Hollywood Prince
Natasha Madison
Copyright © 2019 Natasha Madison. E-Book and Print Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons or living or dead, events or locals are entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ Use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
Cover Design: Jay Aheer https://www.simplydefinedart.com/
Editing done by Jenny Sims Editing4Indies
Proofing Julie Deaton by Deaton Author Services https://www.facebook.com/jdproofs/
Content Editing By Elaine York
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
Hollywood Playboy
Hollywood Princess
Books By Natasha Madison
Acknowledgments
To my cousins Lydia, Sabrina, Stephanie, Marissa, Victoria , Juliana and Shelly for always having my back!
Chapter One
Erin
“Hey, Erin.” I hear my name come over the speakerphone as I sit in my cubicle brainstorming for the up-and-coming movie premiere.
“Yes, Sylvia?” I answer right away.
“Come to the conference room please.” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer before she hangs up. I take a deep breath and stand. The clicking from my stilettos echoes down the long hallway as I exit my cubicle and head to the conference room where I’ve been summoned.
For the past five months, I’ve been an intern at Hillcrest Production Company, and I have one more month to go until I officially graduate at the top of my class, which is why Hillcrest chose me. I was brought on in the marketing department to bring fresh ideas for promoting their movies. I knock on the closed brown wooden door and hear someone say to come in.
Turning the silver handle, I open the door, surprised to see five people sitting around the conference table. Sylvia, head of the Public Relations department, sits next to Ryan, the owner of Hillcrest. The rest of the department heads, from the CFO to the COO, fill the other chairs. It’s the who’s who in the movie business. Not the actors and actresses but the ones who build the movie from the ground up. From set design to filming to producing to marketing, it all takes place under one roof.
“Erin,” Sylvia says, “have a seat.” She motions to one of the empty chairs, and I nod and sit down. The nervousness of all the eyes on me makes my mouth dry. I put my hand on top of the table and look around. Ryan looks at me and smiles.
“Relax,” he says, “you haven’t done anything wrong.” His words make me breathe out a sigh of relief. “In fact, I’ve heard only good things.”
“That’s good to know,” I say, and then he leans back in his chair.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase,” he says and then looks over at Sylvia, who just nods at him. “For the past five months, we’ve been watching you, and we love the ideas that you have brought to the table.” I look over at Sylvia and wonder where this is coming from. She hasn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms, so it’s no surprise she’s rude because it was evident from the first day I started interning here. Hillcrest Production Company is a dream for anyone who wants to work in the PR field. There is no sugarcoating, and I know I have a month left before the contract expires. “We have a job for you, and well . . .” he says. Sitting up, he puts his hands on the table. “If you can actually do this, I’d love to hire you for a full-time position either here or in the New York office.” Not only does Hillcrest run L.A., but it runs New York also.
This must be a joke, right? “I’m not sure what to say,” I answer, trying to find my words and not sound like an idiot. To be in charge of a whole PR team is hands down one of my biggest dreams.
“Don’t say anything yet. Wait until you see what you need to do,” Sylvia says, and I swear she hides a snide smile.
“It’s not that bad,” Ryan says and then looks at me. “What do you know about Carter Johnson?”
I look at them. “The one who just signed on to be the Loyalist?” HillCrest is going all out on their next movie. You don’t have to live under a rock to know that their last movie starring Tyler Beckett killed it at the box office. You also don’t need to know the who’s who in Hollywood to know that Carter Johnson is the next big thing. Word going around says this is his biggest contract yet.
“That’s the one,” Ryan says, and he looks at me, tapping his fingers on the table.
“Um …” I try to think of nice words to say, but I don’t get a chance.
“He’s the biggest gigolo out there,” Sylvia says, “and he’s a PR nightmare. He was just shown on TMZ walking into a hotel with two women and then walking out six hours later with a smile on his face and a cigarette hanging from his mouth with his shirt unbuttoned. I think there were even scratch marks, and I saw at least one bite mark.” I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything because it’s actually all true, and it wasn’t just on TMZ. He headlines every single gossip site at least once a week as he literally fucks his way through Hollywood. Last week, he walked out of the same hotel at two different times with two different women. Both of them draped all over him.
“I have heard of him,” I say to Ryan and then look at Sylvia, hoping she gives me something.
“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 el
se 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.
When the elevator doors slide open, I’m not surprised that no one is here yet because it’s only seven thirty in the morning. I put my Starbucks coffee on my desk and then take off my black jacket and put it on the back of my chair. Pulling out my chair, I have a seat and start the computer. I grab my notes and the reports I did on him yesterday, and the first thing I do is google Carter’s name and then set up a Google alert for him on my phone.
I scroll and see that he was out and about last night. The picture of him leaving a Hollywood hotspot three hours ago fills the screen. I scroll through them, seeing him arriving in gray jeans and a red, white, and blue plaid shirt with a blue jacket. Then there is a picture of him leaving the hotspot wearing a white T-shirt, holding the jacket and shirt in one of his hands while his other hand holds a redhead’s hand. Her skirt is barely there, and her shirt looks as though it’s buttoned wrong. He smirks at the camera guy, making me groan.
“You’re here early.” I hear Sylvia behind me. I turn and see that she is wearing another pant suit, this one gray with capris, and she is wearing a white shirt with a pink jacket. “Let me put my things down, and we can start right away,” she says. Turning around, she walks into her office and puts down her big Louis Vuitton purse in one of the chairs facing her desk. She opens the shades in her office, allowing the sun to come shining in. “We should use the conference room and get things set up,” she says loudly. Sitting behind her desk, she picks up her stack of messages. She is still old school. She wants all messages written on little pink papers, and right next to her desk is a shredder that she uses as soon as she finishes with the message. My phone buzzes on my desk, and I pick it up and it’s Sylvia. “I have to return a couple of calls, so I’ll buzz you when I’m ready,” she says and hangs up. I start on another list of things that we should do. When she finally buzzes me, I grab my coffee, my pen, and the folder that I started for him.
We walk to the conference room together, and she pushes open the door. We sit down at the table and toss ideas around until it’s a little after three. “You really did your research,” she says, leaning back in her chair. I stare at the notepad in front of her. She’s taken so many notes that she filled four sheets.
I shake my head. “I had to see what I was up against.” I tap my pen on my own pad. “Honestly, I don’t think this will ever happen.”
“Define this?” Sylvia asks, then doesn’t wait for me to answer. “If you are referring to you being able to tame the biggest social risk we’ve ever had, I am ready to bet you that you will not only make it happen, but you will also have him eating out of the palm of your hand.”
My eyebrows come together in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you know you’ve been here for five months, and you have everyone under your spell? You are social, you are nice, and you make people come to you and respect you.” She laughs. “I was on the fence with you, but when I saw the way you were with everyone here, I knew if anyone could do it”—she points at me—“it would be you.” She shakes her head, laughing a bit. “Now me, on the other hand, I would not do well. I would lock that asshole in a room and bring him out only when I needed him.”
I laugh silently. “You saw all that.” She has been the hardest nut to crack since I’ve been here. I’ve befriended everyone but her.
“I did.” She pushes away from the table. “I see everything. Now go get something to eat and get ready because he isn’t going to cave easily. The saying a leopard doesn’t change his spots means you have to be ready to prove them wrong.” I nod at her, and she walks out of the conference room, leaving me alone with my own notes.
I get up and run down to grab another coffee. Carter will be here at four and Sylvia will buzz me when it’s time for me to come in. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Maybe it’s just the biggest opportunity of my life. Maybe because if I actually achieve this, it will put me up there and my name on the map. I’m walking back in when my phone rings. I look down at it in my hand and see it’s my mom.
“Hey, Mom.” I answer the phone, walking back to the office and enjoying the little heat that I’ve had today.
“Hey, sunshine.” I smile when she uses my childhood nickname. “Just calling to check in.” My mother was a single mom, always. She and my father were never together really. They had a relationship of sorts, but nothing that would stick, and they were both okay about it. When my mother found out she was pregnant, she said she was keeping me, and it was up to my father if he wanted to be involved because she was not going to force me on him.
I guess I got lucky because my father accepted it with an open mind. He was always in my life, and he supported my mother and me very well. At first, we grew up in a two-bedroom condo near the beach in Florida, and slowly, we moved
up to a house, which she refuses to leave. It’s right on the beach, and she wants to keep it in case I want to move home. Was I close to my father? I mean, I was as close as I can be to a person who would visit on the holidays. He was there for some birthdays and some not. I was always okay with it because my mother made sure I never doubted I was loved. Not for one minute. Growing up, she would date but only casually and in passing and never brought any man home.
When I got accepted to the college of my choice, it was bittersweet. I would be leaving her, and I dreaded that, but she never made me feel guilty about it. My father ended up covering my whole tuition and still paid my mother every month. He also never had any kids, nor did he have women. I mean, I know he had women, but none that he brought home to me or introduced me to.
“Mom, you don’t have to keep checking in with me,” I tell her with a smile. She wasn’t just my mother; she was really my best friend. “You could just call to see what I’m doing.”
“Okay, fine.” She laughs. “What’s new?”
“Have you spoken to Dad?” I ask her, knowing why she is calling. “I spoke to him last night so I know that you know.”
“I do know, and I did,” she says. I hear the waves in the background, so I know she’s sitting out on the deck watching the sun go down.
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