Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Apparently, that’s his side hustle.”
“Oh.” I was about to make a dumbass comment about him not charging me, but I honestly had no idea whether or not I’d paid him a dime. I probably had made a promise I couldn’t keep, though.
Christ, I was a dick.
“Oh indeed,” Seb huffed sarcastically, turning to address Janet. “See what you can find out about the old man, and look into some kind of charity outreach too. Trent might be able to help us with that. Wholesome, positive, feel-good shit is what we’re after, got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Seb inclined his head in silent dismissal and waited till Janet closed the door behind her before speaking. “You okay?”
“My stomach feels off. A greasy burger with a fried egg on top might solve my hangover blues,” I replied flippantly.
“I’m not referring to the hangover you one hundred percent deserve. I mean…you. Are you okay?”
Seb’s obvious concern caught me by surprise.
I’d worked for the guy for over ten years. I knew his sons, his ex-wife, his best friend, and his husband. I knew he had a goofy, softer side he saved for people he cared about—or when he wanted his prey to relax, so he could tighten his grip around their necks.
Sure, we’d shared a few illicit sexy times in the past, but I wasn’t a complete moron. It was smart to remember that his interest in me began and ended with Baxter. Seb was a shark in a designer suit with a great smile, an affable demeanor, and the instincts of a sharpshooter. And he could end my world in a second.
At this stage, I didn’t think I was in any real danger of losing my job. I was popular, and he needed me. But I still had to play the game, and that meant doing my part to make things right.
I did my best to meet his eagle-eyed look without blinking and failed. Seb was just too…intimidating. Even when he was trying to be nice.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I got carried away last night. It won’t happen again,” I assured him.
“It better fucking not,” Seb scoffed, pushing away from his desk and moving to sit in the chair Janet had abandoned next to me. My blood pressure rose on cue, and I hoped like hell my deodorant held up. “Listen, we haven’t had this chat in a while, so maybe you need a refresher.”
“No, I—”
“You do,” he intercepted, leaning into my space. “It’s pretty simple, Pierce. I don’t care who you fuck or what you do in your free time as long as you keep your nose clean and your name out of the fucking headlines. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good.” Seb eased backward and propped his elbows on the armrests with his fingers steepled in a casual pose that didn’t mesh with the waves of intensity emanating from his pores. “One more thing. I like Janet’s idea, but I don’t want you to sign up for anything that’s going to mess with your head. I know your mother was—”
“No.” I held up a hand and flashed the lopsided cocky half smile synonymous with Baxter. “I’m fine, Seb. Thanks.”
He pursed his lips but didn’t argue. “All right. Then here’s what’s happening. You’re going to be a fucking Boy Scout for the next three months. Lay low, chill, do some yoga, learn to surf…and immerse yourself in the world of philanthropy. We’re gonna make you so squeaky clean, you’re gonna fart soap suds.”
“Nice image,” I snarked. “What do you mean three months? I thought we were supposed to begin filming in Toronto in a few weeks.”
“It got pushed to spring. Hal is stuck on another set, and there was some issue with permits.” He shrugged irritably and stood. “You’ll have the script soon and plenty of time to memorize it. In LA.”
“Are you telling me I can’t leave the state?” I gaped incredulously.
Seb gave me a paternal smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t put it like that. You’re not under house arrest, for fuck’s sake, but I want you close by. These are tricky times, Pierce. It’s award season, and that means free publicity we can’t afford to squander. You’re my number-one box office sensation. You’re a studio gem, a legend before your time. I need you to represent us by doing all the good deeds…right where I can see you.”
“That sounds…like hell.”
He snort-laughed, patting my shoulder, then checking his watch. “Save the drama for the screen, baby. I gotta run. I have a call in five minutes, and I still have to come up with—you don’t look so good. Do you need some Gatorade? I’ll ask Trish to…”
I tuned him out.
My brain was mushy, and my stomach roiled. I had to get out of here. Fast. I mumbled something incoherent, grimacing as my insides lurched.
Oh, fuck.
Do not get sick. Do not get sick. Please, let me have this one shred of dignity.