“Is this how you flirt with the models and actresses and performers you bring with you on the red carpet?” she asks.
Fuck.
There’s no other word for this situation beyondfuck.
Most of them are only a few years older than Aspen.
“They’re…picked on purpose,” I tell the fire beyond her.
“It’s all a ruse,” she murmurs. “You do the Hollywood publicity game. Keep them talking about you by having a different woman at every event.”
I tug on my collar. “Not all of them. Just…most of them.”
Got an actress who needs some publicity before they announce she’s starring in a big role, my agent will say.Take her to your premiere, get seen walking out of Whole Foods together. Her people are tight with that director you’ve been wanting to work with.
Showrunner was just announced for that book-to-movie adaptation you said you wanted to star in. They want a Casanova type. So-and-so from such-and-such modeling agency owes me a favor. Pack your bags. We’re getting you a hot date to Fashion Week.
Big director on an action film is wooing that new rock chick. Take her to the charity event next week. We’ll get you on his radar through her, and I’ll find out what her team wants in return.
And so on.
It’s all this-for-that. The game behind the scenes.
If we click right, we’ll blow off steam in bed together, then go our separate ways. If we don’t, we’re professionals and treat the entire event that way.
“Do you ask how old they are before you agree to look like you’re dating?” she asks.
I wince. “No.”
“Then why does it matter how old I am?”
Fuckagain.
This time because the question has my balls tightening and my cock getting hard.
I swallow.
Open my mouth.
Decidebecause I see myself as your mentor and father figureis the worst lie I could utter right now, and close my mouth again.
The truth is closer tobecause I like you more than I like any of them.
“How old did you think I was when we were texting?” she asks.
I look at the fire again, but it doesn’t offer up any free passes. “I don’t know. Late twenties? Mid-thirties?”
“You didn’t look me up?”
I’m fish-mouthing again.
There are zero good answers to that question.
When Beck pinged me a year ago to ask if I’d consider renting my pool house to someone as a favor to a friend of a friend, I assumed he was talking about someone who’d been in the trenches trying to make a name for themselves for years.
Just talk to her, Beck said when I initially refused.You get someone trusted to make sure your housekeeper isn’t pulling more crap. She gets a place to live. You never have to see each other because she travels a lot too. Struggling musician type. I passed her your number. She’ll use the code phrase ‘Noses are red and your first wedding was a massive mistake’when she gets in touch.
She did.
