The Fame Game

Ash extends her hand and helps me up from the chair. “I’m getting worried about you, woman. You look like a desperate woman waiting for a one-night stand to call.”

I laugh at her silliness. “I’m not that bad.”

“You’re getting there,” she says, leading me out of my cubicle. “Were you ever afraid to leave the table at a restaurant if your food comes, and then the second you get up to go to the bathroom, your waiter appears?”

“Yeah. Dozens of times.”

“Maybe the same trick will work on these movie studios.”

* * *

A few hours later, my desk phone rings. I practically jump out of my chair to answer it, my heart hammering in my chest from anticipation. All-day I have received nothing but terrible news, one disappointing phone call after the next. So, when the woman on the other end asks me to hold for Mr. Cavanaugh, I almost squeal with delight.

“Sure, I’ll hold,” I say with a shaky tone.

Doug Cavanaugh is the owner of Firehouse Films.

“Miss Duvall,” a deep voice says. “I hear the role of Hades interests Nico Chase.”

“Yes, he’s very interested. We read the script and fell in love with the new spin on an old story.”

“I liked Nico’s earlier films,” he admits. “He’s a talented actor, but I have my reservations about his current reputation.”

“I understand your concerns,” I assure him. “But Nico is a professional, and he’s still the same actor he was ten years ago.”

Except now, he’s slightly unhinged and drunk most of the time, but no one’s perfect.

He breathes into the phone. “I need to see him in person.”

“Of course.”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he says. “Come to the lot at one o’clock.”

My heart is beating so fast it feels as if it could explode from my chest. “Thank you,” I say, almost out of breath. “We’ll see you then.”

After we hang up, reality sinks in, and the weight of the world feels as if it’s resting on my shoulders. Nico is throwing a moving out party tonight at his house. There’s no way he won’t be drunk. And now, I will have to convince my movie star client to behave himself.

Yeah, this should be fun.

Chapter Eleven

Nico

Aaron opens the refrigerator and sets a handful of bottles on the kitchen island. He flips the tops off on the edge of the counter and passes beers around the room. For my last night in the house, I’m partying my ass off with imported beer and top-shelf liquor. If I’m going out, it might as well be with a bang.

Music cranks through the speakers, a new pop beat that has the girls grinding on each other. A brunette pushes Aaron out of the way to sit on the stool across from me. She raises a beer to her pouty, pink lips, fixing her eyes on me.

I invited all of my old friends, but Aaron is the only one who still puts up with my shit. We’ve been friends for so many years, I think he stays out of obligation. Most of the women in the house want to fuck me just to say they were with Nico Chase. They don’t care about me. None of these people do. The few celebs who dared to show their faces are here to see what I will do next.

Hollywood is a weird place. When you make it, you’re on top of the world. But one mistake and you fall flat on your face. Everyone is by your side on your rise to fame. Women will do unspeakable things to get close to you, and men will sell their souls to be in your inner circle. I’m the last man standing out of the actors from my circles.

Aaron slides his arm along the back of my neck. His cold beer touches my skin, and a chill rolls down my arm. “How does your last night of freedom feel?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ve never felt freer.”

“You know what I mean. Claire doesn’t mind if you stay with us for a few days as long as you don’t drink. She’s worried about the kids seeing Uncle Nico wasted again.”

“That was one time,” I snap. “And it was an accident.”

“You always have an excuse,” he counters.

“Is this your way of drying me out? Because I’m not going to fucking rehab. I don’t need it.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure looks like you could use some help, but you’re too stubborn to take it.”

“I’m an emotional drinker,” I shoot back. “I can stop whenever I want.”

“Then, do it.” He fists the bottom of my beer, and I pull it away from him. “That’s what I thought.”

“This is my last night,” I promise.

He nods in acknowledgment.

“I only need a few days to a week to sort this shit out.”

“Did your agent find you a job yet?”