Caught On Tape_A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Natalie Knight

  Do those people, some of whom no doubt watch my show The Kings, really want one of the brothers killed?

  And if so, why can’t it be Ian? Ian’s the weakest out of the trio. He has nothing on Brad and Scott. Why is Ian “off-limits,” as Ed put it?

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s because Ed’s got a thing for Ian…but I know that’s not the case.

  In the end, I walk back to my desk and try one more time to start writing. I put the whole “getting rid of one my lead characters” to one side.

  Unfortunately, I cannot think of anything other than Ed’s words.

  “Ian is off-limits.”

  Brad

  “The director’s wife apparently has an affair with—”

  “I don’t care,” I say, my sneakers hitting the hard concrete at a fast clip. I can hear Shauna huffing and puffing behind me as she tries to keep the pace, but I try to keep the focus on my own breathing.

  Having a personal assistant is fine, but I just hate it when she insists on following after me during my morning runs. Can’t a guy have a moment’s rest?

  According to Shauna, no—an actor should always be kept in the loop. Of course, that means she’s always trying to tell me about the latest gossip in the industry.

  Now I always know who’s cheating on who.

  “Oh, but this is important because—”

  “Shauna, seriously,” I tell her, slowing down my pace and looking back at her over my shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed, long locks of hair are already plastered to her face, and heavy beads of sweat are trailing down her cheeks.

  I always feel bad whenever she tries to keep up with me, but what can I do? She’s the one who insists on coming.

  “What?” she asks me, and then she stops, bending over and placing her hands on her knees. She takes deep breaths, her cheeks becoming more flushed by the second, and I stop my run and walk back to her.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m…I’m fine,” she breathes out, standing up straight, her cellphone still in her hand. “I was just trying to keep you up-to-date.”

  “Being up-to-date is fine,” I reply. “But that doesn’t mean you have to tell me every single piece of gossip you hear on the internet.”

  “Oh, I know that. It’s just that you never know what might be important,” she tells me, distractedly scrolling through the newsfeed on her phone. I doubt she heard a word of what I just said.

  “Shouldn’t you be acting as my filter? You’re supposed to tell me only the important things.” I place my hands on my hips, looking at her as she keeps her gaze fixed on her phone.

  Fucking hell, I almost want to take the phone out of her hands and smash it to pieces.

  I love Shauna to bits—she’s the best personal assistant I’ve ever had, and she’s always on top of every little thing—but she seems like a drug addict when it comes to the internet. I don’t think I can remember a single time where she didn’t have her phone in her hands.

  “Oh god,” she suddenly whispers, raising her eyes from the phone for the first time in a minute. “This is big.”

  “What’s big?” I ask her, cocking one eyebrow. Probably someone important having an affair.

  Everyone in Hollywood seems to be having an affair. Maybe someone should write a column about that—Cheater of the Week or something.

  “I’m serious, Brad,” she insists, and this time I actually believe she has something interesting for me. The look in her eyes tells me she’s worried, and it’s never a good thing when Shauna’s worried. It usually means that there’s trouble on the horizon.

  “C’mon, tell me,” I insist, resisting the urge to simply take the phone out of her hands and see with my own eyes what got her that worried.

  “Apparently, a rumor surfaced on the web about the second season of The Kings,” she finally starts, her thumb slowly sliding over the screen of her phone.”

  “We’re not getting axed, are we? I mean, the ratings were through the roof last season—”

  “It’s not that.” She cuts me short with a wave of her hand. “Apparently, one of the leads is going to be killed off this season.”

  “What the fuck?” I ask her in disbelief. That doesn’t make any fucking sense.

  The whole premise of the show involves three brothers battling it out for the family’s fortune (and the heart of one girl), so why the hell would the production kill off one of the main characters during the second season?

  “That’s what everyone’s commenting on,” Shauna shrugs, furiously scrolling through the comments on the article she’s reading. “And the studio has decided not to comment on the issue, stating that creatively speaking, all choices are valid.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  “It’s not that bad. This is creating a lot of buzz. Ratings are going to be through the roof once the second season starts.”

  “Yeah, right. But what if I’m the one being killed off?” I ask her, pursing my lips as I consider the implications. A show like The Kings offers a straight path to money and critical acclaim—it is, after all, one of these once-in-a-lifetime productions—and I sure as hell don’t want to have my head chopped off during the second season while Ian and Scott stick around to reap the rewards.

  “I need to do something,” I tell Shauna without waiting for her reply. “I can’t stand around with my hands in my pockets while someone decides my fate.”

  “Maybe you could talk with Ed?”

  “Ed?” Right, like that asshole would ever hear me out.

  He only cares about one thing, and that’s the studio bottom line. He’d happily kill every single character and replace them with pink CGI unicorns if that meant his wallet would keep on growing fatter.

  “No, I can’t speak with Ed,” I finally say.

  “Then what about Kayla?”

  “Kayla?”

  “Yeah, I know you’ve had your eye on her for a while now,” Shauna comments, her lips curling into a teasing grin.

  Shit, is it that obvious? Maybe it is, I guess. After all, what kind of guy wouldn’t have his sights set on a woman like Kayla?

  Kayla’s smart (you don’t get to be head writer of a show like The Kings just because you look good) and she’s a stunner.

  There’s a sweetness to her eyes, and her lips seem to have the perfect shape for kissing. And when she walks, the sway of her perfect hips always makes my cock twitch inside my pants. I don’t even know how many times I’ve wondered how it’d feel to have her naked body pressed against mine.

  “Maybe it’s time you make your move. Get into her good graces, and maybe she won’t chop your head off,” she tells me, making a dramatic gesture as she runs one thumb over her neck.

  “Jesus fuck, Shauna. You really know how to cheer a guy up.” I sigh heavily, run one hand through my hair, and then look straight into Shauna’s eyes. “Alright, what’s the game plan?”

  “Well.” She chuckles. “Time for you to realize that knowing everything about everything pays off.”

  “Spit it out, Shauna. My career is on the line.”

  “Alright, so…Organic Express delivers Kayla’s lunch every day, and she always eats in her office alone. That’s her routine, and she doesn’t deviate from it.”

  “Well, I guess she won’t be eating alone today then.”

  Scott

  Jab, jab, right hook.

  I land each one of my punches, and Chris tries to bob his head from side to side aimlessly, struggling to keep standing. Despite his experience inside the boxing ring, he’s no match for me – especially when I’m pissed.

  “Jesus, fuck, man!” He breathes out through his mouthpiece, his words coming at me slurred and confused. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “You told me you wanted to spar,” I shrug. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “You’re not sparring,” he protests, lowering his arms and spitting it out his mouthpiece. “You’re trying to fucking murder me.”

  Harsh words, espec
ially coming from Chris. He has been my personal trainer since forever, and I don’t remember him ever saying something like that. Yeah, I guess I’m feeling particularly pissed off today.

  “Sorry, man,” I sigh, taking off my gloves and letting them fall to the mat. I walk to the corner and sit down on the small bench, taking a bottle of water from one of the guys watching our sparring session – or my murder attempt, as Chris put it.

  “What is it? A woman? Work?” He asks me, walking up to me and placing his back against the rope. I hand him the bottle and he empties it fast.

  “Just work, I guess,” I reply, running one hand through my sweat-soaked hair.

  “Well, shit, let’s hit the heavy bag then,” he tells me, jumping out from the ring.

  Groaning, I get up from the bench and follow after him, fully knowing that almost everyone in this fucking gym is staring at me. I’m used to it by now, but this time is different – I was really putting on a show inside the ring, throwing the hardest punches I could at Chris.

  “Want to get your gloves back?” He asks me as he steps behind the heavy bag, grabbing it with both hands.

  “Nah, I’ll just go with the hand straps.”

  I need to feel the punches, even if I scrap my knuckles. I need to release all this fucking tension, even if that means my hands will be sore for the next couple of days.

  Nodding at Chris, I then start throwing jab after jab at the heavy bag. He groans with every single punch I land, grimacing as he tries to stop the heavy bag from swaying back and forth.

  “What’s happening at work? It sure got you rattled,” he asks me through his gritted teeth, pushing his shoulder against the bag.

  “Some fucking asshole…has decided to…kill off a main character,” I tell him between punches, barely blinking as I keep my eyes trained on the heavy bag, imagining the face of some anonymous producer in there.

  Who the fuck decides to kill off a main character in a show that’s a hit? The Kings is the most hyped up show on TV, and now that we’ve started shooting the second season I start hearing all these rumors. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

  “So what? Do you think you’ll be the one getting killed off?”

  “I sure hope not,” I reply, throwing a hook so hard at the bag that Chris groans as if he was the one taking the hit. “The Kings is killing it, you know? We’ve got the ratings; we’ve got the critical acclaim. We have it all, man. I can feel it, whoever’s in this project will make a killing.”

  “Curious choice of words,” Chris snorts, but I shut him up really fast. Digging my right heel onto the floor, I twist my hips fast and send my right fist flying against the bag. The impact is so strong that Chris lets go of the bag and stumbles back, a surprised expression on his face.

  “Shit,” he laughs, “you’re not fucking around, are you? You really want to stay in the show.”

  “Of course.” I stop for a moment, catching my breath and wiping the sweat off my brow. “I have the money, but I want something more, you know? I want to be recognized. I want to do something great. And I can do that in this show…unless they fucking kill me off, that is.”

  “Well, shit, can’t you talk to anyone?”

  “Like who? That shithead producer, Ed? Yeah, right,” I reply, now imagining Ed’s face on the heavy bag. That fucking idiot was probably the one pitching that stupid idea. He probably wants to start cutting costs, and while we’re still at ground level.

  “There’s gotta be someone,” Chris insists, and I suddenly realize that he’s right. There’s someone, alright.

  “Maybe,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. There’s someone that might be capable of helping me…someone with real power on the show. “There’s Kayla.”

  “The writer? She’s the one penning your scripts, right?”

  “Yeah, she’s the head writer for the show. You know her?”

  “Of course,” he laughs, perhaps noticing the hopeful expression that must be plastered on my face. “I’ve trained her a few times. She’s a cool girl. And hot too.”

  “That’s right,” I nod, Kayla the only thing on my mind right now.

  I don’t know her that well – I just talked to her the few times she decided to show up on set – but she sure as hell left an impression whenever we talked. It’s not just that she’s got the perfect lips and curves; she’s smart too. I mean, she has to be smart to write something as great as The Kings.

  “So, talk to her, man. She’s the head writer, she must have the power to save your ass.”

  “Yeah, I just gotta find an opportunity. I can’t exactly swing by her office, go down to my knees and beg,” I tell him, my mind racing as I try to think of something.

  “That’s easy. Kayla always goes for a run in the Canyon during the weekends. Saturdays and Sundays. All you gotta do is make sure you’re there.”

  “Shit, are you serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  Well, game on then.

  Brad

  “Hold on,” I tell the delivery guy as he strolls through the gates, cradling a plastic bag to his chest. He’s wearing a green cap and jacket, the Organic Express logo plastered all over his clothes, and there’s an anxious expression in his face.

  He wasn’t expecting someone to stop him.

  “I’m making a delivery for Kayla, the writer for—”

  “The Kings,” I finish his sentence for him, stepping right in front of him and flashing him my best actor’s smile.

  The moment he realizes that he’s face-to-face with one of The Kings’ main actors, his jaw almost drops to the floor.

  “Oh, shit,” he mutters in disbelief, almost dropping the bag he’s holding.

  “Whoa, careful,” I tell him, reaching for the bag before it slides off from his arms. “You don’t want to ruin Kayla’s lunch.”

  “No, I don’t want to ruin Kayla’s lunch,” he repeats after me, his tone of voice so monotone that I feel like a Jedi master implanting thoughts on unsuspecting citizens.

  Sometimes being a famous actor has its perks.

  “Actually, why don’t I take care of it for you? I’ll deliver lunch for her,” I continue, now transitioning into my no-really-I’m-a-nice-guy smile.

  “Er,” he starts, scratching the side of his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not supposed to do that. Company’s policy, ya know? I’m supposed to deliver the food to Kayla, not anyone else.

  “C’mon, man.” I laugh. “What do ya think I’m gonna do with this? Poison her? She’s my writer. I need her.”

  “Yeah, but still,” he continues, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I need to convince him to let me do the delivery—that’s my in with Kayla, and I’m not going to let it go to waste, whatever it takes.

  “Seriously,” I start, taking one step toward him and laying one hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you have a lot of deliveries to make today, and you don’t need to walk across the whole studio lot just to deliver this.” I hold the food bag in front of his face for a second. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “I don’t know…” he whispers, taking his cap off and running his tongue between his lips. He looks uncomfortable, torn between doing what some big shot TV star tells him to do and obeying his company policy.

  Maybe I can help in his little dilemma.

  “Alright, man,” I tell him, stealing the cap off his hands and grabbing the pen he has tucked in his breast pocket. Holding the cap in the same hand I’m holding the food bag, I scribble my name across it and then hand it over.

  “Oh, shit,” he whistles, his eyes widening as he looks at my autograph. The kid’s a fan, that much I can tell.

  Maybe I can make him even more of a fan.

  Reaching inside my back pocket, I grab my wallet and take two one-hundred-dollar bills from the inside. I fold them up and then tuck them inside his breast pocket before he can stop me.

  “Just a tip,” I say. “I know you’ve been coming here every day since shooting started, and I
want to know we all appreciate your hard work. Take the rest of the day off if you can. Treat your girl to dinner.”

  Is this how it feels to fucking bribe someone? Because I feel like Al Capone patting a dirty cop on the head.

  Although, yeah, I doubt Al Capone would bother with bribing the delivery guy from Organic Express.

  “Thank you,” the delivery kid finally responds, rocking back on his heels and putting his cap on. “I really, really appreciate it!”

  I offer him my hand then and give him a firm handshake, my you’re-welcome smile now plastered on my lips. Yeah, I have a lot of different smiles, and they all serve a purpose.

  “Well, shit. I pulled it off,” I whisper to myself as I watch the delivery guy turning on his heels and marching back out the studio gates. I stand there, watching him get inside his van and leave while I balance the food bag on one hand.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn around and start making my way toward Kayla’s office. I’ve never been there, as the head writer’s usually someone distant from day-to-day production, but now’s the time to get to know Kayla a little better.

  My fate hangs in her hands after all.

  Three minutes later and I’m standing outside her office, my right hand hovering over the door. I rap my knuckles against it and then perk up my ears as I wait for her reply.

  “Come in!” she shouts from the inside, and I reach for the door’s handle immediately. “Just on time. I’m so hungry that I—”

  “Yeah?” I chuckle, strolling inside her office and putting down her food bag on top of her desk. I look into her eyes, enjoying the way surprise has made her choke on her words.

  She wasn’t expecting to see me here. Why would she?

  “When did you get into the food delivery game?” She chuckles softly, tucking a lock of hair over her ear. Even though she sounds upbeat, I notice there are bags under her eyes (ones she has tried to conceal with her makeup), and her forehead is creased.