Hollywood Prince

by Natasha Madison

  “Honey,” he says, and I hear people in the background and then it goes quiet.

  “Dad, you didn’t have to buy me all this,” I tell him, sitting on the couch.

  “Please, it’s a big deal,” he says. “It’s not every day you get the chance to move up in the company.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s not celebrate just yet. I don’t think I can do it,” I tell him, my voice going quiet.

  “Baby girl,” he says softly, and if he were here, he would put his arm around me and drag me to his side, “as long as you give it your all, there is nothing you can’t do.”

  “You and Mom really have to stop with the matching pep talks,” I tell him, and he laughs.

  “I have to go. I’m in the middle of a meeting, but how about you come over on Sunday, and we can spend the day on the beach?”

  “Yeah, that sounds amazing and exactly what I need after the week I’ve had,” I tell him. I haven’t been to his new beach house yet.

  “Love you,” he says quietly.

  “Me, too,” I say, and he disconnects. I toss my phone down and then get up to clean the mess. My phone pings a couple of times, but I don’t bother with it. It’s probably the Google alert that I set up for Carter letting me know his penis is on the loose. Opening my fridge, I see nothing to eat and don’t find anything in the freezer either. I grab the phone on the counter and press the dial button, ordering in some Chinese food. I go and undress, sliding into some yoga pants while I wait for the order to arrive. Once it does, I get comfortable on the couch and turn on the television, eating my Chinese on a TV tray. This is the life, I think to myself sarcastically.

  Chapter Seven

  Carter

  I watch her walk out of my house, and I’m dumbfounded. What the fuck happened? She was on the beach with me watching me do my thing. I looked over at her and saw her with her hair blowing in the wind, and it was something. I don’t know what was going through me.

  Then just like that, she tossed my phone down and walked away. I turn to go and finish my shoot on the beach. After I change into my swim trunks, I go into the cold water, and it wakes me up. “I like you all angry and shit, but can we get one smile out of you?” Ralph says. I nod my head, and it’s go time. Smirk’s on, dimple out. I stay in the water until the sun starts to set, and he snaps one more picture of me walking out with my hands in my hair. “That right there is going to be the shot,” he says, and I just nod, walking to the towel and wrapping it around my waist and another around my shoulders. Picking up my clothes, I grab my phone when it falls, then walk to the gate while Ralph packs up all his equipment. I press the code and then walk in the sand even though it’s stuck to my feet and itchy. I think about just walking up the stairs, but then it would make a mess, and the cleaning lady isn’t coming until next week. I do the next best thing. Stepping into the pool, I move my feet under the water to clean off the sand. The phone rings in my hand, and I see it’s Jeff.

  “Hey,” I answer. “What’s up?”

  “How’s the reformed and somewhat virginal bachelor?” he says, laughing, and I roll my eyes.

  “I’m still a bachelor,” I tell him. “I just finished shooting with Ralph.”

  “Yeah.” I can hear cars in the background. “You ready for Montana?” he asks me, and I dump my stuff on the couch, then walk up to my room. I’m leaving Monday to go film for two weeks, and I can’t wait.

  “As ready as I will ever be,” I say to him, and then the call disconnects. I look down and see that I have a couple of text messages. One catches my eye, and I groan when I see it.

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

  “Fuck,” I hiss out. This is the reason she took off. While I was changing to go outside, I got a picture of her tits. I have no idea who it was who texted me, and I was stupid enough to answer her.

  Me: If you’re down to fuck on the down low, I’m game.

  It was stupid of me to respond, and the minute I pressed send, I forgot about it, and then I handed her my fucking phone. I don’t have time to do anything when my phone rings again in my hand, and it’s Jeff.

  “Sorry, my phone died,” he says. “Don’t make plans tomorrow night. We have dinner with Ryan,” he tells me, and I sit on the couch. “Hello, are you there?”

  “Yeah,” I say, wondering if I should tell him or not. “Sorry, just thinking.”

  “Okay, listen, I have to go, but I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven. The dinner’s at eight,” he tells me and then disconnects. I send him a text.

  Me: Do you have Erin’s number?

  He answers back right away.

  Jeff: I don’t, but I can ask Ryan.

  I pick up the phone to call Ryan myself, and he answers on the second ring. His voice sounds angry, and I wonder if Erin told him anything.

  “What can I do for you?” he says, and I hear people in the background.

  “Hey, it’s Carter. I was wondering if you had Erin’s number. She was over here today, and we were going over a couple of things, and I wanted to get her take on a couple of pictures that I took.”

  “So today went okay, then?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, we went over a couple of things,” I say to him. “I don’t want to keep you. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I’ll send over her number,” he says. “Stay out of trouble.” He disconnects, and then my phone pings with Erin’s number.

  I send her a text right away.

  Me: Hey, it’s Carter. I was thinking of posting this on my Instagram. What do you think?

  I attach the picture that she took of me. I look down and see it’s been delivered. I get up and walk upstairs to take a shower. When I get out of the shower, I look at my phone and see that she hasn’t answered me. I put on some sweatpants and head downstairs to look in the fridge. When nothing catches my eye, I order Chinese food and then look back at my phone again. She still hasn’t answered.

  Me: Should I post it or not?

  I open my phone and go to Instagram. Searching for her name, I see that her account is private. My Chinese gets here and still no answer, so I head to the couch and turn on the television. When my phone pings, I lean over to get it with a smile on my face because I think it’s her but it’s not. Instead, it’s the chick from this afternoon, and this time, she sends me a picture of her full frontal.

  Unknown: Waiting for your call, and really ready for whatever you have in mind.

  My finger hovers over the keyboard, itching to reply, but if I really think about it, I don’t have the faintest interest in going out. I throw the phone to the side and flip through the channels. The whole time, I’m thinking about Erin. She probably isn’t getting back to me because she’s with her boyfriend or her fiancé. Well, not fiancé because she isn’t wearing a ring, and if she were mine, and I was getting married to her, she would be walking around with a ring so big her hand would be dragging on the ground. Holy shit, I sit up in shock. Did I just picture myself married? I must be coming down with something. I get up, turn everything off, and walk up the stairs, thinking about the last time I actually slept in my bed. Or when was the last time I actually stayed in and went to bed at eleven on a Friday.

  I take my pants off and slip into bed naked, and the minute I do, I remember how fucking comfortable my bed really is. It takes me maybe a minute to finally fall asleep, and by the time I turn over and open my eyes, I’m shocked to see that it’s almost ten a.m. I grab my phone and see that she hasn’t answered yet, so I just call her.

  She answers after five rings. Five. Who waits to answer after five rings? “Hello,” she says, and she sounds out of breath. Shit, maybe she’s having sex. Should I hang up? What if she has Caller ID? Fuck, why is she answering her phone while having sex? Who does that? “Carter?”

  Shit. “Um, hey,” I say, trying to sound cool. “What’s up?”

  “I’m on the treadmill,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I te
ll her, then turn to look out the window. I curl up to press a button, and the shades open and then the window, and I see it’s a sunny day again. “I sent you a couple of messages yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I got them last night,” she says, and that’s it. Nothing else.

  “Why didn’t you answer me?” I ask her, now irritated that she got them and didn’t answer me.

  “Were you out with your boyfriend?”

  “Were you even home last night?” she counters. “What happened to the down low girl?”

  “I knew it,” I say out loud. “That is why you left.” I get up and go downstairs. “You were jealous.”

  “Jealous?” she says, almost screaming. “Jealous? I wasn’t jealous. I was pissed you wasted my whole afternoon listening to me go on and on about how we were going to rebrand your image when all along you were just going to do your own thing anyway.”

  “I didn’t go out,” I tell her. “I stayed in. I also don’t even know who that person was who texted me. I answered a random tit pic text with my old bad habits, but I didn’t follow through with anything. I knew that was why you left.”

  “Do you want an award?” she asks me, her sarcasm coming through the phone. “One day without sex. Your dick just may fall off.”

  “I think it’s funny you are thinking about my dick right now.” I start my coffee. “You should come over, and we can talk about things.”

  “You’re disgusting,” she says, and I don’t know why this conversation is suddenly more fun than I’ve had in a long, long time.

  “I may be disgusting, but you are still picturing my dick.” I laugh.

  “Post the picture. I have to go. My boyfriend is here,” she says and hangs up. I’m stuck in place in the middle of my kitchen while the coffee brews. Shit, she has a boyfriend, and I was trying to flirt with her. I shake my head, thinking about how wrong that was. I can be a total asshole, but I never, ever fuck with someone else’s territory. That is a line I won’t cross, no matter how good the pussy looks.

  Erin: I just followed you on Instagram to see how your picture does. Post the second one I just sent you.

  She attaches the one she took of me cooking. My phone shows me she sent me another text.

  Erin: Put the caption “What are your weekend plans?”

  I go over to Instagram and post the picture and then add her as a friend. If she can follow me, why can’t I follow her? Besides, I really want to see what her boyfriend looks like. I spend the day in my home gym and then finish it off with a run on the beach. Getting back home, I see a brown box at the door. I pick it up, going inside and making a protein shake, while I open the box and see a brand-new iPhone. I set it up right before I get ready for dinner tonight.

  I grab a pair of ripped jeans and slide them on with a short-sleeved V-neck T-shirt. I put on my white Converse, then grab my jacket hanging on one of the hooks and run downstairs. The doorbell rings as soon as I get to the last step. Opening it, I see Jeff standing there wearing a suit. “I’m ready,” I tell him, grabbing my phone and keys and my glasses.

  “It’s nighttime,” he tells me when I slip my glasses on and then my jacket.

  “Well, if the paps are there, I’m going to get blinded so,” I tell him, following him out of the house and pulling the door closed. “Why are we having this meeting with Ryan?” I ask as I get into his Bentley.

  “He called me last night,” he says, pulling out of my driveway and making his way to the restaurant, “and wants to make sure everything is okay and understood.”

  “Jesus,” I say to myself. “I think I can go without sex and not die.”

  “Can you? Because, dude, your past history tells a different fucking story,” he asks me with a huge smile on his face, and I give him the finger. I open my phone and see that four million people have liked my picture, and I have seventy-five thousand comments. I don’t bother reading them. Instead, I click on the search and type in Erin’s name. I see that I’m still not accepted, and mine still says requested.

  When we get to the restaurant, the flashes start going off immediately, and I look over at Jeff. “This is why I wear glasses.” He grabs his own pair. “I could have held your hand going in if you wanted,” I joke when he mumbles to fuck off. I get out of the car and make my way to the door, pulling it open. “Why the fuck are we at Spago on a Saturday night?” I ask him as we walk into the Bel Air hotel. When we walk into the restaurant, the hostess looks over at me, and her whole face lights up. Her shoulders go up straight, pushing her tits out.

  “Oh, God,” I mumble, and then Jeff takes over.

  “We have a reservation for Hillcrest,” he says, and she looks down and then looks up.

  “You are the first to arrive.” She grabs the menus and then looks over, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “Follow me.” She turns and walks down into the restaurant. Half the tables are taken, and the other half are sure to be filled with reservations. She walks us to the far right, and I see seven archways. She waits at the entrance to one, and I step in and see the table set for six in the middle and two round benches on each side. The benches with six back pillows. I sit at the far end of the bench and then look up at the hanging chandelier. The walls have candles hanging on them. Jeff sits next to me, and the blonde comes in and hands us the menus. Her smile brightens when I reach out and grab it from her. I nod my head, and she turns and walks away.

  “Are you sick?” Jeff asks right away, and I look at him with my eyebrows pulled together. “She was coming on to you, and you didn’t even say anything to her. Nothing. No smirk, no smile, no how you doing? Nothing.”

  I shrug, a little surprised at my own willpower, but don’t even bother to answer him. Instead, I put my menu down and look over at him, but I stop when I see the blond lady again but, this time, with someone behind her. When she moves, I finally see it’s Erin. She is standing there with her long hair loose. She is wearing another pencil skirt, but it’s white, and her top is off her shoulders with long sleeves and a light orange color. The front of the shirt is tucked in. She looks at us and then looks at the blonde and smiles. I look at her shoes, and they are strappy and high as fuck. My mouth waters. “Erin.” I hear Jeff say to her, and she walks over.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she says, sitting on the bench in front of us and placing her beige Yves St-Laurent clutch on the table beside her. She sits right in front of me, but she hasn’t looked at me once. I’m about to say something when I hear Ryan.

  “Sorry we are late,” he says, and I see that Sylvia is behind him. “My plane landed ten minutes later than we thought,” he says, getting into the bench beside Erin. He turns and smiles at her. “Did you just get here?” She nods her head, and then Sylvia sits beside Ryan.

  “Saturday night. Spago. My PR team. This should be fun,” I finally say, grabbing the water glass to bring it to my lips. “Let the good times roll.”

  Chapter Eight

  Erin

  Sitting in the back of the town car on my way to the restaurant, I try to relax. I was fine this morning, well, just a touch. When I finally looked down at my phone last night, I saw he texted me, and I saw the picture and then I wondered if he was banging that girl or if he was already done. I turned off my phone and ignored the pull to respond, and then this morning, I wanted to answer him, but instead, I ignored it. Then he called right when I was on the treadmill, and well, he gets me all riled up and angry, so I told him I had a boyfriend.

  I’m so nervous he is going to bring it up at dinner that I literally think I’m going to vomit. The hostess looks me up and down and then leads me back to the table, and it must be my lucky day because it’s just Carter and Jeff. Luckily, Ryan and Sylvia get here right after, so there is no small talk.

  “Saturday night. Spago. My PR team. This should be fun,” Carter says, and I look at him. All of him—the smirk is out, the fucking dimple is on point, and his eyes are ready. “Let the good times roll.”

  Ryan looks at him and laughs.
“I thought it would be good to touch base right before we started filming, so everyone is on the same page.”

  “I think this is a great idea, so we know where everyone stands,” Jeff says. “I know that Carter and Erin spent the day working together yesterday.”

  “Erin,” Ryan says to me, and I look over at him. “How do you feel it went?”

  I start to think of my words, and then I look up at Carter. I think it’s the worst thing to do because he just stares at me. “It went well. At least, I think it went great. I checked his Instagram, and he gained followers after he posted the photoshoot video. Now, I have no idea about last night. I haven’t seen any pictures.”

  “That’s because there aren’t any,” he says, and he is almost glaring at me. “I ordered Chinese and went to bed.”

  “So you say,” Sylvia says, then looks at Ryan and then back to Carter. “The point of this meeting really is that you leave on Monday for Montana.”

  “And?” he says, not sure of the question.

  “And last time you went to the ‘country,’ you had an orgy,” Ryan says from beside me but stops talking when the waiter comes over to introduce himself and gives us the specials before walking away.

  “Having friends over to enjoy the hot tub is not an orgy,” Carter says, shrugging.

  “There were eight girls and one man,” Ryan says, and I shake my head and roll my eyes. “I believe the picture had a tagline of Johnson’s harem.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but his voice is anything but convincing.

  “Not bad?” Sylvia says, grabbing her phone and placing it in the middle of the table. I casually look over at it and see it. Carter is in the middle of the bed, and the women are draped all over him. Every one of them is touching him while one is lying across his lap. You know that they are all naked.