“Per month,” Declan clarified. “To live in a mansion.”
Gray’s heart leapt. It was way more money than he’d dreamed of making before and definitely enough to provide for the guys for a while. But still, he couldn’t imagine being happy, living as someone’s muscle in a cheap suit, probably keeping a spoiled brat safe from nothing at all.
Declan sipped his coffee, then let out a satisfied grunt. “There’s one other thing. It’s not your average client, as you can imagine from the pay. He’s a… special person, I guess. You ever hear of Justin Sweet?”
This time, Gray’s heart leapt all the way to his throat, practically choking his words. “The movie star? Fuck yeah I’ve heard of him.”
He’d heard a million things about him, in fact. Just about every person on the planet had. Justin Sweet had gone from being the star of the hottest show on television to the star of the biggest action franchise in the theaters, a true teenage heartthrob who then disappeared from the screen entirely by the time he turned twenty. The last Gray had heard, he was turning into a total hermit.
Not that he really cared about gossip. The television show, Gray thought, was total crap. Just sentimental bullshit.
But the action franchise? That shit was amazing.
“Justin Sweet,” Gray whispered. “Whoa.”
“That’s right,” Declan answered. “And I’ll take that goofy look on your face for a yes. We’ll start training at my place the day after tomorrow, to give you a little time to put your things in order. And when you start doubting yourself and thinking you want to turn the job down, just think about me and your mother and every other person who gives a shit about you. Okay?”
Gray swallowed. He thought about the money, and he thought about how much he wanted to impress his uncle and make his mom happy. But mainly, he thought about his guys. And playing bodyguard for some spoiled movie star was definitely a different path than the one that the rest of his family took.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe I’m just too exhausted to argue, but I guess I’m in.”
“Great. Now come on. Grab your jacket. I want you to come back out to the garage with me.”
“Why’s that?” Gray asked, still dazed by his decision.
“You need to show me where the keys to that chopper went,” he said. “I’m taking a finder’s fee home with me.”
Jameson
Every other year,Jameson had to live through his personal hell: theWest TownReunion.
“Justin Sweet,” a delicate woman in her mid-twenties said, stepping forward and then resting a hand on his chest, just lightly. Backstage at the reunion show, he didn’t expect to see anyone but the familiar cast and their assistants, but he was certain the woman with strawberry hair was a stranger to him.
She titled her head to the side. “Now don’t say you’ve forgotten me? Doesn’t matter, I suppose.” She waved her hand in the air with a friendly smile. “And what have you been up to these past few months? At home in Connecticut, is it?”
Jameson frowned, but before he could put two and two together, security rushed forward. “This way,” the man in black said, taking the woman’s arm. “No press.”
Jameson sighed as the woman cursed her way out the door, then returned the practiced smile to his face. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt and a pair of casual jeans for the reunion, with a belt and watch combination that was supposed to be classy or something. It was all picked by a PR team, anyway, decided by market research like everything else having to do with theWest Townfranchise.
He sat down at a row of mirrors and stared blandly at his own reflection. Another beautiful woman in her twenties appeared beside him, also with strawberry hair, in fact.
“Hi, Cynthia,” Jameson said, straightening his back and smiling. She traced a finger through his hair, fixing a few strands, and he relaxed a little into his chair. “You know if you play with my hair, you’ll start the rumors up again, right?”
Cynthia laughed. “We did four years ofwill they or won’t theyas America’s favorite teen couple. Will it never be enough for these people?”
Jameson laughed along. “Maybe it will quiet down after you and Krish get married.”
Cynthia tapped her lips. “We could speed it up, I guess. And how about you? I think we’re coming up on your three-year anniversary of leaving the screen, is that right?” She gestured to the rest of the backstage area, cluttered and chaotic as it was. “You still don’t miss it?”
“Hardly. I’ll do the reunion show—I feel like I owe that to the fans. But outside of this, you still hold my exclusive media contract.” Cynthia had made the transition fromWest Townto hosting a nightly talk show, which currently dominated the youth market. She was a hip young woman in a field dominated by older men, and Jameson was proud of her for the space she had carved out. “Anyway, if I get nostalgic, I can just live through all your magazine covers.”
She winked at him through the mirror. “Whatever works, Justin. I’m just glad you’re happy. And that I get to catch up with you now and then, even if it is always on camera.”
The chatted a bit longer, and when Cynthia strolled away, Jameson sighed to himself. Sometimes, he felt like he was lying to her, the way he always kept so much of his life a secret. But it wasn’t personal. He kept his life private from everyone. It was a necessity, in fact, a trick he’d worked out during the darkest period of his life, back when all of America was tuning in to watch him every Thursday evening.
Back when one horrible evening had taken everything that mattered away from him.
West Townwasn’t just a show; it was a cultural phenomenon. The family at the center of the hour-long drama fixated the country, and the romance between his character and Cynthia’s character had made them both into teen dreams. His role, Sam, was the familiar all-American boy type updated to the modern age. When the character graduated high school,The New York Timeshad said that watching him mature into a man was a landmark of modern television.
