Hollywood Prince

by Natasha Madison

  “Wait . . . please, Erin,” I say, panting. When she looks at me, I can tell she is either upset or pissed, and I feel like a jerk for doing that to her. “Just . . . we might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  “The wrong foot?” She shakes her head, and I know she’s pissed. Her tone is that kind of “I want to kill you” tone I get quite often. I mean, often enough to know it, but usually, I shrug it off. This time, though, it does something.

  “I’m sorry. I should have just listened instead of trying to justify every sordid moment of my past that’s been captured on video,” I say, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Do you know they have a nickname for your penis?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Do you know there is a website that has the number of women you have slept with on a ticker? Do you know the names of half the women you have slept with? Have you ever slept with the same person twice?”

  “Yes?” I say to her on the last one. I mean, come on.

  “I don’t mean twice in the same night. I mean, twice in the same week?” Okay, now she is getting picky. “There were pictures of you last week. You are pictured with ten different women.”

  “So?” I say to her now, crossing my arms over my own chest.

  “There are only seven days in the week.” Okay, fine, she got me there, but it isn’t my fault.

  “I have a high sex drive,” I tell her, not even sure why I have to tell her details that are really none of her damn business.

  “I don’t give a shit,” she says, and the way she swears makes me want to laugh. “I don’t care if you fuck up to five times an hour. What I care about is you doing it and it being on an Instagram or in a Snapchat video for the world to see.”

  “I’m confused. Do you care or not?” I try to make a joke, but she just glares at me, so I hold up my hands. “Okay, how about we go back in, and we can talk about things?” I see that she isn’t falling for the old Carter Johnson charm. In fact, I think it’s the opposite. Can she be immune to it? “Grab your bag, and we can do all the brainstorming you want.”

  She looks at me, and I can see that she doesn’t trust me. “I swear. I promise to be on my best behavior, and if I’m not, you can leave.”

  “Fine,” she says, grabbing her bag and turning to walk back down the side stairs with me. We sit down, and I’m ready for whatever she throws at me. We go through all my Facebook accounts, and that one isn’t as bad as the rest are. I don’t tell her it’s because Jeff takes care of that one. Heck, she was actually excited about the state it was in. When we finish that, I look at the time and see it’s almost lunchtime.

  “I need to eat since I have a photo shoot in two hours,” I tell her. “Why don’t you come inside, and you can sit at the counter and talk to me while I make us some lunch?”

  “You are going to cook for me?” she asks in shock. “Like food, food or . . .?”

  “I can cook,” I tell her, pushing away from the table and walking inside. She grabs her stuff and comes into the kitchen with me. Pulling out a chair, she sits as I open the fridge and grab a water bottle to hand to her. “You haven’t hydrated in at least two hours, so drink that,” I tell her, and she grabs the bottle and finishes half. “Why didn’t you ask me for water if you were thirsty?” I ask her, grabbing a red pepper, an onion, and a green pepper. I walk to the counter in front of her and set the ingredients down, then grab a cutting board and a knife. She doesn’t answer, and instead, she is straight back to business.

  “How many times a week do you cook for yourself?” she asks me and grabs her phone and snaps a picture. “That is going to be your first ‘I’m a good boy on my best behavior’ Instagram picture.”

  “You can even use that as a caption.” I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes at me. I begin to slice the vegetables. “I cook whenever I have a chance.”

  “How did you learn to cook?” she asks me as I grab the chicken breast from the fridge. I drizzle some olive oil in the pan and sauté the veggies, turning to her.

  “Is this an interview?” I joke with her, slicing the chicken into strips.

  “No, but it’s good for me to know, so I can spin this into a positive thing.”

  “My parents were really never parents, so I had to fend for myself,” I say, and I want to take it back. The last thing I want is to open that side of me up to her scrutiny. “They worked long hours.” I toss the chicken in with the veggies. “Are you a vegetarian?” I look in the pan and stir it with a wooden spoon. “I guess I should have asked before.” I look over my shoulder at her, and she snaps another picture.

  “Nope, I eat everything,” she tells me, and I wait until the veggies and the chicken are done before I throw some salsa into the pan. After grabbing some tortillas and two plates, I place one plate in front of Erin on the counter and another next to her. I walk back to the fridge and grab some fresh guacamole and some pico de gallo.

  “It smells so good,” she says, and I look over my shoulder at her and take in the moment right there. She is the first woman to step inside my new house, apart from my house cleaner. She’s the first woman I have cooked for in my house that is my haven.

  I take the pan and put the food in a big dish, then bring it over to the counter. Sitting down, I place it in the middle of us. “This is my version of chicken fajitas,” I tell her and get up.

  “Where are the utensils?” she asks, and I look at her as she casually walks in the back to grab them. I point at the drawer, and she comes back with four spoons and two forks. “Do you think I can have another water bottle?” she asks me, and I fumble with my words. “I can get it. Please, you did do all the cooking.” She walks over to the fridge and grabs two water bottles and then comes back.

  I wait for her to serve herself, and then I go on the attack. She moans when she takes a bite and then looks at me. “This is so good.”

  “This is the first time a woman has moaned in my house, and it had nothing to do with my Big Johnson.” I wink at her, and she throws her head back and laughs.

  “Liar.” She shakes her head and takes another bite.

  “Nope,” I say to her, grabbing another bite. “I never, ever bring anyone here. My last house, yes, but this is my space and mine only.”

  “Oh, I get it,” she says. “The whole smash and go.”

  “Smash and go?” I ask, confused.

  “You have sex with them at their house or a hotel, so they don’t linger?” she says, taking a sip of water. “Smash and go.” I shake my head, thinking that is exactly what I do. The rest of the meal is quiet. When she’s finished, she gets up, rinses her plate off, and then opens the dishwasher to find it empty. “You cook; I clean. It’s the universal rule.”

  “Wow, I’m just learning all kinds of things with you,” I tell her. Laughing, I pick up my plate and place it in the dishwasher. The doorbell rings, and I look at her and then at the time. Walking to the door, I see it’s the photographer for the shoot today. “Hey, come on in,” I tell him, and he walks in.

  “We lucked out with the weather,” he says to me and then walks in the house and stops when he sees Erin in the kitchen. “Was I interrupting anything?”

  “Nope. She’s my PR girl,” I tell him, then look at Erin. “Want to stay and take pictures for my Instagram?” I ask her. For some reason, I’m hoping she says yes and am shocked when she nods her head.

  Chapter Six

  Erin

  I should go. I should make an excuse and get out of here because my nerves are all over the place. I’m okay with him being an asshole, but I’m not okay with him being that nice guy who cooks for me and then tells me I’m the only woman who has ever been in his house. Why? I’m rinsing off my hands when I see a man walk in carrying two huge bags in each hand. I hear him talking to Carter who just smiles at him. I can tell right away from the look in his eyes that his guard is down, and this is the real Carter.

  “Was I interrupting anything?” the man says, looking at me and then looking back at
Carter.

  “Nope. She’s my PR girl,” he tells him, slapping him on the shoulder. He looks at me with a genuine smile on his face. “Want to stay and take pictures for my Instagram?” I should say no. I should take this as my cue to leave, but instead, I nod my head.

  “Great,” Carter says. “Ralph, this is Erin. Erin, this is Ralph, my main man.”

  Ralph laughs. “Not main man. I’m the one who makes his ass look super sexy in pictures. It’s a hard fucking job, too. I mean, look at this slob.” He points at Carter who just flips him the finger. “I’m going to get set up. You still want to take the pictures on the beach?”

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding his head. “I’m going to get my stuff, and I’ll be right back.” He turns and jogs up the stairs, and I see him walk into what must be his bedroom.

  “So you are the new PR girl?” Ralph asks me, walking toward the back door, and I follow him after grabbing my phone.

  “You coming on the beach with those?” He motions with his head at my stilettos. I kick off the shoes and follow him down the paved path toward the stairs leading down to the beach. We come upon a metal gate, and he presses the button and you hear a click as it unlocks. He walks out onto the beach, and I realize how windy it is when my hair blows in my face. My feet sink into the hot sand, and even though it’s sunny, the wind makes it a bit chilly. I walk beside Ralph.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Hillcrest,” I tell him as we walk closer and closer to the water.

  “No way,” he says. “So are you here to make sure we get some good shots to use?” He stops right before the sand gets wet.

  “No.” I shake my head. “We are rebranding him.”

  “Jesus, that almost sounds like you are herding in cattle.” He laughs while he starts setting up his stuff.

  I laugh. “Not that bad.” Pushing my hair back, I say, “Just revamping his image.”

  “There is not enough time and money in the world to accomplish that impossible feat,” he mumbles. “It’s just who he is.”

  I don’t bother answering him. Instead, I sit on the sand and watch the waves crash against the shore. I wish I had brought my sunglasses, I think to myself. I put my hand over my eyes and see that just a couple of people are in the water.

  “Hey.” I hear Carter next to me and look up and see him in black swim trunks and a white shirt. His hair looks like he wet his hands and brushed it back and aviator glasses cover his eyes. He throws down his stuff next to me, and I see he brought three towels and two pairs of jeans.

  “What do you want to shoot first?” Ralph asks, and Carter just shrugs. “Let’s do the dry photos first, then we can do some in the water.”

  “Great,” he says, and I watch him just pull off his swim trunks, and I swear I hold my breath, thinking that his cock is just going to be dangling in the air in two seconds, but he’s wearing black boxers under it. I try not to focus on the package part and whip my head around to give him some privacy. He grabs the jeans and puts them on.

  “I’m ready,” he says just like that. No muss, no fuss. But then I have to remind myself that this man has shown his cock to countless women in situations that are most assuredly less private than this, so it’s nothing for him to strip down to his skivvies and change in front of his PR rep.

  “Lose the shirt,” Ralph says as he takes some test shots of the water, adjusting something in the lens. I look up, and holy shit, I have seen him on covers shirtless before, but I think he’s been hitting the gym harder than ever because he’s sculpted. His shoulders are wide, and you see the exact way the muscles form when he tosses the shirt down. His pecs are perfect, and his abs are outlined. There is not one ounce of fat on him. His waist goes trim, and you see his side v muscle. He has a soft dusting of hair on his pecs and then a little around his belly button. It trails down to a sight that’s been seen by plenty . . . but not by me, and I’m feeling a little more than flushed. “The glasses also,” he says, and he squats down beside me now.

  “Here,” he says, putting them on my face. “It’ll help with the sun.” Then he hands me his phone. “Do you want to take a couple of pictures of Ralph getting shots of me with the beach backdrop, and we can post it?”

  “Um, yeah,” I say, holding out my hand. “Actually, why don’t you do a video on Snapchat showing them what you are doing and then do a short one for Instagram? Tell them pictures will follow.”

  He grabs the phone back, going on it and pressing things.

  “Hey, Snap land, I’m shooting some beach today. Stay tuned.” He stops talking and then posts it and must pull up his Instagram. “Hey, Instagram, I’m at the beach . . . wishing all of you were here with me.” He turns the camera. “Ralph, say hi.” Ralph looks at him and waves. “Stay tuned for some shots of this man working his magic with a camera.” He then hands me the phone. “Good?”

  “Very!” I smile at him, and then he walks over to Ralph. As they discuss what they are going to do, I get up, dusting some of the sand from my pants, and then watch as he gets into place. I watch him turn into the heartthrob right before my eyes. The smirk comes out, and his eyes even twinkle. His gaze stays on the camera as he walks to Ralph, and Ralph snaps away. I take a couple of shots of him smiling at the camera and then one with his hand up covering half his face, giving the camera his famous half smirk. I zoom in, and his eyes land on me, making the picture perfect. I’m looking down at the picture when a text comes in with no name attached to it, just a number.

  Unknown: We can totally fuck on the down low. Just name the time and place.

  Looking back up at him, I feel the heat rushing up my neck. I just shake my head. His whole talk was for nothing. The meeting was for nothing because he isn’t going to change anything. I toss the phone on his change of clothes and try to contain my rage. “Is there a code to get into the gate?” I turn, looking over at him posing, and Ralph tells me the code.

  “Three, two, four, one,” he says, and I turn and walk toward the gate without even a goodbye. I get to the gate and punch in the numbers, and I’m walking up the steps toward his house. I’m so pissed—no, beyond fucking pissed—as I walk to the table. I don’t even bother putting on my shoes. Instead, I squat down and pick up my shoes.

  “Hold up . . . are you leaving?” I hear him behind me and notice that he must have run all the way here to catch up with me.

  “Yeah. No use wasting time here,” I tell him as I walk back into the house to grab my purse.

  “Wait, what?” he asks, and I turn around and look at him with the confused look on his face.

  “I’m so stupid,” I mumble, “thinking you were actually going to listen to my advice and turn this shitshow of your life around.” I don’t let him answer as I take off his glasses, tossing them on the table. “Take care.” I turn and walk out the door, then get in my car and take off. I look at the time and see it’s almost four in the afternoon, so I take out my phone and call Sylvia. She answers after one ring, her voice filling the car.

  “So how did it go?” she asks me, and I have no idea how to answer her.

  “How do you think it went?” I ask her sarcastically, my voice going louder. “He’s an asshole who is going to lead with his dick,” I huff, and then count to ten and finally calm down. “The morning went, well, to hell.”

  “Okay,” she says and then waits for me to finish.

  “I went over a couple of things with him. I have no idea if he is going to listen or not.” I tell her the truth but not about the text.

  “Well, if he has any sense, he will. Ryan is at his wits’ end, especially after the video from last night.”

  “Which one?” I ask her.

  “The bathroom stall one,” she says, and I shake my head. “We called Jeff, and he assured us it’s an old video.”

  “Who knows,” I tell her, just in case any possible pictures from tonight come out. “It’s like he needs someone to hold his hand the whole time to make sure he doesn’t do anything he shouldn’t.�
��

  “That is what I mentioned to Ryan, especially with him going on the road to film for the next two weeks. He starts filming on Monday. They have two weeks to shoot the first half of the movie up in Montana.”

  “Well, to be fair, how much trouble can he get into in Montana?” I ask her, and she laughs.

  “Don’t discount geography, Erin. He had a semi orgy when he was in Utah,” she says, and with that revelation, I think I’m going to be sick. How does one person just have sex like that as if it’s nothing? Just a motion like scratching an itch. I’m no virgin, but the people I have slept with weren’t people who I just met in a bar and went home with. I had a connection with them. I went out on dates and talked on the phone. “Anyway, have a great weekend. We will touch base on Monday unless something happens over the weekend that blows our plan all to hell.”

  “Fingers crossed it’s smooth sailing,” I say and disconnect. Making my way home, I feel like rough waters are ahead for us. I pull up to my little condo that my father bought me without me having a say. I walk up the steps to the second floor and see seven boxes in front of my door. I shake my head, knowing my father sent them, and by the time I carry them all inside and read the note, I know it’s from him.

  Congrats on a job well done!

  Dad

  I’m about to open a package when my phone rings, and I see it’s Sylvia calling me again.

  “Hello again,” I answer right away.

  “Sorry about that.” She laughs. “So change of plans. We have a dinner tomorrow night with Jeff and Carter,” she says, her voice a little irritated.

  “Does that mean I have to come?” I ask, not sure why she is telling me this.

  “Ryan is requesting that we both be there,” she says, and I hear a beep in the distance and then a car door close. “Tomorrow night eight p.m. We’ll send a car.”

  “Great,” I say, and she disconnects. I open my packages and see that he’s sent me five pairs of Louboutins that I don’t need. A box of clothes from Neiman Marcus. I grab my phone and call him. He answers on the first ring.