The Golden Scoop (The Hollywood #2)

1. Emma

ONE

Emma

I never thought I’d have to walk into this chapel to meet the man I hate the most. It’s right up there with my worst nightmare turned reality—him being part of my inner circle.

And no matter how many scenarios I run in my head, I can’t get out of it.

Everything’s ready. The wooden bench seats are full, with flowers hanging down the sides.

My family waits right at the front, looking at the groom, expecting me at any moment.

“It’s not that bad,” Julia says, standing in front of a full-length mirror, smoothing her hands down her dress. “All you have to do is walk down the aisle, stay strong for about thirty tedious minutes, and then you’ll be free.”

Easier said than done. He brings out the worst in me. My blood boils until I look like a cartoon with smoke coming out of my ears. Every time. I can’t help it. He’s my pet peeve: faker than a three-dollar bill.

“Ugh. Fine. But you have to promise me after today, I don’t have to see him ever again,” I complain, walking over to her, “assuming I don’t murder him before the first dance.”

Julia turns toward me, and I swear my jaw actually drops.

She’s never looked more radiant. Her wavy brown hair is tucked into a low bun, a couple of strands framing her face.

The dress is pure magic—crispy white, off-the-shoulder.

All effortless elegance. Honestly, she looks like the kind of woman you’d cross continents for.

Which is exactly what happened after she met Josh in London two years ago.

“I love that you’re acting like I paired you with a pre-pubescent teen and not with a hot-as-hell Hollywood actor,” Julia says, wiggling her eyebrows.

I scoff but move behind her to stretch out her train as far as it will go.

“He might as well be one,” I whisper, loud enough she hears. A chuckle follows her eye roll. “You know, I really thought your powers as my wingwoman would’ve worked before your wedding.”

“I think Josh has introduced you to almost every decent man he knows.”

“Decent,” I mock, “I’m not looking for decent. Not a you problem when you’re going to be Mrs. Golden-Retriever-slash-Greek-God Harrison in less than an hour.”

She laughs, but the blush that tints her cheeks is the telltale sign I’m right. And despite my own shortcoming with a plus one, there’s no one who deserves this kind of love more than her.

Don’t get me wrong, I wish I had what she does, but I learned a long time ago actively looking for it isn’t going to get me any closer to finding it.

I’m still trying to keep an open mind. I don’t date unless I feel like it could be something more than just a hook-up.

So far, though, I haven’t had much luck.

“Matt’s got the Greek god part down as well,” she teases. I purposefully gag to drive my point home.

“Probably from all the steroids he takes and his endless supply of pre-workout and protein shakes,” I say, even though I’ve never seen him take any of those. “What about the golden retriever attribute, huh? He’s more like a French bulldog: a lot of show, not many brains.”

“You don’t want a golden retriever,” Julia states. “You need someone who can keep up with your Emma-ness. And I’m willing to bet Matt might just fit that role perfectly.”

“Based on what? Our undeniable hate for each other?”

Julia spins and hands me her veil carefully. I gesture for her to sit. I’ve been blessed with many things in life, but being tall is not one of them. My five-foot-two self cannot accomplish this task even in heels.

I tuck it neatly into her bun and lay it around her shoulders and down her dress. She’s a vision. I would shed a tear or two if it weren’t for her most definitely telling me off for it.

“I don’t want to say it,” she begins, pulling me in front of her.

“Then don’t.”

“There’s only a thin line from hate to love.”

I roll my eyes again. “This is your day,” I tell her. “I want to focus on you and only you. Can we please stop talking about that walking excuse of a man?”

“Alright, we don’t want you to get flustered before going out there,” Julia teases.

“I find it so ironic that usually you’re the one nervous about every little detail, and today, on your wedding day, you’re the calmest I’ve ever seen you.”

My chest wants to burst from how proud I feel. This moment is a dream for us. One she thought for a while wasn’t ever going to happen. But she took one look in the mirror and decided she wasn’t backing down. Julia’s my inspiration.

She exhales, loud and long, and the biggest smile takes over her face. “I’m happy. There’s no room for anything else aside from pure, raw happiness.”

Right on time, Julia’s dad walks into the room. His hair is sticking out in every direction, tie hanging more crooked than the Tower of Pisa.

“Oh, Mr. Thomas,” I whine, dashing over to him to straighten out his suit.

“Well, now we know where all the nerves have gone.” Julia laughs. I widen my eyes at her in hopes she stops talking before he starts bawling.

“It’s time to go,” he says, almost out of breath. I press my lips into a thin line, holding in a laugh, and I hand Julia her bouquet.

“I love you, Jay,” I tell her, squeezing her hand before grabbing my own set of white and blush roses. “See you soon, Mrs. Harrison.”

I head to the door, dreading what’s waiting for me on the other side.

“Don’t make my best man cry!” she yells after me.

I step out, and there he is: Matt Hunt. Hollywood’s newly crowned Actor of the Year, and the living, breathing PR stunt I can’t seem to escape.

He’s in a three-piece black suit that looks disgustingly perfect.

Probably custom, probably crazy expensive.

A white rose is pinned onto the lapel of his jacket, matching my bouquet.

His dirty blond hair, taunting me to my patience’s end, is doing that effortlessly tousled thing which probably took thirty hours and a full glam squad.

I take a deep breath before speaking. “You ready?”

Matt turns at the sound of my voice, and his eyes widen, like I’ve caught him off guard.

He doesn’t say anything. He shoves his hands in his pockets and saunters over to me, that infuriating half-smirk tugging at his lips.

His gaze roams freely from head to toes.

I want to tell him off, but with every inch he closes, his cologne becomes more intoxicating.

“That’s enough,” I manage, taking a step back.

Get a grip, Emma, I think to myself. Matt always has this effect on me, and I hate it.

“What’s wrong, Mills?” he teases, voice low. “You can’t handle having me this close?”

“Maybe if you’d worn less perfume, I’d be able to make it down the aisle without holding my breath,” I snap. He smells like leather and spice. Confidence to his core. It’s so very him it makes my skin prickle. “And don’t call me Mills. We’re not friends.”

“Always so hostile, Ms. Miller. And here I was going to compliment you on how… unexpected you look today,” he says, with a weird frown.

The processional music starts playing behind the wooden doors.

“But you’re right, we’re not friends. We’re each other’s date, so let’s start acting like it before these doors open. ”

I drag my hands down my dress. I had a feeling I looked out of my comfort zone, and his comment confirms it.

I knew this dress was too much. The champagne-gold silk is all shine and look-at-me energy—which is exactly what I don’t want in events like these.

The last time I wore something this fancy, it was covered by my graduation gown.

“Unexpected…” I repeat, that stupid word stuck in my head like a radio jingle. “You better practice your compliment game before you try laying it on the guests tonight.”

I hook my arm roughly around his, and, of course, he doesn’t even flinch. He turns to me, about to say something, but the doors pull open before he can get a word out.

“Put on that fake charming smile you’ve mastered and keep quiet before I hurt you. I don’t want to get yelled at by Harrison,” I mutter through clenched teeth, the corners of my mouth fixed in a wedding-perfect grin.

We start down the aisle, throwing polite little waves to all the staring faces. Our steps in perfect unison, as if we’d practiced it—we didn’t, because we got in an argument right at the beginning of the wedding rehearsal, and Julia benched us for the rest of the night.

“Quit acting like a tough cookie,” he whispers back, crawling under my skin. “It doesn’t suit you. Especially when you’re wearing such a provocative dress.”

Matt stretches out the word, each syllable hitting like a challenge. He knows which buttons to push to make me angry but today is not about us. I almost wish we’d called a truce. Too bad we didn’t.

I squeeze his arm as hard as I can, fully intending on leaving a mark, but all it earns me is his gaze, steady and amused, now locked on mine. “If you want to feel me up so badly,” Matt says, “I know a place. We can meet after the ceremony.”

“Sounds perfect,” I hiss, tightening my grip around the bouquet until stems creak. “I’ll bring all my torture tools.”

His mouth twitches, the bite of his bottom lip betraying him. We don’t laugh at each other’s jokes, so before he can get another smart-ass word in, I drop his arm and take my place on the opposite side of the altar.

One minute and four seconds. That’s how long I’ve been shooting death glares at Matt without blinking.

He’s teasing me, charming everyone with that Hollywood smile and perfectly luminous hair.

Even Julia’s attention isn’t spared. He’s spinning some obviously fake story about volunteering at a dog shelter, where a puppy apparently chewed off his shoelaces.

“So… I’m thinking about going back and adopting him,” he tells Harrison. The half-moon table puts him squarely in my line of vision.

I scoff, and all three heads swivel toward me. “Like you’d ever be able to take care of a dog. You can’t even do your own laundry, Matt.”

Julia laughs.

“Emma!” She’s clearly amused. “You literally killed all of my plants.”