The Fame Game

He laughs. “Not really. His wife hates me. She doesn’t want me to drink at her house. When I’m there, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. She follows me around like I will break something. It’s uncomfortable.”

“You can stay with me,” I blurt out.

What did I just do? What am I even saying?

I can’t live with my client. If anyone were to find out, my career would be over before it’s began. Burke would have a damn stroke.

Nico stops at the red light and glances over at me. He studies my face, and I feel like I will melt under his intense gaze.

“You would do that for me?”

I didn’t think he would be interested. And now, what do I say? He can sleep in Harley’s old bedroom.

“Yes.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Holmby Hills.”

“I dated a girl who lived there,” he says as he turns onto Wilshire. “She was a pain in my ass. High-maintenance and always wanted to come with me to Hollywood parties to meet people in the biz.” Nico clutches the steering wheel with one hand, checking his mirrors as he changes lanes.

“It’s not my house,” I admit. “My friend owns the place.”

“She won’t mind if I crash for a while?”

“I have to call her.”

Nico hits a button on the remote attached to his visor, and the doors to his mansion open inward, allowing him to drive onto the property.

“This feels weird,” he whispers. “I’ve lived here for five years.”

“My mom always says that one door closes so another can open. This might feel like the end of the world to you, but I promise we will turn this around. You’ll be back to living like the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous in no time.”

“I don’t care about the money,” he says without hesitation. “I never did this to get rich or famous.”

“Going back to basics will be good for you. You’ll see. This is rock bottom, Nico. Don’t take it for granted.”

* * *

After I drive off Nico’s property, I call Harley, who answers on the third ring.

“Hey,” Harley says. “You miss me yet?”

I laugh. “You know, I do. I miss the shit out of your face. The house gives me the creeps when I’m alone.”

“They’re settling creaks,” Harley says for what feels like the hundredth time. “Just ignore them.”

“How’s everything going in Philly?”

“Nate has been so amazing since I got back. He’s making up for the time we were apart.”

I groan. “Don’t rub it in that you’re getting more sex than me.”

Harley chuckles. “I didn’t mean sex, but yeah, Nate is making up for that too.”

“Lucky bitch,” I quip. “Now that I have Nico Chase as a client, I probably won’t have sex for another year.”

“You knew he would be a challenge.”

“Actually, Nico is the reason I’m calling. I mean, I wanted to talk to you and see how you’re doing, but I also have to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” she says.

“Nico needs a place to stay temporarily. I accidentally blurted out that he could live with me. I wasn’t thinking, babe. And I didn’t think he would even take me up on the offer. I told him I have to talk to you first.”

“Nico Chase,” she says in disbelief. “Wait until I tell Nate I have a movie star living in my house. He’s a big fan of Nico. Think you can get him to sign something for him?”

“Sure. So, you’re cool with this?”

“As long as he doesn’t hurt you, I’m good. But if he pulls any of his shit, I’ll fly out there and kick his ass.”

I laugh so hard a tear slides down my cheek. “And you’ll have my permission to do just that.”

Chapter Fifteen

Nico

I stare up at the mansion as I slam the trunk of my car closed. Even though I don’t own this place, it sure as hell felt like mine while I lived here. Checking my watch, I sigh when I realize I’m running late. I told Willow I would be at her house at noon, and I’m already proving I’m unreliable.

I climb into the car and drive off the property, leaving my past behind. Holmby Hills is a quick drive from my old house in Beverly Hills. At least I don’t have to travel far. It surprised me when Willow said she lived in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Los Angeles. Junior agents make little money, even those who work for a big agency like Brenton-Lake. And until she gets me a job, we’re both screwed.

I park behind a beat-up Toyota in the driveway. Willow is waiting for me on the front steps, wearing black sunglasses that obscure most of her face. She’s dressed in jeans and a purple tank top, digging her elbows into her thighs as she watches me get out of my car.

I move toward her, and she waves, a smile stretching the corners of her mouth.