Hollywood Prince

by Natasha Madison

  “Well, considering I don’t have a wife and a kid, everything that you are saying could be a huge problem,” Carter says, and I just look at him.

  “Well, considering that you can post about anything else—literally anything—except for how much traffic a certain body part of yours gets on a daily basis, then yeah, maybe it might change.” I’m about to apologize when Sylvia interrupts.

  “What she is saying in a nice way is no one wants to know who you are going home with. They care about what you do during the day.” I watch Carter as he takes in all the information.

  “They want to know that you are the guy next door,” I say. “They want to see that you get up and you have coffee. You have a dog or a cat. They want you to be like them, and the girls want to see that you have a soft side also.”

  “Trust me, honey, there is nothing soft about me,” Carter says, and Ryan slaps the table, getting up.

  “This, right here, is why you need her,” Ryan says. “I think you can be the biggest there is, but if you can’t get the people to come to the movies because of your fucking attitude, then it doesn’t matter.” Ryan looks over at me. “I want to be included on this all the way.”

  “Not a problem,” I tell him, and then he looks at Jeff.

  “I trust you will explain to him how important this is,” he says while the other guys stand and start to walk out. “If you will excuse us, we have to get on a plane.” He looks over at Carter and points a finger, and says, “SIXTY DAYS, Carter . . . don’t disappoint.” No one says anything while the other guys walk out of the room. With the click of the door, it’s suddenly just the four of us in the room.

  “Okay,” Carter says, the smirk now missing from his cocky demeanor. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Perfect,” I say. Maybe I can actually do this. I mean, maybe he can be a civil person to work with.

  “Let’s meet tomorrow,” he says. “Ten a.m. at my house.”

  “Um.” I start to stutter and maybe suggest we just meet here when Sylvia answers.

  “That is a great idea,” she says, and I look over at her, trying not to make my mouth hit the floor. “You two need to be on the same page.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Jeff says, and then he starts to get up. “So we will see you tomorrow at ten a.m.”

  He said we, so I kind of breathe a little sigh of relief. “That sounds great.” Carter gets up now, grabbing his glasses, and just smiles at Sylvia.

  “It’s great seeing you again.” When he turns to me, his eyes change and his smile changes, but I’m the only one who can see the shift. He’s the hunter, and I’m his prey. “Erin, see you tomorrow,” he says and turns to walk out of the room, and it’s only then I notice that I’m not breathing. I was holding my breath, for what I’m not sure. Maybe hoping he wouldn’t notice me at all.

  “I don’t know why we couldn’t have the meeting here.” I look at Sylvia who just leans back in her chair.

  “He isn’t going to be himself here,” she says, and I know she’s right. “He’s going to have a chip on his shoulder, but if he’s in his home, he’s going to be open more. The guy was just told via a legal and binding contract that he cannot have sex at all for the next sixty days. A man of his proclivities will more than likely have more than a chip on his shoulder. If not now, then in the very immediate future.”

  “This is true.” Gathering the pictures, I get up and push my chair under the table. “How long should I expect to be at his house?”

  She looks over at me, and I see her smirk. “Thirty days.” I don’t say anything when she walks past me out of the room, leaving me by myself.

  I pack the stuff in my bag and walk out of the office at five, dragging my ass since I’ve been up for twelve hours and my brain is finally catching up to everything that just happened. I make my way home and sit on the couch, catching up on my DVR. I fall asleep with the remote in my hand and wake up to the blue screen. I see that it’s two thirty in the morning, so I make my way to my bed. Sinking into my king-size bed, I fall asleep again just as fast. When the alarm rings as the sun is coming up, I grab my phone and go through my routine.

  I check Facebook to see what everyone was up to, then I slide over to Instagram to go through my stories there, and then I see that Carter made a personal story. I click the round circle with his picture, and it shows him sitting on a couch with a smirk. A movie playing on his screen.

  There is a movie screen with the caption “Thursday night movie.”

  See, that wasn’t so bad, I think to myself as I roll out of bed. I debate whether to make the bed. My mother is a stickler about making the bed. Something about a post she saw in the news about how the day just starts off better if one makes the bed. I just toss the covers over and pretend it looks done, and then I start my day. I take a quick shower while my coffee brews, then fix a to-go cup after I finish getting dressed. I have no idea what the dress code is for my meeting this morning, so I decide to go with pants. I grab the pink capris with black lines down and across them. Grabbing my black long-sleeved shirt, I toss it on. I pick up the same black Louboutins I wore yesterday and decide to wear my hair loose. Grabbing my bag and my to-go cup, I walk out the door.

  I grab my phone once I get in the car and punch in the address to Carter’s house that I got from the file. It shows that it’s about forty-five minutes from me. When I get to the gate for the neighborhood, I tell the guard who I’m here to see. After he checks that I’m on the list, he tells me it’s the second house on the right. I thank him and drive through the gate once it’s opened. I pull up to the driveway and see the house. Stepping out of my car, I grab my bag and walk up to the house. A low concrete wall blocks off the house, but you see a huge window and little balcony. Once I walk closer, I see that it’s the second floor and that you have to walk down a staircase to get to the front door. I walk down the steps, holding the cast-iron railing, and see the wall of the house is different shades of brown rocks. The big window from the top is the same on the bottom, and the house now looks like an L. A wooden bench sits beside the glass door, and a little cast-iron white table and two chairs are in the corner next to a small rose garden. It’s such a romantic location, and I can’t help but envision a social media post of Carter outside in this element and what sort of impact that would make on his image. My brain is always in work mode.

  I reach out and press the bell and then turn to look at the different layers of his garden and how it hides his front door from all the passersby. I hear the door unlock and turn to see Carter open the door. Dressed in sport shorts and a plain white shirt, he has feet bare and a coffee mug in his hand. He looks like he hasn’t been up that long, his hair is still sticking up all over the place from sleep, and his eyes are still a bit sleepy. He looks amazing dressed up, but like this, he just looks so much hotter.

  “Good morning,” he says, smiling at me and then moves out of the way for me to step inside. “Come in.”

  “Thank you,” I say, walking into the house and stopping in my tracks. Because two huge windows cover the back wall. The one on top doesn’t open, but the bottom one is fully open with a panoramic view of blue ocean that is his backyard. After the huge infinity pool, that is. The sound of the waves crashing into the shore can be heard faintly in the distance.

  “I didn’t know if you wanted to do this inside or outside,” he says, and I look around to see who else is here. The house is an open concept, which is my favorite type of home. Following him past the staircase, I enter the living room. His big brown leather couches have throw pillows all over them. The stone wall fireplace faces the couch with a huge screen hanging above it. Behind the couch is the kitchen. The whole side wall has the fridge, stove, and dishwasher, and in front of it is a long counter like you find in diners with brown pendant lights hanging over it. Eight stools sit side by side, and seven fruit bowls sit on a lower counter. Two brown pillars stand between the living room and the dining room. I can see that the wall in the kitchen
is also windows, and it’s open also.

  “I’m good with whatever everyone wants to do,” I say to him, hoping that they want to work outside.

  “Well, considering it’s just me and you,” he says, and I turn to look at him with surprise on my face. “Let’s start outside because it’s not too hot yet, and then we can come back inside,” he says without giving me a chance to respond. He walks toward the big open window, and I follow him. Once we get outside, I see five lounge chairs right in front of the pool with different colored tables between them. He walks to the right where I see a table set up with six chairs. I walk behind him and take in the little pathway to the stairs that lead down to the beach. “Do you want to face the ocean or the house?” he asks. When I just shrug, he pulls out a chair at the head of the table. “You can have both,” he says, and I sit. Putting my bags next to me, I take out my papers, then turn and see the back of the house. There are two balconies on the second floor each from a side of the house.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for your assistant before we start?” I ask him, knowing full well assistants run their lives.

  “I actually don’t have an assistant. Like I said, it’s just you and me,” he says, and I look over at him. With us outside and him facing the ocean, the sun hits his eyes, making them bluer than they were yesterday. The scruff on his face makes him that much more of a heartthrob.

  “What do you mean you don’t have an assistant?” I ask him, confused by this.

  “I mean, I don’t have an assistant,” he says, his voice husky as he drinks another sip of coffee.

  “But how do you manage?” I ask him. “You are very busy, and there is so much to do.”

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “This has a calendar, and if you enter your schedule in it, it tells you where you have to be.”

  “I know what it does,” I tell him, “but how does it get on your calendar?”

  “Jeff gets all the contracts, and his secretary puts it all in there. I don’t know how it happens, but it just tells me where to be and when to be there.” He pulls up his calendar. “See, this afternoon I have a photoshoot here. Then tonight I have a nothing and then tomorrow I have . . .”

  I put up my hand to stop him from talking. “I get it. I just figured you would have someone who comes in and makes sure you do all that.”

  He puts his phone on the table. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” I turn and look at him. “I’ve never not shown up for a meeting. I’ve never shown up on set drunk or high. Fuck, I’ve never, ever even been late. I’m professional when I have to be, and then at night, I want to just be me, and if that is what gets splashed across the tabloids, then I can’t really prevent that.”

  “So the me you want to be—and the one you want the rest of the world to know—is the one who goes home with a different girl every night?” I ask him, and I don’t know why the question bothers me.

  “What difference does it make if I fuck two different girls in the same night? We are all consenting adults. It has nothing to do with how I work or the work that I produce,” he says, and his flippant attitude just makes me sick to my stomach. I knew he got around, but he isn’t even ashamed to flaunt it. “For the next couple of months, I just have to be on the down low. It’s in my contract now, so I have to sprout fucking angel wings, or at least somehow cover up my devil horns, and keep all my dirty little sins out of the tabs,” he sighs. “I’m going to do what I need to do in order to make the film a success, but in no fucking way am I going to change who I am.”

  I put my hands on the table. “And who exactly are you?” I ask him, and I know right then the real Carter is gone. The Carter who answered the door with the smile on his face and the softness in his eyes is gone, and now I’m playing with Carter, the actor.

  “I’m exactly who the Hollywood bigwigs pay me to be,” he says and then drinks the last of his coffee. “I’m going to grab another cup. Do you want anything?” He pushes away from the table, and I shake my head. When I got here and saw him at the door, I was scared that I was in over my head, but now, with this Carter, I know I’m going to do my job, do it better than I’ve ever done it before, and I know, in the end, that nothing is going to change him.

  Chapter Five

  Carter

  I walk into the house, squeezing the mug so hard. Her question still plays in my head. Who are you? I shake my head, not ready to answer that question. I’m a guy living his best life, and that is what I’m going to give her. I grab another cup of coffee and watch her from the kitchen. I see her open the folder and flip through some papers.

  When I walk out and sit next to her, I notice the change in her right away. She isn’t the same girl who asked me that question. I can see it right away with her eyes.

  “So let’s talk about your social media presence,” she starts off, moving papers in front of me. “This is your Instagram. These shots are okay, but I want to create that boy-next-door image for you.”

  “I’m so far removed from the boy-next-door persona,” I tell her.

  “Trust me, I know, but since they are paying you to be that, you need to pretend you’re the boy next door.” She throws my comment back in my face, and I don’t say anything. “Take a picture of you taking a run. Take a picture of you pretending to be anything and everything that you are not. Treat it like a movie role if that’s what it takes.”

  “So it’s a fake account of sorts,” I tell her. “Like a fan page.”

  She ignores my comment and then starts with other questions. “Do you have a Snapchat account?” I nod.

  “How often do you use it?” She starts writing notes.

  “I get up to three hundred tit pictures a day, so I go on there . . . occasionally,” I tell her, and she looks up.

  “Do you reciprocate?” Her pen is in midair while she waits for my answer.

  “Are you asking if I’ve sent a dick pic?” I try to keep my smirk from forming but fail. “I mean, not lately.”

  “Great.” She shakes her head. “If you can refrain from sending any out in the future, that would make my job a little easier. Or better yet, just use that platform to make dog videos.”

  “Aren’t you exaggerating just a little bit?” I say, and then I know I shouldn’t have said that. I should have just smiled and nodded like a good little indentured servant.

  “Can I have your phone?” she asks with her hand outstretched.

  “Are you going to put your number in it?” I ask her, leaning back in the chair, and her hand falls.

  “Fine, keep your cell. We can use mine,” she says. Taking out her phone, she opens her Instagram page. I see she’s on her own account and make a mental note to go and check it out. She presses the little search button and types my name and then clicks tags. When she clicks on the first one, I’m a little shocked when videos of me out pop up. Like I knew they were there, but I didn’t think they would still be passed around.

  “This one is a good one,” she says, turning the phone to me. On the screen is me sitting at Tao in Vegas, but I’m not sure. It’s on a red couch. I’m wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, but the shirt is halfway open. Two girls are on each side of me, and my hands are outstretched. I smile at the camera, then turn and make out with one and then turn to the other. I press the arrow back and go through a couple more, and they all have a different girl in them.

  “If you want, we can even search the hashtag CarterBigJohnson.” She takes the phone and types it in. The first video is a girl, and she is describing my penis like she is giving a review on Yelp. There are a couple of pictures with women who have their hands down my pants. One video is of me and some random. Hell, they are all random now that I think about it. We are in a bathroom stall, and my head is back against the wall. She slides her tongue into my mouth, and you know or I know from the look on my face that she is giving me a hand job. The sound of me moaning makes her grab the phone away from me.

  “That is exactly who you are?” She just shakes her head.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you.” She gathers the papers, then puts them away, closing her folder. “I’m tying to work with you, but I can’t do it by myself. I can’t be that little white angel on your one shoulder when I’m in direct competition with the devil on the other side.” She pushes away from the table and bends to put the papers in her purse. “I obviously can’t do this job. I thought I could, but I can’t.” She picks up her purse and then turns to walk away.

  I watch her, and the words that Jeff said yesterday replay in my head. “Don’t fuck this up.”

  “Wait,” I say to her, and she stops right before she walks into the house. “Listen, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yeah, you are pretty good at not knowing what to say or how to act,” she says, and she isn’t wrong. “I don’t care what you do and who you do it with. I care that I was given a job. A job that is huge for me right now.”

  “How so?” I ask her, and she turns to me, shaking her head.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she says and then turns around to walk into the house. I wait for the door to slam before my feet move, and I run around the side of the house. Taking the side steps two by two, I get to her car the same time as she is opening the door.