CHAPTER 1
Emma
“Sebastian! Wake. Up.”
There are many things I can say about being the assistant to movie star Sebastian Blake.
In the seven years I’ve been working for him, it’s been…
Occasionally glamorous. Often infuriating. Never boring. Some days, I’d prefer boring. And on worse days, I question every life decision that led me here.
Especially when Sebastian is late for an important appointment and I’m on wake-up duty because he’s a night owl who invariably sleeps through every alarm he sets.
I rap on his door as hard as I can. “Sebastian! Do you hear me? The reporter is here.Now.”
The most notorious celebrity journalist, Charlotte Jones, is waiting in his sitting room to interview him forModern Man’s cover article.
I bang a little harder on the door. “Sebastian! If you don’t answer me, I’m coming in.”
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my navy-blue pencil skirt, adjust my crisp white blouse, and open the door with more badass bluster than I feel.
I firm my jaw as I step into the room. My stomach does a flip at the sight before me. Relief wars with butterflies.
He’s alone—asleep in his enormous California king bed. Dark gray pillows matching his Egyptian cotton duvet are strewn on the floor. A sheet is almost completely kicked off, covering only the bare essentials.
I hate that his unearthly good looks affect me, even after all these years of working together.
He comes by his attractiveness naturally, growing up in a family of Hollywood icons. He went from child actor to teen heartthrob. He was bigger than Zac. Than Justin. But he eventually rebelled. Partying turned to addiction, leaving broken movie contracts and women’s hearts in its destructive wake. Now, at twenty-nine, he’s somewhat reformed and has been working to regain the reputation he lost.
Sebastian has had nine damn lives.
And his latest life is entirely run by me.
This cover article, if played right, is just what he needs to boost him firmly back into the highest echelon of movie stardom. Or it could be, if he doesn’t sleep right through it. I’m annoyed at the PR company’s mishandling of the interview logistics. And at Sebastian’s night-owl tendencies and habit of not checking his phone.
“Sebastian!” I cry, approaching the bed.
He makes a sound, a quiet moan, that hits me right in my core, but he still doesn’t stir.
Leaning over him, I touch his shoulder, his heat seeping into my skin. His body runs hot. Metaphorically as well as literally.
I ignore the kick of electricity at the feel of smooth skin over hard muscle.
My eyes take in his ridiculously long black lashes. Stubble softens a defined jawline. Jet-black hair falls across his forehead, making him appear younger, less sophisticated. Less jaded.
I lean across the bed farther, shove his shoulder, and hiss into his ear, “Wake up!”
He groans again, snoring lightly, and rolls toward me. At his movement, I startle and lose my balance as my heels slide on his marble floor. I tip and fall onto him.
“Eeeep!” I cry, sprawled over him awkwardly. The sleeping man’s strong arms pull me closer.
Mayday! Mayday!Inconvenient excitement runs through my traitorous body.
Keeping my cool is a skill I’ve honed over the years. I call on the armor of professionalism that I don every day and try to roll off him, careful not to impale him with my stilettos.
Though if he doesn’t wake up soon, that may be my next approach.
I poke his shoulder again, really digging in this time. “Let. Me. Go!” I grit out.
