The Marriage Mistake_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  “You found something. What did you read, Shauna?”

  “Just a couple of lines. A blind item. Nothing big….”

  “But…”

  “But there promises to be more.” She shrugs. “Sorry, boss.”

  I take a deep breath. I’m trying to control my anger. It’s a battle, and I’m not winning.

  “Show me,” I tell her.

  Shauna turns her laptop to the side so I can see the screen. There, on one of the worst celebrity trashing blogs, is a headline about me and Kayla. I can hardly fucking believe it. “LONG LUNCHES. LONGER STARES. WHAT HAPPENS NEXT…”

  “Fuck,” I say loudly.

  Shauna does her best to deflect. “It could be about anything.”

  My voice grows louder. “Fuck!”

  “Maybe it’s nothing.” She tries to ease my anger.

  But inside, I’m already a burning inferno of rage. “Fuck!”

  I throw the apple across the room, striking a wall and knocking a framed painting off its hook.

  “Brad—” Shauna begins.

  “These fucking idiots, Shauna,” I say, beginning to pace. “Insiders. Paparazzi. Fucking fame seekers. What the fuck do they know? What the fuck do they want?”

  “They want money.”

  “I don’t need this shit. I don’t need this attention. Not now. Fuck. Not now.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Shauna repeats. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “What happens next…” I reread the headline. “Shauna, what if they know what happened next?”

  “What happened?” Shauna asked.

  I give her a look. She knows the look. It’s the one I give when I’m about to get laid, or just did.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well…”

  “Yeah.” I shake my head. “Fuck!”

  “I could make some calls.”

  “You know what pisses me off the most, Shauna?” I ask, but I don’t wait for a response. “Kayla really doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need any negative press right now. She’s just getting started. Just getting her stride. She’s better than these dumb blogs. She doesn’t need this. Fuck. If this hurts her career, I’ll—”

  “Brad.”

  I look at Shauna. She has her glasses on, she’s sitting up straight, and her lips are drawn. She looks like my middle school vice principal when she was about to doll out a punishment.

  “Yes?”

  “I will make some calls. I will track down the sources. I’ll see if I can’t squash this before it goes anywhere.”

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  “The blood stays on my hands, Brad. That is why you hired me.”

  I finally laugh. Shauna lightens the mood. I really appreciate her being able to do so.

  “Yes, that’s why I hired you.” I look at the oven clock; it’s getting late. “That and your skills as a getaway driver.”

  “Oh shit.”

  I pick up the keys and toss them to her. She catches them with ease. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drop them.

  Shauna rarely drops anything. I’m beginning to feel more confident by the second. Shauna will take care of this.

  Kayla will be fine.

  Everything will be fine.

  Kayla

  The jackhammer that has been working away in my head all morning seems to be increasing in intensity. I can’t believe we’ve been going over the same scene for the last hour.

  Every time I think it’s been a take, Derrick insists it needs to be done again.

  Rehearsals have never been this hard.

  Last time, he didn’t like the vase on the kitchen table with flowers, which only ended up there because ten minutes earlier, he had insisted the kitchen needed to look a little brighter. Not to mention the number of times we have to stop to prompt Ian for his lines.

  I will need to go and find aspirin or something similar on the next break; there’s no way I’m going to get through the day with this massive headache.

  “You’re meant to be annoyed. The line is ‘Why does he get all the fun?’ It’s not hard.” I call to Ian and stomp closer to the set.

  This man is really driving me up the wall. A cockroach would be more useful right now than this bumbling excuse for an actor.

  I see Ian glare at me. There’s something else in his eyes, something I haven’t seen before.

  “If you bothered to learn your lines, we wouldn’t need to stop every five seconds.” I flick through the pages on my e-reader.

  “Brad comes in and picks on you,” I tell him, looking at the script.

  Scott chuckles, and Brad whispers something to him. Briefly, I’m distracted and lose my momentum.

  “And then,” I say and turn my attention back on Ian. “And then you say the seven itty-bitty words I just told you.” I lower my device and put one hand on my hips. “Brad and Scott are able to learn their lines and do the take without interruption. Why can’t you?”

  Perhaps I have overstepped my mark, but I can’t keep my anger bottled up any longer. Someone has to tell this pompous ass he is useless like tits on a bull.

  “Scott and Brad.” Ian mimics me.

  My insides feel as though they are going to boil over.

  “Instead of being the idiot on the set, you should focus on your acting. I mean, have you even read and studied your lines, or do you just turn up to annoy us?”

  “Like you three studied lines the other day at lunch?”

  My brow furrows, and I count to three before I feel I can open my mouth again.

  “We all know who the blind piece in the gossip column was about, don’t we?” Ian continues.

  I don’t want to lose self-control, but at the same time, I cannot let Ian get away with this. If the vase had still been standing on the kitchen table of the set, I would reach for it now, but one of the prop guys has moved it already.

  Before I can say or do anything, Scott’s fist collides with Ian’s face.

  “No need to get personal,” he hisses at Ian who crumples into a heap on the floor.

  He doesn’t stay down long.

  Quick as lightning, Ian is on his feet again and lunges at Scott.

  Scott is nimble on his feet, and he avoids the forward-moving Ian.

  It’s Brad who receives a wayward swing from Ian’s flailing arms.

  I scream. Chairs are being pushed over; one of the lights crashes onto the floor, and splinters of glass explode on impact and scatter across the set.

  “Stop it,” I yell into the chaos.

  Brad swings a left-handed hook at Ian’s chin.

  Ian ducks, and it is Brad who is unbalanced.

  The spindly figure of Ian lunges at Brad, spurred by some invisible force. His arms wrap around his waist, and it appears as if he’s trying to push him across the set.

  Scott comes to Brad’s assistance.

  For a few seconds, I can’t work out what is happening. Three bodies go tumbling onto the floor. Prop guys are moving quickly between the fighting men to move precious filming equipment out of the way.

  “Stop it,” I scream again. There’s no denying I enjoy seeing Ian get his ass kicked, but I know violence doesn’t solve anything.

  I turn to Derrick. “Do something,” I demand from the director, who so far has not moved out of his chair.

  With four large strides, he is at the rolling mass of bodies.

  I’m not sure how he manages to separate the bundles of testosterone, but he does.

  Ian is breathing hard, and blood is trickling down his chin. His lip is split, and I can see a bruise forming around his right eye.

  Makeup will have their work cut out to get him ready for filming.

  “Gentlemen.” Derrick keeps his hand on Ian, who looks like he wants to kill Brad and Scott. “Let’s take a break. We need to clean up the set.”

  He makes no comment about the incident or what consequences will flow from it. I admire his calm manner. The man is
a total professional.

  I see Ian hesitate.

  He turns to leave.

  “You’ll be sorry.” His comment is directed at me.

  I feel Brad come to stand to my left, and Scott to my right.

  “You’ll be sorry you insulted me. Ed will hear about this, and you’ll be sorry.”

  I take a step forward toward Ian. He doesn’t scare me.

  “Newsflash, dickhead,” I yell at him. “I’m already sorry I’m in this mess. I’m sorry I have to work with you.”

  I watch him leave.

  Part of me wants to laugh. I know I should take his threat seriously, but with his fat lip, he sounded less than threatening.

  His words did not come out clear, and he just looked pathetic and not menacing at all.

  I feel Brad’s hand on my shoulders.

  I turn toward them.

  “You okay?”

  I nod. Now that I see the total destruction of the set, the seriousness of what just happened descends on me like a giant weight.

  Ed won’t be happy.

  This won’t be the last of it either. And he will use this to pressure me into killing one of my men.

  Kayla

  I pick up my coffee cup and take a large sip of the hot black liquid. After I swallow, I smack my lips together. Boy, this feels good.

  Angela, sitting across from me, is sipping on a large iced chocolate. The drink is overflowing with whipped cream.

  “Mm, whipped cream. Imagine all the things you can do with whipped cream,” Angela says and grins at me.

  “Stop it.” I try to sound serious. “Focus. I need you to listen. I can’t understand how my life suddenly has become so complicated,” I complain and drink more of my coffee.

  Laughter peels from Angela’s lips. She puts her tall glass down and leans back in her chair.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I pretend to scowl at her.

  “I mean it, Ange. All I wanted to do was to come to LA and write. Head down, bum up.”

  “You’ve sure put your bum up,” teases Angela, and I regret my choice of words.

  “Stop it. You know what I mean.” I roll my eyes.

  There’s more laughter from my best friend.

  “Lighten up, sweetheart,” she chides and leans forward to sip her iced chocolate.

  I run both hands through my hair.

  “The whole thing’s just crazy. My life’s crazy. Maybe I’m crazy.”

  “Everyone in LA is crazy, Kayla. You should know that by now. That’s the attraction of the place. I mean, all this craziness zooming around this place and colliding with each other makes LA what it is. That’s why people come to live here, that’s why we live here.”

  I groan. I’m not sure she’s right.

  “What about all this stuff that’s been going on?” I persist. My bones have been rattled to the core.

  “What stuff?”

  I fold my arms in front of my chest. “The stuff with Ian and Scott and Brad.”

  “Be more specific for me, babe, would you?”

  Only my best friend is allowed to call me babe. If a man had just called me that, I would have kicked him between the legs.

  I’m not sure if she’s trying to be helpful by asking questions or if she really doesn’t understand my problem.

  “You know,” I try again. “Ian’s going to run to Ed and complain, and now Ed will come to me and let his anger out on me.”

  Angela shrugs.

  “Has anyone else complained about you?”

  I think about her question for a minute. At the same time, I watch the movement and color of LA. We are seated in the outside area of the Rest A While café.

  From where we are seated, we can see people pass by—they’re on their way home, to a hot date, or some other engagement. Some people are laughing, others have their heads down, and others again look straight ahead, earphones in their ears and their expressions vacant.

  I imagine most of them lead fairly uncomplicated lives.

  Wouldn’t it be nice to be one of these passers-by who do not seem to have a care in the world?

  “Earth to Kayla.” I hear Angela’s voice. Startled, I look at her.

  “Has anyone else complained about you?” she repeats her question. She’s speaking slowly, enunciating each word.

  “Sorry.” I smile. “I drifted off.”

  “Drifted, alright.”

  “I haven’t heard about any other complaints.” I don’t tell her about Brad complaining that we need to repeat our antics of the other day. I doubt Angela would class it as the sort of complaint she was asking about.

  “So what are you worried about exactly?” She signals the waiter. “I feel like something fatty and sweet.”

  I laugh.

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” Angela asks with total innocence.

  “Eat all that fat and sugar and stay super slim.”

  Her right hand waves in a dismissive fashion. “It’s easy. Plenty of sex.”

  We both burst out laughing.

  “And then there’s the gossip piece,” I continue and watch Angela take a forkful of chocolate cake. “It could really hurt my career.”

  I’ve been worried about the effect of the piece in the gossip column since I’ve read it.

  “You worry too much.”

  “I worry just the right amount,” I counter.

  “What’s wrong with a bit of gossip? Haven’t you heard the saying ‘Any publicity is good publicity’?”

  I shake my head. “I doubt that applies to the type along the lines of head writer engages in threesome with two of her stars.”

  “Why not?”

  Angela is really unbelievable. I wish I had some of her attitude when it comes to what people think about me.

  “It’s that bad girl stuff. Only bad girls have threesomes. I think it might affect my reputation.”

  “It’s about spin. If you put a positive spin on it, it won’t give you a bad reputation. And you’re totally wrong—good girls have threesomes as well. Threesomes are all inclusive.”

  Lost for a reply, I pinch some of her cake.

  “It’s about time you stand up for yourself and what you believe in. You can’t just let people trample all over you. You need to stand up to Ed, and you need to work out if you want to continue to bang your two leads. And if you do, stand up for your personal choice too.”

  She continues, “Just because you choose something different, doesn’t make it wrong. If you want to fuck two guys at the same time, that’s your choice. But don’t be ashamed about it.”

  “Shush, not so loud. I don’t need another blind piece written about it.” I’m sure I’ve gone bright red.

  Angela swallows before she replies. “If I was in your shoes, I’d be shouting it from the top of the Hollywood sign in the hills.”

  She takes another bite of cake. “I’d probably write my own gossip column about it to make sure the facts are right.”

  The image of Angela doing this makes me laugh. Bad girl Angela, afraid of nothing.

  I know she’s right.

  Of course, I know she’s right. I do need to stand up for what I want and for what I believe in. Deep down, I agree with my best friend.

  Unfortunately, it sounds easier in theory than it is to do in practice.

  Scott

  I jog up the driveway and bang on Kayla’s door. I run my hand through my hair and hope she’s home.

  I need to see her and make sure she’s okay. I still can’t believe the way Ian fucking speaks to her. She’s such a great chick, smart, with an ass to die for, and all-around gorgeous.

  Just thinking about her makes me horny.

  “Hi.”

  I didn’t notice her open the door. Now that she’ standing in front of me in that skimpy dress, the hemline just covering her ass, I’m lost for words…briefly.

  “Hey.” I smile my most charming smile.

  “Want to come in?”
>
  Do I ever?

  “If it’s okay?” I play it cool. I don’t want to frighten her. She looks so vulnerable.

  I just want to wrap my arms around her and protect her. Well, there are other things I want to do to her as well, but they might happen later.

  “Of course it’s okay.” Kayla takes a step back and invites me in. “It’s more than okay,” she adds as I walk past her.

  “Coffee? Water? Beer? Wine?”

  My insides melt as I watch her make her way into the kitchen. Her butt wiggles from side to side, and I can’t get enough of looking at those gorgeous legs of hers.

  “What are you having?”

  Kayla gets on her tiptoes and reaches for a glass in her top shelve. As she does so, I watch her dress ride up a little, and I feel a stirring between my legs.

  “Easy, boy,” I say and keep feasting my eyes on her ass. I have to restrain myself from grabbing her and pushing my dick into her pussy, right here, right now. “Everything in good time” I tell myself.

  “Bubbles,” she replies and turns back to face me with two tall glasses in her hand.

  “Me too.”

  After I get to watch her bend over to retrieve a bottle out of the fridge and catch a glimpse of her G-string, my cock is ready for action. Fuck, this chick is hot and knows how to push my buttons.

  I follow Kayla into the living room where she drapes her curvy body over the lounge. She pats the spot next to me, and I sit down.

  “You okay after the shoot the other day?” I ask and watch her. I love the little dimples in her cheek when she smiles.

  She shrugs.

  “Ed’s not going to take it well.” It’s more of an observation than a question. “And Ian will probably become even harder to work with.”

  “I can handle Ed.” I sound more confident than I feel. The punch might have just handed someone the perfect reason for me being the one killed off.

  I don’t want to be the one who gets the chop. I want to keep working with Kayla. I hadn’t realized before how bad I want to stay on the show for this woman’s sake.

  Ces’t la vie, I think, as long as they don’t punish my Kayla for it. Her career shouldn’t suffer at the hands of fuckwits like Ed and Ian.

  “What’s so funny?”