“I don’t remember signing up for the army. Or boot camp, for that matter.”
Jordan gave me a knowing grin. “Welcome to Hollywood.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JORDAN
It was the perfect plan. The type of plan that would solidify the promotion. I’d been so terrified of being in the public eye that I’d forgotten what it could actually do to help Reid. If I controlled what the media saw and was able to time everything myself, then I wouldn’t be as stressed. It was so perfect that I was irritated with myself that I hadn’t come up with it sooner. Give the people what they want, just like Max said. And what did they want?
What I told them they wanted, that’s what!
Women want an actor they can identify with. They want the next Channing Tatum, the next Ryan Reynolds. The hot guy who loves his wife or significant other, has gorgeous babies, smiles all the time, and is both sexual and sexy. Never over-the-top, always willing to party with Jimmy Fallon, and so thankful they’re in blockbuster movies that they feel the need to blurt said thankfulness on social media on a daily basis. They’re kind, selfless, buy groceries, and never party on the weekend.
I was creating the perfect actor.
I had no idea if Reid was any of those things. Was he nice? Yes, he saved me from homelessness.
Did he love his family? Of course! One could even say he loves others’ families too! Grandma, anyone? Ha!
Was he dedicated to his career? How could he not be? Since he took in his poor shrewlike publicist and was teaching her the art of seduction?
My fingers flew across the keyboard as I put together his press release, including all the information about how breakout star Reid Emory was going above and beyond the role of a lifetime and truly dedicating both his mind and heart to his craft. He wasn’t just taming the shrew—he was going to be taking her, or me, with him to all public events.
I threw in a few key details about the movie as well as some of the reviews his show had gotten on Broadway. It was about piquing people’s interest, making them want to interview him. What makes Reid Emory tick? And why was it imperative the public not only see him for who he really was, but adore him?
I was brilliant.
And the best part? I wasn’t asking him to be anything he wasn’t already! Did I feel slightly guilty that he’d be forced to act like someone he wasn’t in some situations? No. That would be like feeling guilty for putting on makeup every day. I have eyes, you just can’t see them very well without eyeliner. Does that mean that my eyes don’t exist? No, it just means they exist better with my black Nars pencil!
I giggled out loud and took another sip of coffee.
“I recognize that laugh well!” Max yelled from the other apartment.
“Don’t you work?”
He coughed twice. “Doctor’s appointment?”
“Right, and I’m naked.”
He was quiet. And then: “Does Reid know?”
I took a soothing deep breath and licked my lips. “Look, if you have something to say, just come over and say it rather than yelling through these paper-thin walls.”
He didn’t answer.
Which led me to assume he was done bothering me.
I learned very quickly one should never assume where Max was concerned. The door to the apartment opened and Max waltzed through holding two Starbucks cups.
It was like he knew my thoughts.
My eyes narrowed. “How’d you know?”
He handed me a cup and shrugged his muscled shoulders. The man wore a suit well, and I was pretty sure he was aware of it. “I’m Max.”
“Right.” I took the cup and sniffed. “Caramel macchiato?”
He gave a firm nod and sat next to me. “Typical default Starbucks drink, because who doesn’t like them? Also, a test. If you hate them, we can’t be friends anymore.”
“I wasn’t aware we were friends to begin with.”
“I’ve always made friends easily.” He leaned back on the couch, his eyes gazing out the window. “It’s Reid I worry about. Like a mother hen.”
“Mm-kay.” I stood. “Well, your concern is noted. So if there’s nothing else, why don’t you just . . .” I made a scoot motion with my hands.
“You’re pretty.” Max licked his full lips. “I’ll give you that much. At least when you have a rope tying that hair together, or a metal clamp.”
“Also known as a rubber band.”
“Ah, made of steel, is it?” He took a long gulp of coffee. “I know what’s going to happen here. I’ve read the book a billion times, mainly because I wrote it.”
“You wrote a book?”
“It’s for sale on my website, MaximusHightower4Prez.com.”
I burst out laughing.
He didn’t.
Taking another drink, I finally sat back down and waited. I figured it was best to let him get whatever he needed off his chest and just go with it.