Chapter 1
I run my fingers through my wet hair and stare at myself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom.
How many is this now? I don’t even remember.
I met her at the hotel’s bar just a few hours ago, and I’m already tired of her.
You’d think that, given my reputation, she’d have already taken the hint and left.
But I never heard the door close. I assume she’s still in bed, acting like she’s special enough to stay the night.
With the white cotton towel still wrapped around my waist, I step out into the entryway, my phone open and in hand. “Your car will be here in twenty. Hurry up and get dressed.” I open the dresser and rummage around for a change of clothes, the room still reeking of sweat and sex—it’s nauseating.
I’m surprised she doesn’t object to my rude command.
Instead, pale fingers worm their way around my abdomen, and a pointed chin rests on my arm.
When I meet her amber eyes, she smiles provocatively.
Her black bob and bangs are a frazzled mess, and her red lipstick is smeared.
She’d been so put together when I first met her.
She was sipping a dirty martini and staring at me from across the bar.
Her red sequined dress glimmered under the dim bar lights.
Her eyes begged for me to ravage her, and I didn’t hesitate to take her up on the offer.
And now that I have, I’m through. I’ve had my fill.
“Aww,” she pouts, “I wanted to go another round.” She trails her long, manicured finger up and down my arm.
I roll my eyes internally. The thought fills my chest with displeasure.
She was fine but definitely not even breaking the top five—this year.
She just kind of lay there and was obnoxious.
I couldn’t wait to get it over with, and now that it is, I wish she’d go already.
“Fifteen minutes.” I shake myself free and dress myself in a fresh set of clothes.
“I’ll walk you down. Hurry and get dressed.
And check yourself in the mirror; you look like a mess. ”
“Asshole!” She shouts and stomps toward the bathroom with her clothes in hand.
I lean my back against the wall as I wait for the woman whose name I never bothered to catch. Another day has come and gone, another drunken, sloppy lay that didn’t even remotely fill this void in my chest. But what did I expect? I’ve changed nothing and expected a different outcome.
The unlatching of the bathroom door pulls my attention, and I meet the irate glare of the woman.
I open the door for her, and she stomps by and down the hallway.
I follow her quietly into the elevator and smash the cold, plastic button to the first floor.
The elevator ride is quiet and tense, but I couldn’t care less.
At least she’s staying on her side while I stay on mine.
I wish you’d walk faster. My mind grumbles as I follow her through the lobby and out onto the street. I want to go home.
I open the car’s door for her. She shoots me one final glare, her bare lips still folded into a scowl.
“Night,” I say, slamming the door behind her.
“Seriously, Kane? Again?” Joseph Orr, my acquaintance and manager, rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh as he shows me another attempt at a slander article on some no-name website.
Joseph replaced my last manager at the start of my acting career.
We’re basically the same age, only a few months apart, and have been glued to each other’s hips since.
Given that we’re so close in age, he never really felt like a manager to me—more like a pal that drags me around places and tells me what I need to do and when I need to do it.
We spend so much time together and have spent so long together that, even if we are only “colleagues” and don’t spend any time outside of work, I still rely on him.
There are times, though, that he ends up acting more like a middle-aged father wrangling his snotty toddler than a coworker—and he always ends up getting teased afterward.
So, at times like this, where I’ve ended up online with some desperate, greedy journalist or blogger attempting to drag me through the mud, I can’t help the snigger that creeps over my lips.
“It’s not my fault she got mad that I didn’t let her stay.
And you know I’m always careful so that I don’t get a false charge.
” I keep my eyes shut as I attempt to rest just a little longer before I have to get up for hair and makeup.
I’m not usually one to meet up with women the night before I shoot something, but I was having an especially bad day yesterday and needed to blow off steam.
“Weird.” Joseph changes the subject entirely, and I hum in response. “The studio is sending you a new assistant today. He’ll be here this morning.” I barely listen to what he says and just hum once more.
The sound of the aluminum door shutting alerts me to Joseph’s exit. Where’s he going? He probably told me, but as I drifted into a light sleep, I didn’t really hear.
The sound of gravel crunching underfoot is grating to my ears and irritates me to my core. Just as I’m drifting off into a restful slumber, I’m interrupted. I can see the top of someone’s head that I don’t recognize, and in my irritation, I throw open the aluminum door, “who are you?”