Already Written (Hollywood Exchange #1)

by Xavier Neal

  “To make you feel like you have an opinion on your wardrobe.” Her response slumps my shoulders until she looks up with a playful grin. “Are you nervous about looking good for the opening or for Minka?”

  A smile jumps onto my face.

  Yeah. From her goddamn name. You see this shit on my face? It's ridiculous. I shouldn't be smiling because Caroline said her name. I haven't been this hung up over a chick since I was 15 and Janice Smith asked me to be her prom date. Being a sophomore asked to prom by a senior was a big deal. Almost as big as her father chasing me away from their house when he caught me feeling her up in the driveway afterwards.

  “What did this woman do to you?” Caroline giggles and pops my hand as it tries to reach for another tie. “You don't need one. You look better in a suit with no tie. Do I need to call Pat to give you a lecture on why he rarely ever puts you in them?”

  “No. I believe you.” Turning around, I begin to put the scattered clothing away. “And she didn't do anything.”

  Not that I didn't think about it. Not that I would've turned it down if she offered. You know how often I get laid on the first date? If it were a goddamn Vegas game I'd tell you to always bid on it and bid high.

  “Well when you got back early last night, you were smiling like she was a double jointed gymnast and showed you first-hand what all her training could really do.”

  Rolling my eyes at her graphic description, I correct, “She's not a gymnast. She's a writer.”

  Caroline groans and flops onto the edge of my bed. “You're sure she's not going to try to use you to get ahead in the industry? You've been around long enough to know there's no low people won't stoop to when they want something in this business. That's the way the game is played, Pierce. And the game is always being played.”

  She's not wrong. I learned that lesson the hard way. Fuck. I feel like I'm still learning that lesson.

  “She's an author.”

  “Like a blogger who thinks they're so clever all of their ramblings should be put together and published?”

  I smirk and grab my watch from the counter. “No. She's writes romance novels.”

  “Wait!” She shouts loudly. “Wait! Wait! Wait! Is her last name Knight?”

  Impressed, I turn around to face her. “You've heard of her?”

  “Minka Knight?” Caroline squeaks in a tone I've never heard before. “You're going out with Minka Knight?!”

  Jokingly I pout, “Am I not the only star at the dinner table?”

  Caroline tosses her phone and jumps to her feet. “Holy shit! Pierce! Holy shit! Minka Knight is marvelous! There's nothing she can't write! Everything she publishes is perfect! Her books just get better and better! Right now she has this series about these super sexy alpha male astronauts. God I didn't think space nerds could be so....so...” A deep sigh slips out. “Arousing.”

  “This conversation took a weird turn,” I mumble pulling out my vibrating phone.

  Nottie: Concert is amazing. Thank you for the ticket upgrade.

  Typically I try not to make a habit of flashing my glitz and glamour or pulling strings unless it's necessary, but I figured why not make their night out even better if I can? Score me a few more brownie points just this once.

  Me: Enjoy the rest of it. I'll see you soon, nottie.

  My smile is short lived by the fan girl look on Caroline's face. “Is that her? Tell me that's her!”

  I tuck my phone back in my pocket. “I'm not sure I like this side of you.”

  She glares and folds her arms. “Shut up. You've crossed paths with many fan girls in your lifetime.”

  “Yeah but I never thought my assistant would be one.” Moving out of the bedroom, I question, “When do you even have time to read? I swear every time I look up you're working on your phone.”

  “While you're filming. While we're flying. While you're out sleeping with whatever blonde, brunette, or redhead who has purposely charmed her way into your path.”

  Minka damn sure isn't like that. Meeting her couldn't have been a better cosmic accident.

  Her comment stops me in my tracks though she continues walking through the living room area for the kitchen. “I'm not that bad.”

  A look of sarcasm comes from her as she grabs a bottle of water. “You're not as bad as you could be. But you're not exactly good, Pierce.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “How the hell do you figure?”

  “Cam was your last actual girlfriend and that was what....two very long, very excruciating months?”

  Couldn't have said it better myself.

  “Before that there was the bobbed blonde who was an extra on the show. She lasted three weeks. Before that there was the blonde who gave you her number when you and J.J. were out grabbing breakfast. She lasted one. Before that there was a redhead who you met at a party who...did something with experimental diet drugs. She was a one and done.”

  Annoyed at the growing list of my failed exploits, I snap, “Do you just keep a record of all the women I date?”

  “I don't have that kind of time or hard drive space,” she snips. Seeing my bitter expression, Caroline points. “You pulled at this thread.”

  “And now I'm raveling it back up.”

  Her hands fly up in submission. “Enjoy your night out.”

  “I have no doubt I will.”

  “Remember we're leaving on the first flight out in the morning. Your photo shoot got moved up and in its place is an interview with some T.V. show blogger.”

  I slide my hands back into my pockets. “When did this happen?”

  “About ten minutes into your shower.”

  “Didn't think to tell me sooner?”

  “I'm telling you now,” she hums. “You've only got a few hours Cinderella. Make them count.”

  And this is one of the times I hate my job. People see you on T.V. and the naive ones believe that's all you do. Show up, record for a couple hours, and then return to a normal life. Well that hasn't been the case in years. And before you give me the mocking whoa as me poor rich actor speech, they don't exactly tell you everything you're going to give up when you transition into the business. Sure, you expect some of the late nights, the ass kissing, the crooked deals and steals, but you don't expect to give more of yourself than there is to give. You don't expect to be in a crowded room and never feel lonelier. You don't expect for dating to never actually be dating again. You don't expect to find out most of the women you meet are trying to break into the industry, or get ahead and are willing to do anything to make it happen. You don't expect the ones who are already established to be so attention hungry for bigger headlines because that means more money. Better parts. More exclusive clubs. You don't expect to be uninvited from a family member's wedding because they don't want you to be the center of attention on their special day. And you damn sure don't expect your mother to call you crying in fear because a fan tried to break into your childhood home while she was home alone. Truth? If I would've known the pros and the cons up front, I can't say with certainty I would've still taken this route.

  **

  Gunz veers to the right as I enter past the rope being dropped for me. The minute I'm past the security guard, one of my best friends, Lake, tosses his hands in the air. “Bout time!”

  “Like you've ever been on time for something that wasn't sports related,” I joke while we shake hands.

  “And even then he's late,” my other best friend, Scott, stands to greet me with a hand shake as well.

  Outside of J.J. these two knuckleheads are really my only friends. They get that title because I'm not worried about either of them stabbing me in the back for something better. They've been around through some of the turmoil and didn't budge. J.J., who plays my brother on the show is basically the same in real life, while these two are a close second and third.

  The three of us sit down on the red leather sectional couch. Immediately a woman in a black leather mini skirt and a referee crop top walks around to the front o
f our vision. She gracefully picks up one of the chilled bottles and offers, “Can I pour you gentlemen a drink?”

  Lake waves a hand for her to proceed and sighs from his spot across from mine. “Glad you came. Didn't think you would.”

  “Had to,” I answer and take the glass of champagne. “Needed to see how an ex NFL QB fills his time.”

  He smirks and shoots me the finger.

  Lake Rodgers couldn't look any more like an all American football player if he tried. Short dark brown hair. Baby blue eyes. 6'2. 225. Usually clean shaven with a smile that's trusting enough to steal anyone's girlfriend away from them. I'm not too worried. You've met Minka. She probably has no idea who he is. Besides, most chicks may dig football players, but my girl's not like most women. She's...different. In all the best ways.

  “Place looks good,” my compliment receives a nod of thanks. “You like it?”

  “Yeah,” Lake quickly agrees. “I needed this. Football consumed my entire life since I was six. Honestly? It's nice to know I can successfully do something else.”

  “Successfully?” Scott pokes playfully. “The doors have only been open for a couple hours. I mean, yeah, no one has been set on fire yet but it's still early.”

  Scott Caldwell on the other hand is the exact opposite. While he's tall too, he's lankier than most. His brown hair is always changing but the innocent boy next door look never does. The problem is because of it, people assume he's gullible and easy to fuck over. They couldn't be more wrong.

  When we start laughing, Lake grunts, “You two are the most unsupportive assholes.”

  “And yet you wanted us here,” Scott points out as he leans back.

  “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” The V.I.P. waitress asks politely. After receiving polite denials, she gives us a sweet smirk and says, “Please do not hesitate to let me know if you need anything. And I do mean anything. My name is Jenny.”

  She moves herself to the opposite end of the roped off space from the security guard. For everyone who makes it past the doorman, the ground level is fair game. On the second level you have to be on an approved VIP list, which is by invite only. Of course if you are on the list and you're important enough you can bring guests in with you. If that isn't exclusive enough, on the second level there are three blocked off areas for elite customers and one section specifically reserved for Lake at all times. The bartenders and waitress have referee themed attire while the cage dancers have sexualized versions of various sports uniforms. He's managed to splice classy sports bar with the infamous nightclub reputation Vegas is famous for, but it's obvious by the way his eyes can't stay still for longer than a minute, this place is more than that to him.

  Honestly never seen Lake care about anything more than football. It's...different.

  “You only in town for tonight?” Scott asks, eyes drifting on passing females who are strolling by in hopes of being invited in.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “Got in yesterday.”

  Unaware of my own face's betrayal, I'm surprised when Lake says, “By the shit eating grin on your face I take it you won big last night.”

  Why does my face keep doing that?

  “Actually, I went on a date.”

  Lake questions, “Model? Actress? Scuba instructor?”

  “Really?” Scott turns to him. “Have you ever banged a scuba instructor?”

  “Four.”

  “No fucking way.” Scott rolls his eyes. “You can't even name four scuba instructors.”

  They're always like this. In fact our friendship dynamic is one commercial break away from being a sitcom. The retired jock with more brawn than brains, the song writer everyone assumes is a giant pussy, and the pretty faced television actor that can always be found in the spotlight. Sure, on the surface that shit seems right, but it's so far from the goddamn truth it's fiction.

  After another sip of the champagne, I announce, “She's a writer.”

  Their faces twist in unison.

  Lake leans forward and sighs, “Like a blogger?”

  Scott mimics the action. “Or a journalist?”

  “Tell me she's not a screenplay writer,” Lake rushes to say.

  “Or a T.V. writer,” Scott backs.

  Curious by their looks of distaste, I ask, “What does it matter what kind of writer?”

  “Think about the women writers who work on your show.” Lake gives me a sympathetic look. “With all due respect, they're ugos.”

  Scott glances at him. “Which part of that was respectful?”

  “The part where I didn't call them dogs.”

  Scott's head briefly hangs before he turns back to me. “What our friend, who has clearly taken too many hits to the head, is trying to imply is, typically, the ones who work in film and television, are on the less attractive side. Not all. Just...in general, the ones we've come across.”

  Disbelief has me shaking my head.

  “Oh come on!” Lake tosses his hand in the air. “If one of us told you we went out with a 'writer' you would have the same damn reaction.”

  Fuck...He's right. That makes me a hypocritical asshole, doesn't it? Well- I- Just- Fine. Go ahead. Give me the tongue lashing I deserve.

  The buzzing of my phone in my pocket is a welcomed distraction from the premature lynching of my date.

  Nottie: On our way up.

  Flagging the waitress down, I encourage her to lean closer and request an unusual drink for a nightclub before angling my body to make it easier for them to find me.

  “So,” Scott encourages. “What's she write?”

  “Romance novels.”

  “Like porn?” Lake's excited expression is followed with a self-satisfied chuckle. “Tell me she writes porn!”

  I shrug. “I couldn't tell you much about it except don't compare her to the 50 Shades of Grey woman. She hates that.”

  He smirks. “But that movie put a little kink into my sex life. It's a compliment in my book.”

  “Not hers.”

  “So she's an ugo with attitude? Is she dynamite in the sack or something?”

  On a growl, I warn, “Watch your mouth, Lake.”

  “Must be if you're that protective already.”

  A pugnacious vibe thrums through my system and scoots me to the end of the seat.

  Scott immediately attempts to defuse the situation. “Let's just...let her profession go. When's she getting here?”

  I glance to the left to see a sight that stifles my capability to answer. Minka crosses into the closed off area, her gorgeous brown skinned legs barely covered by a skin tight black skirt. My eyes continue to gormandize every curve displayed in the thin long sleeve v neck leopard print top. Her tits pushed up and almost falling out of it is igniting instincts to slip my jacket off to cover up what's mine.

  Mine? That...that didn't come out right. What do you mean that's twice I've referred to her that way? Why are you keeping score?

  Rising to my feet, I will my hard on to chill, and peck her with a kiss on the cheek. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she bashfully coos in return.

  With a small wave of my hand, I introduce. “This is the woman I was telling you about. Minka Knight, meet Lake Rogers and Scott Caldwell.”

  “Holy shit,” Lake mumbles out loud.

  Minka quickly questions. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Forgive him,” Scott sighs as he stands. “You're just not what we were expecting.”

  A nervous look crawls onto her face, which prompts my hand to slip around her waist in comfort. “He means it in a good way.”

  She flashes me a soft smile and I wink.

  “Scott.” He extends his hand for her. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Minka.”

  “Lake,” my other friend announces before standing to do the same. “Beautiful name. Almost as beautiful as your body.”

  My grip tightens on her hip. “Keep staring at her like that and you won't like the penalty on the play.”

  With a c
rooked grin, he backs down. “Got it.”

  The tightening tension turns up even more when his eyes do what mine did only seconds ago. Minka places a light hand on my chest as if she can hear the sound of his bones breaking already. “Is that your cologne?”

  Thrown off by the change in subject, I shake away the rage that was seeping into my bloodstream. “Yeah.”

  “You smell like you were eating peppermints in the forest.” Her blunt remark causes me to smile. “Almost like Santa chasing a lumberjack.”