Thursday night so I start counting on my hands, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Four days. I haven’t gone four days since I was fifteen years old. Maybe going without sex will have a long-term impact on my damn brain.

I finish packing and bring my two bags to the door. Well, my big luggage and my backpack that I put my iPad and the script in. I walk into the garage and grab a baseball hat and then get into my Range Rover. I make my way to her house, stopping at Starbucks right before. When I pull up to her condo, she is downstairs waiting with her luggage next to her.

“Sorry, I’m late,” I say, getting out and opening the trunk. “I stopped to get you coffee,” I tell her as she rolls her luggage to me. I see that she is wearing tights and a white shirt with a long mustard-colored sweater, and she has a big black, gray, and beige scarf rolled around her neck, covering the top of her shirt. A black backpack is slung over her shoulder. I can’t see her eyes with her black squared glasses hiding them, and maybe it’s a good thing, so I can’t see the death glare I’m sure she’s giving me.

“Thank you,” she says when I pick up her luggage and put it in the back next to mine. She opens the back door, putting her backpack there and then opens the front passenger door, but she doesn’t get in. “How many coffees did you get?” she asks, looking down at the two carryout trays that hold eight coffees.

“I didn’t know which one you drank, so I improvised,” I tell her, smiling and getting in as she gets in and places her feet on the sides of the carryout containers. “I got regular latte, vanilla latte, Americano, white chocolate mocha, regular mocha, chai latte tea, green tea, and if you don’t drink any of those, hot chocolate.” She looks down and then she looks up at me, and the smile she gives me makes it worth the crazy amount of money I just paid for coffee. It makes everything worth it.

“What do you drink?” she asks me, looking down.

“Regular coffee,” I say, laughing and pulling away from the curb to make my way over to the air field. “Why aren’t you drinking?” I ask her when she sits back and looks outside.

“Because I’m going to wait until we get on the plane, and we can have coffee together,” she says, and I just nod. I don’t know why it feels good to have her not just take the coffee and drink it but also want to wait for me to enjoy it with her. I guess it’s the normal thing that people do, but I’m not used to it. When we pull up to the airport, I drive straight to the plane. The white plane waits with the red carpet rolled out and the stairs down. When I pull up and shut off the car, I get out, and I see a guy running over to us.