“Do I look the part?” I ask her, turning and taking myself in. I pinned one side of my hair up and then let the rest fall down in curls.
“Babe.” I hear Carter call me, and I pick up my girl, and she smiles at me, showing me her two teeth.
I walk out of the room, the swishing of the gown all around me, and I see my husband looking handsome in his black velour tux. “Da da da,” Annabella says when she sees him, and when I’m close enough, she tries to pitch herself forward.
“There is my queen,” he says, kissing my cheek. “And my princess.” He tosses her in the air, and she screams with glee.
We walk down the steps together, and my father snaps a picture of the three of us. Annabella in tights with roses on them and a shirt that says “Dada’s prize.” My mother put on a cream-colored headband with a huge bow on it, and I’m surprised she hasn’t ripped it off.
“We have to get going,” my father says and walks over to my mother and kisses her on the cheek and then kisses Annabella. My mother has now moved to California, and she lives in Carter’s house on the beach. There was no way to keep her away, and my father is thriving in it. “See you later,” he says, and I have to think that he will eventually get his head out of his own ass and just see what is in front of him. They are both still in love, and nothing is keeping them from being together.
“Good luck, guys,” she says, walking out with us and waving at us as we make our way to the awards.
“Do you have a speech?” my father asks him, and he just shakes his head. “Winging it? We all know what happened last time,” he jokes. When Carter got up on stage at the Golden Globes and was at a loss for words, his speech was all about Annabella and her spit-up stories and the all-nighters that she makes him pull.
We sit in the limo line, and I breathe in and out. Counting to ten, I try to get myself to simmer down because I’m so nervous for him. It takes forty minutes for us to be let out, and the crowd goes wild when he gets out and waves.
Kellie and Brian walk up to us, and she kisses his cheek. She wrote the song for the movie soundtrack, and she is also up for an award tonight. Her husband beams with pride by her side. I walk to step away from Carter so he can take his own pictures, but I know he won’t let go. We walk in and take our seat in the front row, and I sit between my father and my husband. Kellie ends up winning the Oscar for the best song, and the crowd goes wild . . . and then it’s time for the best actor award.
“I’m so proud of you, regardless of who wins,” I whisper to him when they introduce him and play a little clip of the movie.
I hold his hand in mine, squeezing it when the presenter says, “And the Oscar goes to . . .” They take the paper out of the envelope, and I sit here, waiting for his name. “Carter Johnson.”
I jump out of my chair, and he hugs me. “I love you so much,” I tell him, and he kisses my neck and doesn’t let me go. “You have to go and get your award.” He smiles at me, kissing my lips. “But before you go, challenge completed,” I tell him, and he looks at me with huge eyes and then looks down at my stomach, and I just nod. He shakes my father’s hand and takes the steps two by two until he holds the Oscar in his hand and steps to the mic.
“My wife told me in the car to prepare a speech, but I said I’m going to wing it,” he says, looking down at the gilded man in his hand. “That might not have been my best choice since I am coming up at a complete blank right now.” I shake my head, and he laughs. “I want to thank Ivan for pushing me to the point where I thought I was going to break.” He names the key people on the film. “To Ryan, who gave me a shot even though everything was stacked against me and everyone told him not to.” I look over at my father, who just laughs. “To Annabella, being your father is the best role I could ever have,” he says, beaming with pride and a huge smile. “And finally, to the woman who gave me everything that you could possibly give a person. Erin”—he looks at me—“you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and you make me want to be a better man. I love you,” he says just as the music starts. They are ushering him to the side stage, but he doesn’t go. Instead, he comes down the stairs and grabs my hand and hands my father the Oscar and then looks at him with just a nod. He pulls me to the side where it’s semi-quiet and then leans in. “Are you really pregnant?” he asks me, and I smile.
“I took a test this morning,” I tell him. “I missed a pill last month and then I tried to double up, but you know you and your swimmers.”
“They are Olympians,” he says of his sperm, and I laugh.
“Can you go and do your interviews so we can go and get something to eat?” I ask and then he gets down on his knees and kisses my stomach.
“Hey there, little one number two,” he says, “it’s me. Everyone calls me the Hollywood prince, but to you, I’m just Dad.”
* * *
The end
Hollywood Playboy
Jessica
* * *
An entertainment journalist was the last thing I thought I would be doing.
I thought once I got my degree, I would be reporting on stories that made a difference, but now all I do is report on who broke up with who and who is dating who.
I was over it.
Then I got my next assignment.
* * *
He’s Hollywood’s bad boy.
He works hard, and he plays even harder.
He’s rude, he’s condescending, and he’s made it known he doesn’t want me on the tour.
* * *
With one month on the road with him, two things might happen
One, I may never work in this industry again.
Two, I may just be like everyone else and fall for Hollywood’s Playboy.
Jessica
Breaking News: Tyler Beckett is ready to take on the press. Sources say no expense will be spared, and the press will be handpicked. The question is, who will be the lucky ones?
“Knock-knock,” I say, knocking on the big brown door to my editor Stephanie’s office. Laser-focused on her computer screen, she looks up at the unexpected, yet hopefully welcome intrusion and removes her glasses. Her button-down white silk shirt is tied at the neck with a bow sash off to the side, showcasing how put together this woman really is.
“Hey, Jessica,” she says, smiling at me. “Come on in.” She motions with her hands to the empty seat in front of her executive desk, causing her gold and silver bangles to clink together.
“You said to come see you before I head out for the day,” I say, acknowledging the reason I’m invading her space. Walking into her corner office, I’m drawn to the view of the Hollywood sign like a beacon in the distance.
When I walked into this office seven years ago, I intended to get some experience under my belt to add to my resume. I busted my ass in high school and had my master’s in foreign communications by the time I was twenty-two. I had a plan to travel the world and bring people stories that they often didn’t hear about. Aspirations for seeing my byline on articles and published in print and online were what I dreamed about the most.
But here I am, seven years later, getting the juicy Hollywood scoop that people crave. And the best part? I am not just good at my job; I am the best at it. I know every single photographers’ number by heart. If something happens in this town, people call me to offer first dibs on the scuttlebutt.
“Yes,” she answers. “Please sit.” I walk toward her, my long, flowing black skirt moving between my legs as I take a seat in one of the chairs. After crossing my legs, I wait for her to tell me why I’m here. “I got a call today from HillCrest.” She looks at me, rocking back in her chair.
“What now?” I ask. HillCrest is one of the biggest production companies out there. They began with indie films, and then one of their movies blew up and won seventeen Academy Awards. That was fifteen years ago … now, if you want them to back your movie, it means a blockbuster, even if it’s shit. Trust me, some pretty shitty ones have gone on to gross over the one-hundred-million mark that weren�
�t worth the paper the tickets were printed on.
“I’ll cut right to the chase.” Getting up and walking to the corner window, she keeps her back to me. “Tyler Beckett’s new film.”
“Adrenaline Run?” I ask her, thinking about the chatter of it becoming the biggest box office hit ever, or at least that is the word on the street. The trailers have been playing nonstop for the past two weeks, the billboards are everywhere, and the mass transit ads on every bus around every corner have a larger-than-life picture of Tyler Beckett in all his cockiness. Unless you live under a rock, you know that this movie is coming. “I’ve seen some of the trailers, and I’m not going to lie; no matter how much I want to hate the movie just because of Tyler, it looks like a good one.”
She turns around, now looking at me. “HillCrest is going all out for this film. I mean, all out.” She emphasizes these last words. “They are putting together a press junket.”
“Okay, that isn’t anything new.” I get up and walk over to her, both of us now surveying our respective kingdoms.
“No, you’re right,” she says and then turns to me, “but it isn’t going to be your ordinary hotel junket.”
“Well, then, what are they doing?” I ask her, my interest piqued now. “Knowing Tyler Beckett, it will be a spectacle no doubt.” I’m tempted to roll my eyes.
“Yeah, you can say that.” She turns and walks back to her chair. “It’s definitely something no one has seen or done before, which is why we need to be at the forefront of the promotion.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s so damn irritating,” I say in exasperation. She just stares at me, probably wondering where in the hell that outburst came from. I can’t tell you why I feel like this when it comes to Tyler, but I just do. Maybe it’s because he is always one step ahead of me when I have a juicy scoop about him. It’s like he knows I’m going to blow the lid on whatever salacious deets I have on his latest scandal, so what does he do? He releases a statement of his own right before I publish my story, sinking my breaking news before the ink even dries on the page.
He is known to play hardball, though. Three years ago, I got an exclusive video of him and a certain woman, a married woman even, who just so happened to be his best friend’s wife. They were on a yacht somewhere in the middle of Italy, and the hour before my story was set to run, he put out a press release that they were dating, and she was getting a divorce. Needless to say, I spent much of that night getting drunk and slurring a few choice words for the asshole. I don’t know where his spies are, but they are all around with their ears to the literal ground, so I learned quickly not to show my hand to anyone. But even with that, he remains one step ahead of me. Every. Damn. Time. It’s the most irritating thing.
“Thirty days,” she says, my mind still out in Tyler Beckett Purgatory, so I’m not comprehending what she’s saying. “Jessica, they are going on a thirty-day tour.”
“Thirty days?” I look up at Stephanie, not believing what she’s saying, but then I look back down again. Realizing she’s dead-ass serious, I roll my eyes at the audacity of a tour that lasts longer than some relationships in Hollywood. “That’s insane and dare I say a tad overkill.” I walk back to the chair and sit down. “How the hell are they going to pull that off?”
“They bought a plane, a big ass plane.” She stops talking, allowing that last part to sink in. “A select number of press are going to be traveling with them. They are doing ten worldwide stops. The stop in Paris will be the official movie premiere, then it will end in Australia, but the press tour stops before that in Los Angeles. There is talk of taking a few of you to Australia, but it’s still up in the air right now.”
“That schedule alone is crazy. Can you imagine a whole press tour and the logistics of something of that magnitude?” As I shake my head, my mind’s a whirlwind of what it would take to pull off a press junket that lasted that long.
“I honestly can’t fathom it.” She taps her finger on her desk, staring me down. “But they are taking ten journalists with them.” We stare at each other when she drops the bomb on me. The reason I’m here in her office right now. “You are one of the select few chosen.”
“No.” Sitting up straight, I look her dead in the eye, not even believing what I’m about to say to my boss. But there’s no other way to say it. “Not a chance in hell, Stephanie . . . no way.”
“You know what’s so damn funny?” She wears a knowing smirk on her face as she leans back in her chair, tapping her index finger on her chin. “That is exactly what Tyler said when he saw your name on the list of press members who would be joining him on the month-long tour.”
“He said that because of me?” I ask, shocked. I mean, I’m not shocked but still. “Me?”
“I need to know what that is all about. You aren’t telling me the whole story, and before I send you off to be a part of history in the making with this exclusive opportunity, I want the goods.” She knows I’m holding something back, yet refusing to say a word of truth.
“I have no idea. We don’t exactly run in the same circles.” I think we’ve been in the same room maybe ten times, and during each of those encounters, we were surrounded by hundreds of other people.
“Well, according to Ryan from HillCrest, yours was the only name he dragged his heels about.” Her eyes remain on me, waiting for me to confess all my dirty little secrets.
“Good.” I cross my arms over my stomach, mumbling under my breath to no one in particular. “He’s an asshole, and I don’t want to be anywhere near him either.” I think about the times I got cheated of an exclusive story because he got the jump ahead of me to put out his own story. The times on the red carpet when he would walk right past me, only to stop at the reporter next to me. The times I interviewed him, pushing his buttons by asking him questions I knew were off-limits. So it really comes as no surprise that he doesn’t want me on the tour.
“Ryan overrode him,” she tells me. My eyes plead with her to override Ryan even though I know her hands are just as tied as mine are in this situation. She then says the sentence I’ve been dreading to hear since she mentioned a thirty-day press junket and Tyler Beckett in the same breath. “Pack your bags, Jessica. You’re going on tour.”
Hollywood Princess
Kellie
* * *
An Oscar, a Tony, an Emmy, a Grammy—she has them all.
She's the most sought-after woman in Hollywood.
Even if her rise to fame was a fluke, you can't deny the camera loves her.
The problem is so does everyone else, and she's about to leave on the biggest concert tour of her life.
Headlining for the first time in five years.
* * *
Around the world in ninety days. Should be a piece of cake.
Until her new security detail walks in the room and she’s looking into the eyes of the only man who didn’t fall for her charm.
* * *
It's only a matter of time till he falls for Hollywood's Princess.
* * *
SNEAK PEAK
* * *
Chapter One
Kellie
* * *
“Kellie, Kellie, Kellie.” I hear my name being called when I walk from the car door to the building with my head down and wearing sunglasses. I used to watch Entertainment Tonight and wonder why people wore sunglasses at night until I went out one night, and the paparazzi caught me. The flash from their cameras literally blinded me, and I almost walked into the door. Now I’m a semi pro, so my sunglasses are always on when I go out, and I know that I’ll be snapped by a herd of photographers.
Walking through the marble lobby, I smile at the security guy. “Good morning.” He doesn’t say anything; he just smiles. They always just smile. “I really wish one day they would answer me back,” I whisper to Cori beside me who just laughs. Cori, whose real name is Corina, is my personal assistant, and I’m convinced my life would be shit without her.
“One day,” she says, pressing the
elevator button. “Then again, one day he’ll get the courage, and you’ll be old and gray.”
I laugh as I step into the elevator and press the button for the thirtieth floor. When the door opens, it’s the same marble as in the lobby, and a receptionist sits at the desk right in front of the elevators. “Hello.” I smile at her and notice the bouquet of pink roses sitting on the corner of her desk.
“Hi, Kellie.” She smiles as she takes off her headset and stands to walk around the desk. She’s wearing a pencil skirt with a silk blouse, and here I am in my tight blue jeans with the knee torn and white silk camisole with a peach-colored duster cardigan. My strappy cream high-heeled boots make the outfit classy and sexy. “Follow me.” She heads to the back where the offices are hidden, going straight to the corner where I know the conference room is located.
She knocks on the door and then opens it, smiling at the five guys sitting around the table. I take off my sunglasses and put them in my Hermes purse. “There she is,” Tommy, my manager, says, getting up from his seat at the head of the table and walking to me. He grabs me by my arms and brings me in for a big hug.
It feels like just yesterday that my life changed. One night when I was waiting tables, the owner declared open mic night, and I didn’t think anything of it when I got on that stage and did an a cappella of “Hallelujah.” Someone filmed it, and the next day, it was all over Facebook. One week later, it had sixteen million views, and the offers poured in.
I didn’t understand any of it since, deep down, I was just a country girl at heart. My parents still lived in the same house I grew up in. But that was when Tommy came in and basically made me who I am today. He’s like a big brother I never had. He mortgaged his house to finance my first album, and I was happy when it went double platinum. It was a whirlwind ride, and I was waiting for the floor to open and the dream to be over. But it just got better, if that was possible. I won my first Grammy for New Artist of the Year.
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