Pretend Wife
Annie J. Rose
Copyright © 2019 by Annie J. Rose
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers only.
All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.
Contents
Description
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
His Muse (Preview)
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Description
I said yes to being a fake wife to the hottest Hollywood actor alive.
Was it a stupid move?
Probably.
Josh needed a wife to look mature and get better roles.
I agreed to save his career and add some excitement to my mundane life.
But things didn’t turn out the way I’d expected.
Josh can’t keep his hands off me.
He’s possessive. He wants me all to himself.
And I’m tempted to give my all to him.
I didn’t sign up for this.
But I have to tell him how I feel.
Especially now that he’s fighting for his life.
If I don’t get to him now, I might have to regret it forever.
Chapter 1
Josh
“It’s not that I won’t play another stripper if the role is good, but could you at least find me one with some character motivation?” I asked.
“Listen, Josh,” my agent, Caitlyn, said, “you’re a star. You’re on everyone’s sexiest men list. You know how you got there.”
“I’m glad Say It with Flowers was such a big hit. It opened a lot of doors for me, but they all lead to movies where I play a stripper or a gigolo!”
“We have to hope lightning will strike twice. The way America loved you before was playing a well-meaning, dimwitted escort. You can’t just switch from that kind of role to playing Einstein,” she said.
“I don’t need to play a genius. But, hear me out. Look at the scripts you sent me.”
“I’ve looked at them.”
“Your assistant looked at them,” I countered.
“Okay, Clive looked at them. They’re good possibilities. Mid-budget studio flicks, summer comedies.”
“The descriptions both read ‘attractive but shallow white male late twenties.’ ”
“That’s you,” she said, taking a drink from her water bottle.
“Thanks,” I said with a heavy ounce of sarcasm.
“Being that guy has made you millions,” she said, “and don’t forget the endorsement we got you modeling men’s underwear in Europe.”
“Yes. But look at this, Caitlyn. If you could get them to write in some motivation for the stripper—like he has a sick kid or something, I’d do that. I’d love to show off my acting chops, and I’ll do that in a comedy. I’ll take my shirt off. I know what they go to the theater to see. But I’d like a little more meat to my part.”
She snickered. “Your part is what they pay to see. You’re famous for being sexy, not a family man or some self-sacrificing hero. If you want to change the type of role you’re considered for, you have to shift your image. You don’t wanna play the hot, single playboy type? Stop looking like one.”
“Are you suggesting I quit working out?”
“No. God, no. Tell me that was a joke.”
“It was a joke. But can I do an interview, talk about changing directions and going for more mature roles? I know I can get Max to set me up with some late-night show for an interview. James Corden? I love that guy. We could sing!”
“First of all, your singing isn’t going to get your fans to do anything other than change the channel. Don’t you remember when you auditioned for that Mamma Mia sequel?”
“I nailed the dancing,” I said grudgingly.
“Right. It was a musical. You insisted on trying out against my advice. Remember?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And I give excellent advice. I’ve shepherded your career from playing a waiter on a soap opera to ten million a film.”
“Yes, you have. And because you have such good instincts, I’m asking your advice on how to transition to a more mature image. Like where I should do the interview.”
“You can’t do an interview to announce you are ready for more serious roles. Unless you want to play the stern but loving blue-collar dad in one of those Lifetime movies where the kid has cancer.”
“That isn’t what I want. I want Bradley Cooper's roles. I know he’s older, but he didn’t start out doing serious stuff. He was in The Hangover and crap like that. He played a raccoon in a comic book franchise for Christ’s sake.”
“You mean the highest-grossing franchise of all time? That didn’t do him any harm. But my point is, if you want more serious roles, you can’t tell people. You have to show them. This is where you talk to Max about reshaping your image. My opinion is you need to get married.”
“What?”
“If you want to play an adult, and you want to project the image of an adult, follow the traditional milestones accepted in middle America. Buy a new house. Get married. Have a kid. Tweet about how much you love your wife. You know how Ryan Reynolds is a catch now? It’s not all Deadpool. It’s being married to Blake Lively and having two adorable kids.”
“I don’t think she’ll leave Ryan for me. And that would make me a homewrecker. That can’t be good PR.”
“Tell me you’re joking again,” she said, shaking her head.
“Of course I’m joking. But I love that you think I’m that stupid. I’m not a moron. I just play one on the big screen.”
“A sexy moron with a sick body,” she corrected. “Talk to Max about an image overhaul before you ask me for a type of film that’s inconsistent with your brand.”
“So I’ll change my brand,” I said. “Because I’m not excited about playing a bumbling plumber who stumbles on a heist while pissing.”
“It was a funny setup. You’ve got full nudity from the back, and because it’s comedy you can get PG-13,” she said.
I felt tired just trying to explain why it was wrong for me. I was past that. I’d grown up. If I told her that, she’d mention that Adam Sandler grew up and had to make TV movies because he wasn’t cut out for juvenile comedies any longer. That wasn’t what I wanted. But I was a sex symbol, while he was a comedian. Meaning he at least was seen as funny and talented, while I was just blessed with good looks and the self-discipline to work out every day. I sighed.
“Look, if you do a play—Shakespeare
preferably—and you focus more on charity work than on partying, that’s the first step. But really, talk to Max. He’ll tell you. He’s a smart man. He knows you need a reboot to get what you want. And I don’t mean some quickie Vegas marriage. I mean a new house, redecorated for your new lifestyle, in Vogue or Architectural Digest or something. Cute pets—Labs, not potbellied pigs and shit—that can chase after you while you stroll the newly landscaped grounds with your wife in pictures.”
“That’s very specific,” I said, “but I guess I asked for it.”
I called Max on the way down in the elevator. The damn thing got stuck again, but only for a few minutes. I keep forgetting to heckle my agent about her unreliable private elevator. Anyway, Max took my call right away, which was always reassuring. At least I knew he was still willing to work with me.
“Hey, buddy,” he said. He was fifty but he always talked to me like I was his nine-year-old nephew or something. Still, he was the best at his job.
“Hey, Max. I just left Caitlyn’s office, and I wanted to talk to you about what she said. I’m hoping to do more mature roles—not like Gandalf mature, but serious and dramatic. She thinks the reason I’m not getting those offers is—”
“Your image? I mean, hell, everyone wants to be you. I want to be you. You’re at every party in Vanity Fair. For the last four years, your name’s been linked to everyone from Emma Stone to the latest Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Those pictures of you and the Italian girl on the deck of that superyacht—I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you they were PR gold for sexy roles. Nothing but passion and no tan lines anywhere. But if you want Oscar contender films, you’ve got to clean it up.”
“What am I? A junkie? I haven’t been arrested, no one has died at the club I own, and I never harassed anyone. I was pure as the driven snow even during Me Too!” I said, frustrated, “It’s like I’m being punished for being a good-looking single man.”
“So you’re handsome, successful, a celebrity—and you feel persecuted? I think before we do image alterations, you may need to go to therapy. Because you’re at the top of the privilege heap. Start slow with charity work. Inner-city kids, the arts, something like that. Then get a steady girlfriend. Someone over twenty-one.”
“Mimi was twenty-three,” I said.
“Like I said. She needs to be somewhat close to your age. Ideally someone not in show business, but at least not a model or an actress. That way you seem down-to-earth and avoid the perception that it’s going to be a roller-coaster affair.”
“I have never had a roller-coaster affair. I have relationships, maybe short ones, but it’s never ugly. We never have to deal with a scandal or a tell-all.”
“Buddy,” he said, “I feel like you’re wanting a pat on the back for managing to reach the age of thirty without a criminal record or a sexual harassment lawsuit. That makes me feel old and depressed because that should be the norm—just be a decent person to start with. And you are, so it shouldn’t be too hard. There are plenty of guys out there with paternity suits against them and messy divorces and tabloid headlines. You’re ahead of the game by not engaging in any of that. But we are going to have to change your image drastically if you want this shift in roles.”
“Caitlyn said I should get married.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“I had hoped for a more creative and less permanent solution from you,” I said.
“It’s not the only way. It’s just the easiest way. Redo a house together, coo and cuddle in the magazine spread about your lifestyle being so different and how it’s going to show in your work onscreen. How she’s changed your life. America loves a fairy tale. The only thing studios love more than a fairy tale is a good profit. If you’re trending for being an adoring family man, you’re going to find your name attached to some more heavy-hitting projects. No more alien robots.”
“So getting married is the short answer?”
“Getting married is the short answer. The long answer is to do charity work. Get on as one of those goodwill ambassadors and tour impoverished countries talking about land mines or potable water and shit like that. Build a public persona as someone deeply committed to working for the greater good over a year or so with multiple interviews and at least one headline-making donation of your own.”
“I donate to several charities regularly,” I said.
“And?”
“I’ve never publicized it. That’s not why I do it.”
“It would be wise to align yourself publicly with at least one if for no other reason than to use your celebrity to gain attention and donations for the organization.”
“I can do that. I’ve never been comfortable getting attention for donating to charities though. It feels like congratulating myself.”
“Don’t look at it that way. Look at it like someone using his famous face to get people to click through to the foundation web site and make a donation,” Max said.
“Okay. I’ll look into it.”
“Let me look into it. Send me a list of your patronages. I’ll have my office contact them to see if they’d like to set up a public appearance at a fundraiser. I expect a yes from all of them unless they’ve already got Angelina Jolie or—no, pretty much just her.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t have to thank me for doing my job, Josh. But you always do. That’s one of the reasons I took you on years ago when you were starting out. You’ve always been very respectful, which is more unusual than you’d think in this business. Give the marriage idea some thought.”
“But I’m not dating anyone and can’t see myself falling head over heels in the next month.”
Max sighed his frustration. “It doesn’t have to be the love-of-your-life-forever kind of marriage.”
I was starting to understand. “So more like a business arrangement?” I asked.
“Most of them are in Hollywood. They’re power couples, actresses who marry directors, screenwriters who marry actors, producers who marry other producers…”
“Oh. Okay,” I said. “I get it now.”
After I spoke to him, I kept thinking of all those Tiffany bowls I’d bought for weddings in the last few years, the cast and coworkers whose ceremonies I’d attended. How many of those had been sincere and how many were just mutually beneficial arrangements? Max himself had married his second wife, a producer, in Hawaii three years ago. I was an usher. I was afraid to ask him about it. I didn’t want to know. Because somehow, after all these years, show business had just managed to disillusion me even more.
At home, I scrolled through my photo archive on Instagram and landed on a former flame. I had liked Holly when we dated. We were together for four months. She took a modeling job in Hong Kong, and we broke up because we knew we couldn’t handle the distance. She was a sweet and caring person, and we’d both liked doing hot yoga. I decided to give her a call. First I did a quick search to make sure she wasn’t engaged or married already. Since she came up single, I dialed her up.
I got her voicemail. That told me two things. First, she hadn’t changed her number. Second, she saw my number and didn’t answer. Granted, the woman could have been working or otherwise busy, but I knew her well enough to know that she took her phone everywhere and slept with it under her pillow at night. I didn’t believe for a second that had changed. Could I blame her for not answering a call from an ex? Not really. So I figured I’d leave a nice message. One that sounded like I was interested in her life and not just hitting her up to see if she was in town. It wasn’t five minutes till she called back. I smiled when I saw her info on my screen.
“Hey, Holly,” I said.
“Josh! Baby, how you been?” she asked. “It’s the middle of the night here.”
“I’m sorry. I never know where you’re gonna be. You work all over the world. If I woke you—”
“No, it’s not a problem. Listen, I’ll be in LA next week. I have a launch party for this tequila brand I’m the spokesm
odel for. After the party on Thursday, I’ll give you a call. Two or three in the morning okay? I know you were always a night owl,” she purred.
Okay, she just wanted to hook up. I scratched my head.
“I was hoping we could spend some time together, go out maybe. Catch up on what’s been going on in our lives.”
“Oh. Well—I’m not really in a relationship place. I’m leaving for Budapest after two days in LA, and then it’s on to Jakarta.”
“I see, well, best of luck then,” I said, disappointed.
Not to be deterred—and having a full complement of exes I was still friendly with—I scrolled until I found Sierra’s number. She was an actress, the It Girl from a couple of years back, now doing her own sitcom for Netflix. I dialed her up, wondering if a merger of the marriage variety would help her image as much as it would boost mine. After two attempts, I figured out that either she hadn’t set up her voicemail account or her number had changed. I messaged Max to see if he could get me her new number, and his response was, “No, not an actress!”
Moving down my list, I got a hold of one ex-girlfriend who was engaged already, and three more who were happy to hook up with me, but not interested in a relationship. Either because they were seeing someone else or because they remembered why it didn’t work out the first time.
The last one I talked to, Raven, had laughed at me.
“You expect me to believe you want to pursue a serious relationship? I was going out of town for work, and you broke up with me because you didn’t think we were strong enough to handle the separation. Those were like your exact words.”
Pretend Wife Page 1
