Famously Mine: A Contemporary Romance Box Set

by Roxy Reid

  “I can’t believe you got it for three million,” I say.

  “Oh no, I went way over your spending limit,” Darian says. “You paid six million for it.”

  “Six million?! Darian, what the hell-”

  “I knew how much you wanted it,” he said simply.

  And he’s right, damn him. Darian’s been with me from the beginning. He knows me better than anyone, and his gambling instincts are spot on, both in poker and business. There’s a reason that when I decided I wanted to start a production company, I went straight to him.

  Still. Six million. I mentally add two more action movies with the vengeful writer to my financial future.

  “But you kept it anonymous? No one knows it’s us?” I ask. I haven’t announced the production company yet. No one knows about it other than Darian, a few key employees, and my investors. People tend to be skeptical of actor-founded production companies, and the longer I give them to think about it, the more skeptical they’ll be. The plan has always been to launch the company at the same time as we announce our first movie, something highly anticipated everyone who’s anyone will see. If we knock it out of the park on that first movie, we’ll be off to the races.

  If news leaks out before we’re ready though...

  “The bid was anonymous,” Darian assures me. “But the seller did have one condition.”

  I groan. Conditions are always bad when they come from people holding scripts hostage for six million. “What did you agree to?”

  “Well, the seller is Cohen’s wife. And she’s in her eighties. And she really wants to see this movie...”

  “Spit it out, Darian.”

  “We’ve got five years to finish making the movie. After that the rights revert to the second place bid.”

  I swear and start pacing. The best news of my life is rapidly turning into the worst news of my life. “I don’t want to rush this Darian. It needs to be perfect. To make this work we’d have to move up the company launch to...three months from now. Fuck.”

  “... I didn’t think of that,” Darian admits, somewhat sheepishly.

  My phone buzzes. I’ve got an incoming call from Brittney, my ex, and the mother of our eight year old daughter. “Brittney’s calling, and she’s got Poppy today. I have to take this.”

  “Ok. Don’t forget you have the champagne launch walk-through in a half hour. I’ll start putting feelers out for your dream cast and see who might be available within the five-year timeframe.”

  “Thanks, man. And hey— good work.” I hang up on Darian and switch over to Brittney. “What’s up?” I ask, as I rush around hunting for my shoes. I completely forgot about the champagne thing this afternoon. Normally Darian reminds me of shit like that every morning, but today he was busy spending an unapproved three million of my money.

  “I’m dropping Poppy and her nanny off with you,” Brittney says. Brittney is the kind of woman who gets straight to the point. It sped up our entire relationship. We went from meeting to dating to fucking to agreeing we weren’t right for each other in less than three weeks. It also makes co-parenting with her pretty easy, something I never thought I’d say about a popstar turned actor turned popstar again with a penchant for bleached blond hair and tight jeans. “I’ve got a work thing that came up, and I can’t move it.”

  I find my other shoe and hop around putting it on, “Why can’t the nanny watch her at your place? I’m cramming in all my work stuff today since I have Poppy this weekend.”

  “Because Amy’s on vacation, remember? And the replacement nanny is…” she lowers her voice. “Not the brightest back-up dancer in the line-up, if you know what I mean. Look, they’ll both stay out of the way and hang out in your trailer. But you’ll be close in case Poppy needs anything. Pleeeeeeaaaaaaaaaase.”

  I give-in, “I’m done shooting for the day. Drop them off at the Marigold Hotel. I’ve got a meeting there in a half-hour.” I shove my wallet and keys into my jeans, then spend a frantic few seconds looking around for my phone before I remember it’s in my hand.

  I need a vacation.

  “A half-hour? Dude, you’re going to be late. What’s it for?”

  “It’s for a walk-through for a potential site for the champagne launch in three months. Normally Mandy would have handled all of this, but she’s on maternity and it fell through the cracks so we hired this firm…” I trail off as I realize what I just said.

  I need to announce a production company to the world in three months, without anyone seeing the preparations. And I’ve got a firm lined up to launch a champagne line in three months. Obviously I can’t tell the firm what I’m really doing, but maybe, if I work closely with them I can customize the event …

  “I’ve got to go,” I say. “I’ll see Poppy at the Marigold.”

  I hang up the phone and stare blankly ahead, as the pieces start to click into place.

  I can do this. I can actually pull this off. I punch the air and head out to meet the P.R. flack showing me the Marigold with renewed interest, crossing my fingers she’ll be competent enough to do her job, but dumb enough, or apathetic enough, not to figure out what I’m up to.

  3

  Sienna

  I pace back in forth in the lobby of the Marigold hotel, my black heels echoing on the elaborately tiled floor. The concierge leans around a luxurious potted fern to give me a dirty look.

  It took me weeks of searching — which was pretty damn stressful, since I’ve only got a few months to plan an event this size — but I’ve finally found the perfect location. It’s a boutique hotel just high enough in the hills to have a view of the city. The sunlit ballroom has floor to ceiling windows that showcase the view and practically scream California Glamour. Best of all, since the hotel is trying to get more publicity for their in-house catering, this whole thing is going to come in under budget.

  Now all I need is Joshua King to sign off on it. I check my watch. 4:07 p.m. He’s officially late. My stomach churns with nerves.

  “Wow,” I hear a kid’s voice say, and I look over. She’s short and blonde with heavy rimmed glasses, and a backpack roughly the same size she is. I think she’s impressed by all the gold leaf in the lobby, until she sighs heavily, and says, “He’s late again. Parents are so unprofessional.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I like this kid.

  The kid marches up to the snooty concierge. A young woman, who I’m assuming is the girl’s nanny trails after her, eyes glued to her phone.

  “Has Joshua King arrived yet?” the kid asks. “I’m supposed to meet him in a ballroom, only I don’t think they’ll let me in without him, so it would be best if I can meet him in the lobby.”

  The concierge looks down his nose at the girl, “I’m afraid we don’t give out information about hotel guests. But I can call your mother, and she can come get you.”

  The girl groans, and stamps her foot, “I don’t need my mom, she already dropped me off. I’m looking for my dad. Joshua King.”

  I pull out my phone and google image search “Joshua King” and “daughter.” She’s younger in all the photos, and her glasses are different, but I’m pretty sure it’s her.

  I can tell the concierge is one step away from kicking Joshua King’s kid out of his lobby, so I jump in before my perfect launch location goes up in smoke.

  “Excuse me? Ms. King?” I cross the lobby to the girl and hold out my hand. “My name is Sienna Bridges. I’m here to meet your dad, but it looks like he’s not quite here yet. Would you like to wait with me?”

  “Oh thank God. Can you watch her for a sec? I need to take this call,” the nanny says, and scurries out the door before I can say anything.

  I look down at the girl. Poppy, the internet said her name was. She looks up at me. And I suddenly realize I have no idea how to keep a movie star’s kid entertained. “Um… do you want to play a game on my phone?” I ask.

  “Not really,” she pushes her glasses up her nose. “But I would like to see the premises.”
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  I choke back a laugh, “We should wait until your dad gets here, but then I can show you-”

  “Please, please, please. I’ve never seen a ballroom in my whole life. And once Dad gets here it will be all grown up talk and business stuff,” she’s looking at me with big brown eyes she definitely got from her dad, and I waiver.

  On the one hand, ditching a client to go show his kid the site without him is definitely not professional. On the other hand, keeping his daughter happy is probably a better option than the alternative.

  I look up at the concierge, who waves a hand in acknowledgment, “Yes, fine, I will tell Mr. King you are in the ballroom when he gets here.” The concierge doesn’t say Now get out of my lobby, but it’s in his tone.

  I grin down at Poppy, “Well then, let’s go see your first ballroom.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!!!” Poppy says, jumping up and down with excitement.

  And I have to say, it’s pretty rewarding having an eight year old as a client. When we get to the ballroom she drops her backpack, stunned. Then she races to the middle of the room and spins around, her arms spread wide. She looks up at the ceiling and gasps, “There’s stars! On the ceiling!”

  I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe. There are indeed tiny mirrors mosaicked onto the ceiling in swirling, abstract designs. I kind of love it that when this kid looks up at them, she instantly sees stars.

  “Will there be dancing? At my dad’s event?” Poppy asks as she mimes waltzing around the floor with an imaginary partner. Someone’s obviously been watching a lot of Disney.

  “I don’t think so. It’s really more of a cocktail party.”

  Poppy stomps her foot and turns to stare at me, “Then why are we having it in a ballroom?”

  Yep, I definitely like Poppy King. She asks the hard-hitting questions.

  She’s still looking at me like I am personally responsible for everything wrong and stupid in the world, so I set my purse by the door and join her in the center of the room.

  “Tell you what. We can have our own dance now,” I hold out my hand dramatically. She doesn’t take it.

  “But there’s no one here,” she says.

  “So? That didn’t stop Beauty and the Beast. Rocky and Adrian. Hilary Duff and Chad Michael Murray in the gazebo in that horrible Cinderella movie.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What I’m talking about, is that sometimes you have to make your own magic, even if there aren’t any extras to back you up.” I wiggle my fingers, “So how about it kid? Wanna dance?”

  She giggles. But then she takes my hand, and we start skipping and spinning and twirling. Poppy starts belting something that might have been from Frozen, if Idina Menzel was tone-deaf and eight.

  I’m sure we look like maniacs, but she’s got that happy-carefree-kid-look I’m a sucker for. And I’m having more fun than I’ve had in a long time.

  “Testing out the room for me, honey?” a man’s deep voice says, and I spin.

  Joshua King is standing in the doorway. Somehow he looks even better than he looks on screen. I’m not sure if it’s the height, or the easy broad strength of him, or that spark in his eyes as he smiles at us. He’s the kind of man who makes you very aware that you’re a woman.

  “Daddy!” Poppy screams, and runs to him. Mr. King swings her up, and she hugs him like she hasn’t seen him in ages. And maybe she hasn’t. He’s a busy man. It was hard enough to get this meeting on his schedule.

  Which jolts me back to reality. I’ve got a contract to get signed. I try to tug my pencil skirt down after all that dancing, but I think I just succeed in drawing his attention to my legs.

  “Mr. King. So nice to meet you. I–” Shit, I need my binder, with the floor plan mock-ups, and the cost estimates. All of which is on the other side of the room. I scurry over to him, trying not to think about how I’ve got… shit, only 15 minutes now, to make the most demanding man in Hollywood fall in love with this room.

  “Joshua is fine.”

  “Right. Joshua. Nice to meet you. I’m Sienna Bridges,” I hold out my hand. He shakes it, and hell, that’s distracting too. His hand is warm and strong and exactly not the kind of hand you want to be thinking about during a business meeting.

  “As you found out for yourself, one of the advantages of this hotel is the intuitive layout,” I say. “It will be easy for your guests to come and go throughout the evening, adding to that laid back California sophistication you’re going for. I think you’ll find the view speaks for itself. And the room itself can be set up in a number of different configurations–”

  “What, are you going to school for marketing or something?” he asks with a lazy grin.

  Oh good, a comedian. And a patronizing one too. I do my best to fake a laugh.

  Joshua stuffs his hands in his (no doubt very expensive) pockets and wanders the room, taking the time to inspect everything. I follow. I can forgive him the dumb joke if he just approves my perfect venue choice.

  He starts inspecting the mobile bar.

  “We can move that of course,” I say. “What do you think about doing ten around the perimeter?”

  “That’s not a bad idea. But don’t worry about this stuff. You can go back to watching Poppy now.”

  My jaw clenches. I’ve spent weeks on this, and he wants to waltz in and what? Get a feeling for the room? Make a decision off of whether or not it has good vibes? While I babysit?

  I mean I like Poppy. I like her much better than her father, at this moment. But that’s not what I was hired to do. And I’m about to tell him as much, when I hear Carlotta’s voice in my head. Do anything he wants.

  “Of course, I’m happy to give you some space to make your decision,” I try to swallow my pride, and turn to see Poppy watching the whole thing, eyes wide.

  And, ironically, that’s the thing that does it. Because it’s not just me. It’s every woman at my firm he’s going to treat like this. And it’s Poppy, who’s not even ten yet, and already getting the message from her dad that women are for childcare, not business.

  I turn back to face Joshua King, movie star. I walk up to the other side of the bar, and place my hands on it, taking up all the space I can. Making him look at me.

  Which he does. I’m getting his full attention for the first time. And hell, it makes my stomach flip. He’s fierce and beautiful… and beginning to get irritated.

  Well good. I’m irritated to.

  “I’m happy to give you an autograph, or answer any questions you have when your shift ends,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “But when you’re on the job, Poppy comes first. No exceptions. No matter who else is in the room.”

  Well, that’s a weird requirement to have.

  “Mr. King, I appreciate that you love your daughter. But my job is not to take care of her,–”

  “–it absolutely fucking is–”

  “–it’s to help you plan your launch party for what’s going to become the ‘it’ champagne in Hollywood. But I can only make that happen if you let me do my job and show you this room.”

  And then something beautiful happens, something that I will remember until my dying day: Joshua King blushes.

  “... You’re not the new nanny, are you,” he says. And it’s not a question.

  Wordlessly, I shake my head.

  “There you guys are!” Poppy’s actual nanny shows up, popping gum, cell phone in hand. “It took me forever to find this place.” She half waves, “Hey Mr. King, nice to meet you,” before tromping over to Poppy, who proceeds to inform her that Daddy said fuck again.

  Looking back at Joshua, I think he’d like to say it a few more times.

  But I’ve got a pitch meeting to save. I clap my hands, like a cheerleader calling her squad to order, “Great. Now that we’ve got that sorted, let me walk you through the space. Unfortunately, we only have this room for a few more minutes, but I’ve got detailed pricing and floor-plan proposals we can go over in the hotel co
ffee shop. Then, assuming you don’t have any objections, we’ll get this contract signed, and your champagne that much closer to launching.”

  But Joshua’s already shaking his head, “Unfortunately, I’ve got an objection.”

  “Tell me what it is, and maybe we can work with it–”

  “I don’t want it at a hotel.”

  I stare at him. The man wants me to plan a high-end event for hundreds of people in three months, and I can’t use any hotel as a venue.

  I scramble, “You know, maybe if we use a separate entrance. We could talk to the hotel about renting the back terrace too, then set up a red carpet, which would take the guests straight into the ballroom…”

  He winces, looking almost apologetic.

  I feel my dreams of a perfect venue disappear, and I sigh, “You’re not going to budge on this, are you.” It’s not a question either.

  Joshua shakes his head. They mentioned how demanding he was. No one mentioned how damn likable he looks when he’s making you jump through hoops.

  I know I shouldn’t ask but, “How long have you known you didn’t want it at a hotel?”

  “Since about 3:45 today.”

  I can’t help it. I groan as I stalk over to the wall and grab my purse. I worked my ass off. I wore my uncomfortable high heels. I ironed my skirt.

  “I’ll reach out to your secretary to get another meeting set up as soon as possible. But in the meantime, are there any other—” insane whims “—specifications that you would like to share with me?” I dig a pen and notebook out of my purse and turn back to face him. I’m waiting to hear about a sudden need for custom ice sculptures or a moral opposition to brick.

  Instead he says, “Let me take you out to dinner.”

  “... What?” I ask.

  Joshua comes forward, hands spread wide in that I’m being reasonable gesture men seem to learn at birth. “We got off to a bad start, which was entirely my fault. And now I’m making a decision that’s going to create a lot of extra work for you. So let’s grab dinner, my treat, and you can bring that notebook and quiz me on details to your heart’s content.”