REX (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Three)

by Paige North

  REX

  (THE BILLIONAIRE CROFT BROTHERS, BOOK THREE)

  PAIGE NORTH

  FAVOR FORD PUBLISHING

  Contents

  NOTE

  Want To Be In The Know?

  REX (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Three) By Paige North

  1. Addison

  2. Rex

  3. Addison

  4. Rex

  5. Addison

  6. Rex

  7. Addison

  8. Rex

  9. Addison

  10. Rex

  11. Addison

  12. Rex

  13. Addison

  14. Rex

  15. Addison

  16. Rex

  17. Addison

  18. Rex

  Bonus Content: What He Wants by Hannah Ford

  1. WHAT HE WANTS

  2. WHAT HE CRAVES

  3. WHAT HE DEMANDS

  4. WHAT HE NEEDS

  5. WHAT HE DESIRES

  6. WHAT HE PROTECTS

  7. WHAT HE HIDES

  8. WHAT HE REVEALS

  NOTE

  This edition of Rex (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Three) contains the following bonus content: What He Wants (Books 1-8) by Hannah Ford.

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  REX (THE BILLIONAIRE CROFT BROTHERS, BOOK THREE) BY PAIGE NORTH

  ADDISON

  I ’ve never needed a job this badly in my entire life.

  The desperation I’m feeling is so intense that I worry the producers can sense it. They’re looking for cute, spunky and successful, and I’m giving them pathetic and needy.

  My over-emphasized smiling and nodding to their every statement can’t be helping, either.

  Calm down, Addison. Try and act like you have a career, a life, that you’re the hot new thing they absolutely must hire.

  But the sad fact of the matter is that I’ve run out of money and out of options, and my dreams of making it in L.A. are quickly coming to an end.

  So I need to land a gig.

  Any gig.

  And if I don’t get this commercial today – for Kain’s, the discount clothing store--I’m not sure how I’m going to pay my rent next month.

  “Let’s take it from the top,” one of the producers says, and I nod my head, smiling and pretending like this is the best news I’ve ever heard.

  Luckily my vibe with the other actress felt good – we bounced lines off each other like the new great friends we’re pretending to be.

  I’ve auditioned for some of these producers before, so they kind of know me. I swear I was so close to landing a canned cheese commercial a couple of months back, that I could practically taste the chemicals.

  I always try to stay steady, not get my hopes up because there’s so much rejection in this business. And because I’m not the typical Los Angeles beauty with big fake boobs and a tiny waist, I get more rejections then most.

  Finally, a producer with thick-rimmed glasses says, “Maybe one more time, just to be sure.”

  Another producer, this one wearing a straw fedora, shrugs as if he doesn’t care, and so we begin again.

  “And…” the producer begins, “…action!”

  “When you’re starting your new life, you’re going to need the essentials,” I begin, as if this place I’m pretending to stand in is the best place in the world. “That’s why I go to Kain’s for all my—”

  “Stop,” a voice calls. It’s the man in the straw fedora. He looks to the woman in the glasses and says, “Really, Rita. It’s enough. Don’t torture her.”

  That’s when my stomach starts its slow descent.

  “Becky, great job,” the fedora guy says to the other actress. “We’ll call your agent and let her know of the schedule. Welcome aboard.”

  Becky does a restrained little jump-and-squeal movement next to me. “Thanks, Harry! See you, Rita!” She makes her exit as I stand and wait for my own verdict.

  Rita holds her hands out to her side and says, “Sorry. It’s just not going to work out.”

  She goes back to shuffling through papers, looking to see who is next—they all do, avoiding looking me in the eyes. I’d thought I was so close on yet another job. Why can’t I land something?

  “Is there anything I should work on?” I say, my voice now weak compared to when I was pretending to be college girl shopping at Kain’s.

  Rita forces a smile and says, “You’re just not what we’re looking for.”

  Which is annoying because they have my headshot, and if I didn’t look like what they were looking for then they shouldn’t have brought me in. I need more. With the loss of this gig, I’m in a bad spot.

  What am I going to do about rent?

  How can I live? What do I do next?

  I’ve been telling myself that I would give it another month, another week, another day, but now it’s starting to become ridiculous. I don’t have enough money to survive anymore.

  “Anything more specific?” I say, trying to sound pleasant, professional. But I am eager for something real, something solid I can use. Otherwise what the hell am I doing down here in California with few friends, zero family and no money chasing this dream?

  The producers and casting agents all dart their eyes at each other. Finally Rita speaks. “Sweetie, you gotta lose some weight.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Ten to fifteen pounds, I’d say.”

  The fedora guy adds, “And you need to upgrade your look.” Everyone’s eyes at the table travel down my body. “You need something more…aspirational.”

  I stand grounded before them, as if my feet are glued to the linoleum. Their eyes have all left me now, going back to their papers and the next girl they bring in here. The next girl whose dreams they will shatter.

  “Thanks for coming in, Madison,” Rita says curtly.

  “It’s Addison,” I mutter. I force my body to move toward the door. I can feel my chin begin its telltale quivering. I’m trying my very best to hold it together as I leave the audition room and step out into the waiting room, where more than a dozen girls are sitting, watching each of us come out that door, hoping for failure so that they’ll have a shot. I can’t show them any emotion.

  Ten to fifteen pounds…something more aspirational…

  That’s when the gates open and tears begin their free-flowing stream down my face. Instantly my nose is filled with snot, I can hardy see through the tears and I just need to get the hell out of here.

  I know I’m not model thin.

  But I believe that not every girl has to look alike in this industry. There should be enough roles for all of us.

  I also believe I am a good actor. I did well in my program at the University of Oregon. My professors said I had real talent. They said I could make it. So with nothing left for me in my home state after graduation—my parents didn’t even wave goodbye as I left town—I came down here, arriving in my clunker on fumes with a hope and a dream like so many others. I thought I’d be different from all those sad stories.

  Turns out the only thing different about me is the extra fifteen pounds.

  Which starts a fresh wave of tears as I take the stairs down two floors to the parking lot. As I punch out the door, I realize that this is really it. This audition is the last straw. I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do. I’ve got no home to go back to, and I’m not trained for anything else. If I’d had reliable parents they might have suggested a backup plan when I said I was studying theater.
>
  I’m not blaming them, I’m just tired and frustrated. I need a good cry at home alone, and then I can figure out how the hell to get out of this situation.

  Barely scraping by and landing only gigs as background—sitting in a set restaurant and miming conversation while the real actors say their lines, getting minimum pay that hardly covers groceries for a week—isn’t cutting it anymore.

  The fight to keep my head above water is exhausting.

  “Excuse me, miss!” a voice calls. “Wait up.” I turn and see one of the men who sat at the table and watched me get told I was fat. He’s short, with black hair and a weak chin. He’s sporting some stubble in an obvious attempt to cover it up. Doesn’t work. “Addison, hello again.”

  At least he got my name right. “Hello,” I say, digging in my bag for my sunglasses, and not just because it’s sunny out—I’d rather not show my red splotchy face to this guy.

  “I’m Damien, one of the producers,” he begins, then wipes away a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. “Listen, I might have a gig for you after all.”

  I shift, looking at him more clearly. “Oh, yeah?”

  “It’s not a national commercial or anything,” he says, “but it is a decent paying job if you’re interested.”

  I feel a spark of hope flare inside my chest, but try to keep my calm. I’ve had way too many close calls and disappointments since I came to L.A., and this might just be one more.

  “Yes,” I say. “Definitely interested.”

  “It’s…a little different than what you’re probably used to,” he begins.

  “This is L.A.,” I say. “I’m used to different.”

  “Yes, well, even so,” he says. “This is sort of an acting job but not quite. I work for a company called Stand In Girlfriend.”

  “What is that? Like a reality show?” It’s the last thing I want to do, but right now I can’t afford to be snobby about paying gigs.

  “It’s not reality TV,” Damien says. “No cameras. We just…send girls out on dates with wealthy clients.”

  I feel like I’m going to throw up. I turn and start walking away. “Uh, no thanks, buddy,” I say over my shoulder. “I’m not a freaking prostitute.”

  “No, no,” he says, scrambling to catch up to me. “It’s not that. Not at all. Trust me. This has nothing to do with sex or any of that. You don’t have to so much as give the guy a peck on the cheek. You don’t even have to hold his hand if you don’t want to.”

  Despite myself, I stop walking. Call it morbid curiosity. “So then what is it, exactly?”

  “We are not an escort service, not by any means,” he says, wiping more sweat from the side of his face. “We cast real girls, down to earth, innocent, sweet girls. And what can I say—you seem to fit the bill.”

  “Glad to know I fit someone’s bill,” I mutter.

  “Our clients are wealthy, like I said,” Damien continues. “They’re very powerful, busy men. They just want basic companionship and conversation from bright young women and they’re willing to pay good money for it. And they trust our company to provide them with intelligent, sweet girls who are not looking to take advantage of their wealth.”

  “It sounds dicey. I’m looking for real acting gigs, not getting paid for pretending to like some creepy old guy.”

  Damien takes out his phone and pulls up a photo. He shows it to me. “This is the man I had in mind for you. His name is Rex Croft.”

  I look at the photo to see a man not much older than me—maybe twenty-five—who has dark hair and strong features, and hazel eyes that seem to pierce through the picture, as if he’s looking right at me.

  My heartbeat speeds up more than a fraction.

  He is not good looking. He is gorgeous.

  But there’s no way a guy like him goes for a girl like me. And in this town, a rich, super hot looking dude can have his pick of models and actresses.

  I stand in the warm sunlight in my khaki pants that I wore this morning thinking I’d look like a relatable every-girl for the audition. What a fail.

  This gig doesn’t sound even remotely right. I’ve heard of girls falling into stuff like this when they come to L.A. and here I am, standing in a parking lot about to let it happen to me.

  So I tell Damien I won’t do it. “But if you have any actual acting jobs, let me know.” I start to walk away again.

  “It’s a thousand dollars,” Damien replies coolly. “That’s for one evening’s work. And sex is absolutely, positively not expected, required or part of the deal. The men—like Rex here—understand that. Addison, it’s just companionship. Just hanging out with a good-looking rich guy for an evening. Don’t overthink it.”

  “A thousand dollars?” I repeat. That’ll cover my rent and buy me some time to do more auditions. To be honest, I’m not ready to give up on my dream yet. “And you swear there’s nothing sexual?”

  “On my mother’s grave,” he says. “This is just the promise of companionship for these guys. Just be warm and fun and friendly like I know you are, and you’ll be a success. Rex is going to love you.”

  “And how do I know this is really the guy I’m going to meet? How do I know I’m not going to get murdered and chopped up?” I ask, and I can’t believe I’m actually considering doing this.

  Damien grins. “Google Rex Croft. He’s a real guy, and he’s the person you’ll be seeing tonight. As for me, I’m a real person too, with a name in our industry and ties to the community. If I was doing something crazy, it would be very easy for you to tell the cops all about me. Right?”

  “Right.” I purse my lips and think about it.

  But all I can really think about is how much breathing room a thousand dollars would give me right now…

  Rex Croft is handsome and wealthy.

  If the picture is true to the actual man, how bad could it be? Maybe some boring conversation and then I go home and collect my pay.

  “Say yes and I’ll give you the first third right now,” Damien says. He pulls a checkbook out of his breast pocket and leans on the back of a Honda and starts writing. Addison…Gilmore?”

  Maybe I can do this one thing. I can treat it like an acting job. I will act the part of the fun, intelligent, warm girl this Rex guy wants to hang with for the evening. And then tomorrow, I’ll hit the ground again taking auditions.

  “Gilmour with an o-u,” I say, and spell it out for him. My heart is pounding, and I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  He rips the check out of the book and hands it to me. “There you go. You’ll get the rest upon the completion of your evening with Rex. Here’s his address,” Damien continues, writing it down on slip of paper. “You’ll show up this evening at eight. Please don’t be late. Rex will be expecting you.” He looks at me and flashes a smile. “And have a good time, Addison.”

  As I drive home I try not to freak out. This is definitely the oddest thing I have ever done—stranger even than the time I gave a monologue about death while squirting mustard into the audience, when I did that experimental theatre group awhile back.

  The first thing I do when I get into my tiny studio apartment is rummage through my equally tiny closet.

  What am I going to wear? Damien didn’t say where Rex and I were going. Dinner, I suppose?

  If he’s rich he’s probably conservative…but then again he looks pretty young so maybe he’s a little looser. I certainly don’t want him to take one look at me and call Damien to ask him what the hell he was thinking. I don’t want to look like I don’t have aspirations but I also don’t want to look like a call girl.

  There’s nothing I can do about the weight part between now and tonight, either.

  I find a full skirt and fitted sweater blouse that I wore when I played a secretary on a drama. I didn’t have any lines but I pretended to answer phones and write messages for three days.

  I shower and redo my hair and makeup. I take a look at myself in the warped full-length mirror I literally found on the sidewalk not far from
my studio and think, Well, this is as good as it’s going to get. I’ll just be pleasant and get the rest of that money. Which reminds me…

  I take the check out of my purse, I endorse it and smooth it out on my fourth-hand table, which is chipped, wobbly, and serves as my desk and kitchen table. With my phone I take photos of the front and back and deposit it into my sad little checking account. If this whole thing is a bust, at least I’m a few hundred dollars richer.

  MY CAR SPUTTERS and coughs as I start the engine and I start off to this Rex guy’s house, which is in the Hollywood Hills. My car does not like the steep hills and tight turns. I pat her on the dash and tell her we can do it.

  The streets are tight and winding. It’s dark—the few streetlamps are obscured by trees, casting shadows on the road. Once I find his street I drive slowly to see the house numbers. I can’t even see many of the houses due to the gates and the fact that the houses are set far back from the road, away from prying eyes. Finally, I find the right address.

  First I have to pull up to a box in front of a closed gate and ring the bell.

  “Yes?” a bored voice calls.

  “Um, hi. This is Addison? For Rex Croft?”

  “Drive through,” the voice says, and then the gates slowly part.

  Wow. So Damien wasn’t kidding, Rex Croft really does expect me tonight. I still can’t believe a guy who looks like that needs to hire girls to spend time with him.

  The driveway winds and turns and is shaded by thick trees and vegetation. Finally I emerge in front of a huge white mansion that I’m shocked was hidden behind the gate and trees. This house is nothing if not formidable.

  I step out of the car and smooth my skirt as my exhausted car hisses its relief at having made it this far.

  I take a deep breath and look up at the house. Just the evening, I remind myself. Be pleasant, and that’s all.

  My heart is hammering now, beating a fierce rhythm against my ribcage.

  I walk to the front door—which is as big as my car—and ring the bell. The door opens and…it’s an older man dressed in black pants and a slim-fitting jacket.