Down and Dirty (Scions of Sin Book 3)

by Taylor Holloway

  “Hi sweetheart, I’m just calling from the airport to let you know I got here safely,” Nicholas’ voice came through my little speakers with a lot of background noise.

  Nicholas was in Los Angeles. He’d announced his candidacy for Senate recently and now was making the talk show rounds. His first appointment—the inaugural episode of David’s talk show, Out to Lunch.

  “How’s the weather in LA?” I asked.

  “Sunny and gorgeous of course,” Nicholas replied, “but I’d rather be home with you.”

  I smiled into the phone. Although we’d begun to settle into our new normal, and our new townhouse, we were still getting to know each other in some ways. I was learning new, little things about Nicholas all the time. Each little discovery, each eccentricity and idiosyncrasy, made me love him more. Like the fact that he intentionally took redeye flights because there were fewer people on them. I tried to convince him to take the Durant Industries jet, but he claimed that was a conflict of interest.

  “Harley missed you last night,” I told Nicholas, “She pulled one of your shirts out of the dirty clothes and slept on top of it.”

  “Yeah right,” he scoffed, “she doesn’t even love me anymore. She’s become a total mama’s girl. She probably didn’t even notice I was gone.”

  It wasn’t quite true that Harley had forgotten about Nicholas, but she had decided that she loved me after all. It had taken a long time, but I’d finally earned her affection. The fact that I snuck her peanut butter whenever Nicholas wasn’t looking probably didn’t hurt my chances either.

  “We really do miss you,” I promised, “both of us. Come home soon.”

  I could hear his smile come through in voice when he replied.

  “I’ll be home tonight,” he told me, “As soon as the show is finished filming, I’ll be heading back to the airport. David’s going to try to make me come out with him, but I’d much rather be home with you and Harley than at some dumb bar with David.”

  “Good luck on the show,” I said to Nicholas, “break a leg. Tell David I said hi. Love you.”

  “Will do,” he replied, “I love you. If I embarrass myself on national television, will you still marry me?”

  “Of course,” I told him confidently, “besides, if anyone is going to embarrass themselves on national television today, it will probably be David. Remember his toast at the wedding?”

  David’s inebriated, brotherly send up had included a full inventory of Nathan’s flaws, a protracted anecdote about the time both Breyer boys got mononucleosis from the same girl in high school, and a hilarious, mortifying, and scathing review of Nathan’s infamous sex tape. It was legendary and all in good fun.

  Nicholas laughed.

  “How could I forget?” He replied. I could almost see him shaking his head in amazement. “I’m sure it won’t be nearly as entertaining this afternoon. The whole world will be watching.”

  Epilogue- Nicholas

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” David asked me at the pre-show coffee buffet in the greenroom. “You can still back out if you want to. I don’t want to jinx your political career if my show bombs.”

  I rolled my eyes at David. During my time doing zilch in Alaska, David had discovered that practically everything he did was a commercial success. Restaurants, cookbooks, cooking shows, the man even had his own brand of mixers now. This was David’s first foray out of the food realm, but I had no doubt that he would kill it.

  “What are you so nervous about?” I asked him.

  He hesitated.

  “Nothing. Everything. I don’t known man,” David said eventually. He took an anxious sip of his espresso. “This whole talk show thing has felt cursed from the start. We’ve been through like four different producers, three concepts, and I’ve fired two agents and a lawyer over the past year. I’m just worried it’s become an over-processed, commercialized monster.”

  “I’m sure it’s just pre-show jitters,” I said soothingly, and then smirked and repeated his own words back at him, “you can still back out about having me on if you want to. I don’t want to jinx your show if my political career bombs.”

  “You’re by far the best guest we’ve got this episode. Because we pushed the release back and it’s a live show, we booked a few bottom of the barrel guests. I had to turn down a literal monkey.”

  I raised my eyebrows at David and he nodded sadly.

  “How would you even interview a monkey?” I asked, and he shrugged his shoulders.

  “That’s why I had to veto the monkeys,” he grumbled, “I swear to god the production and studio people out here in LA treat me like I’m a trained monkey. They’ve been astounded I have opinions since the very start. You’d think being executive producer of my own show would mean something….” David trailed off in irritation.

  “Plus, you have that whole thing about monkeys,” I added, then asked, “do you still have that thing about monkeys?”

  He didn’t reply, but the look on David’s face told me that he very much still had his fear of monkeys. According to family legend, he’d gotten left behind near the monkey cage during a kindergarten trip to the zoo. Somehow, trauma had ensued. Even by twelve, David couldn’t get through Planet of the Apes without crying.

  “They’re just much too human-like,” he eventually said. His otherwise pleasant face had a look of total revulsion on it. “I hate their little hands and their creepy little faces.”

  I thought monkeys were cute, so I had nothing to offer David. We drank our coffee in silence for a moment before an official-looking guy in a black t-shirt waved David off to makeup.

  “Break a leg!” I yelled after him and he grinned.

  David was prone to dramatics, I reminded myself. Everything was going to be perfectly fine. Oliver had been one hundred percent supportive of this being the first, national media appearance. He wouldn’t have approved it if it was a bad idea. I helped myself to another pastry and looked over my talking points again.

  I must have zoned out during my study session, because the next thing I knew, the green room had emptied out. The official ‘guest handler’ popped her head in and gave me a five-minute warning, and then disappeared to notify the other guests that the show was starting. I knew that Jenna was watching at home and the thought of disappointing her with my performance made me feel vaguely ill. I could do this.

  The press conference had been easy—just stand at the podium and read from the teleprompter—but this would require extemporaneous speaking and answering questions (even if they were all softball questions from my cousin). In the past few weeks I’d been drilled, prepped, and put through politician boot camp by Oliver, but it still didn’t quite feel like enough.

  The butterflies in my stomach were fighting with one another.

  I envied David’s ease in front of the camera. While I’d been hiding from the world in Alaska, David had exploded on the national scene with a natural charisma and charm that wowed the ladies and made the guys want to learn how to cook. His cooking show had been genuinely fun, witty, and interesting to watch. Even Jenna was a fan, and she barely watched television. The format of this show was totally different, but at least David knew what he was doing in front of people. Meanwhile, I was back here praying I didn’t make an ass of myself in front of the whole world.

  I watched the monitors as the feed went live on the other side of the green room wall.

  “Welcome to Out to Lunch!” David announced gleefully in front of his studio audience and a shit-ton of cameras. He was greeted by thunderous applause, screaming women, and a balloon drop. He looked totally at home on his garishly decorated orange and aqua set, looking irritatingly suave and debonair in a tightly fitted, fashionable navy suit. “This is our very first show, you are our very first audience, and I already know we’re going to have a great time together.”

  He smiled rakishly at the women in the audience, who screamed again as if on cue. He looked like he was having a blast so far. The nervous guy fr
om a few hours ago was gone. David was commanding the attention of his audience.

  “We’ve got three guests to grill—I mean greet and get to know—on today’s show. First up is Eileen Pritchard, actress and celebrity exotic animal trainer. Second is reality star Keefer McGill. And last but not at all least, my very own cousin Nicholas Durant will be joining us. Spoiler alert: he’s running for senate. But before we get to them, we’ve got a very wild lady on set. Please welcome our very first guest ever, the actress, naturalist, conservation and animal trainer Eileen Pritchard.”

  Eileen Pritchard proved to be a tall, tan woman in her early fifties with slightly bugged-out blue eyes and a lot of mascara. She had long, dark hair pulled into a bun, and was wearing a shapeless grey dress and a monkey. Yes, she was accessorized with an actual, live monkey sitting on her shoulder. I’d never heard of this woman or her monkey, but the crowd went mad. Either the studio audience really liked primates, or this woman was incredibly famous. I was betting on the monkeys.

  By the look on David’s face, he hadn’t been told about the return of primates to his line up in advance. Still, he recovered quickly.

  “Welcome to Out to Lunch, Eileen,” David said solicitously, escorting the woman and her monkey to the couch next to his interview desk, “Thank you so much for being our first ever guest!”

  “My pleasure,” Eileen said breathily, looking up at David with obvious nervousness and attraction. “I’m so happy to be meeting you. I’ve read all your cookbooks and I watch your cooking show all the time. I’m a huge fan.”

  “Likewise,” David said pleasantly. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which remained riveted on the diaper-wearing monkey. “I absolutely adored your last project. Who would have thought a children’s YouTube show about clowns could be so tragic? And now I understand you have taken up animal training as a method acting technique before your next project. Tell me, who do you have here with you?”

  Eileen grinned broadly and reached up to stroke the monkey’s furry little head. The monkey chirped in delighted response. David flinched.

  “This here is Bono,” she said with a bright white, Hollywood smile. I could put money on the fact she’d had veneers. And a nose job. And probably a boob job. At least the monkey looked natural enough. “Bono is a twelve-year-old capuchin monkey from Argentina. Would you like to shake hands with him?”

  David scowled, looked out to the side in confusion, and then pressed his hand to his ear. I wondered if someone was screaming at him through his earpiece.

  “Of course, I would,” he said pleasantly after a split second of confusion. He smiled warmly as if the moment hadn’t happened and extended a finger to the monkey who shook it with both, furry hands. “Bono, you’re quite a gentleman,” David said to the monkey with a tight-lipped smile.

  The crowd twittered in delight at the site of a full-grown man shaking hands with a monkey, but then roared in laughter when the monkey pulled off David’s wrist watch. Bono got startled by the crowd and jumped lightly from Eileen’s shoulder to David’s. For his part, David looked totally stunned and suddenly very uncomfortable. He didn’t scream, but he did freeze. The monkey began running its hands through David’s hair and beard with great interest.

  “Oh, he likes you, too,” Eileen said apologetically, “I let him watch all your cooking channel shows, you see. So, he thinks he knows you. Capuchins are very intelligent primates. They have incredible facial recognition skills. They even use tools,” she continued as she handed over David’s watch, “as you can see, their hands are very dexterous.”

  She scooped the monkey back from David’s shoulder and set him on her lap. David looked totally dumbfounded. His expression was quickly beginning to shift from alarm and confusion to irritation.

  “Calm down, Bono,” Eileen told the monkey in a sing-song voice, “you don’t want him to think we’re crazy fans.”

  The crowd twittered in amusement again.

  “S-so I hear that you and Bono are going to be in a movie soon, is that right?” David asked suddenly, trying to recover from the obvious shock of having a monkey jump onto him. I had no doubt that whoever surprised David with the live animals was going to get an earful after the show wrapped. It was probably only visible to me and others who knew him, but David was furious.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Eileen said smoothly. She flashed her veneers at him again and then pivoted toward the audience. “Bono and I are going to be in a remake of the 1951 classic Ronald Regan movie ‘Bedtime for Bonzo’ with a chimpanzee named Corey. In a twist, we’ve adapted it as a silent film that we’ll be performing in mime.”

  “That’s very interesting,” David said, shaking his head, smiling, and visibly trying to refocus himself, “I remember seeing that movie in a PoliSci class in high school. What led you to be interested in that project? Are you a big fan of President Regan? Or is it more of an interest in primate science that caught your fancy?”

  Eileen giggled like a school girl. The monkey in her lap also laughed. The entire scene was bizarre.

  “Oh, my interest wasn’t politically motivated,” she replied, “I just look for opportunities to show the world my uniqueness. My life is my art. I am the living embodiment of avant-garde. Right now, I love primates and want everyone to understand what incredible, smart, and sensitive animals they are. That’s why I brought Bono and Corey to meet you today.”

  She said all this with total seriousness.

  “I’m sorry,” David stuttered. “Did you say Corey the chimpanzee was here too?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Eileen said happily. David’s face was blank. He touched his earpiece again.

  “When did you first realize that you had a passion for working with animals?” David asked Eileen. She looked confused at the question. She gaped at David who looked absolutely livid. I got the feeling David had intentionally missed his obvious cue to invite Corey out on stage.

  “I’ve always loved animals,” Eileen said simply, “I love them as much as I used to love belly dancing. Or before that, motocross. Shall I bring out Corey now?”

  David wasn’t able to answer, because the audience had begun applauding again. Clearly, they all very much wanted to see the chimpanzee. This woman was some kind of weird performance artist? She seemed sort-of psycho. I had no idea what was going on. Clearly David didn’t either. When the chimp emerged from the backstage area, Corey was wearing an ‘I love David’ t-shirt with David’s face on it. He walked out awkwardly on two legs and joined Eileen on the couch. David’s jaw had dropped open in shock.

  I bit back my laughter. What the fuck was happening out there? As the final guest, I was the only one in the green room. I was transfixed on the screen but now intensely curious about what else might be lurking backstage.

  “Do you want to see some of Corey’s tricks?” Eileen asked David in a leading tone. She was beginning to get uncomfortable at David’s total lack of reaction to Corey.

  “Corey can juggle,” Eileen said awkwardly, “he can also do some sign language. I’ve been showing him your shows lately. He’s watched you so many times that every time I come home, Corey asks me ‘where’s David?’ in sign.”

  David blinked at Eileen and said nothing. She smiled nervously and turned to Corey.

  “Where’s David?” Eileen asked the chimp, signing something with her hands. The chimp reached out its hairy little hand and pointed at David.

  The crowd twittered awkwardly. They were beginning to pick up on David’s mood.

  David stood up at his desk and walked around to the other side of it. He leaned against it and stared at his audience in silence. After about ten seconds of dead air, David shook his head.

  “Lady, please take your monkeys and get out of here,” David said to Eileen in a cold voice. “I sincerely apologize—and this is not about you—but this isn’t going to work. You should really go.”

  Eileen rose stiffly, took Corey’s hand, and swiftly walked off the stage in silence. Corey lo
oked back over his shoulder at David and waved. The audience didn’t know whether to clap, laugh, boo, or cheer. They ended up doing a bit of all four. The little wave of noise and activity ended abruptly when David cleared his throat loudly.

  “Sorry guys. I’m not sure exactly what I expected when I agreed to do a fucking talk show, but it definitely wasn’t this,” David began. “Clearly, I’ve made an enormous fucking mistake by giving up any creative control to the assholes that produced this fucking piece of shit. But let’s just have a chat really quick about this shit show, shall we?”

  In my pocket, I felt my phone start to buzz. I didn’t need to look to see who it was. It was Jenna. She, like potentially millions of others, was watching the live feed of the show from home. David had just gone off the rails on national television. I mean, he was cursing like a sailor. He threw his guest and her monkeys off the stage. Now he appeared to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

  This was not good, but it was… entertaining. The audience was riveted. I was riveted. I could only imagine the entire world was wondering what came next.

  Thank you ARC readers!

  Hi!

  I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to review ‘Down and Dirty’. I can’t wait to read your honest feedback. The novel is live on Amazon as a preorder and it would be amazing if you could post your review on Amazon as soon as possible, so potential readers can view your thoughts before they decide to take the plunge :)

  You can post your review right here.

  A Goodreads review would be amazing if you are so inclined! Click here to do so.

  I have been furiously reading and re-reading my work, in addition to the work my editor has been doing, but if you do find an error, please let me know by emailing me at Taylor@taylorholloway.com

  Thank you so much! I hope you love ‘Down and Dirty’ as much as I loved writing it! - XOXO Taylor

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