Page 10 of The Golden Scoop

I drag the laptop toward me and open Martha’s message.

Subject: Assignment details. Urgent.

She loves making things urgent. There’s some sort of entry ticket attached.

Here’s the pass his manager sent me. She confirmed Emma Miller will be granted shadow access and treated as an official member of the Hunt team for the duration of the profile.

Starting date: Tomorrow, eight a.m. sharp. He’s never late. Don’t make him wait.

Location: Universal Picture Studio. (Others might include his house, his studio, his workouts (?), his meetings… go everywhere you’re allowed.)

Duration: Three-week, full access.

I close my laptop so fast it nearly snaps in half.

No, no, no. Nope. Absolutely not.

It can’t be.

There’s no way I can deal with Matt for three weeks.

THREE

Matt

My feet whoosh against the rubber belt, thumping with every step as the treadmill growls under the speed I’m forcing out of it. I need to sweat out every ounce of alcohol from this weekend and get my focus back. A three a.m. filming call to start the week is never ideal, especially after a wedding, and even though the make-up works miracles, they had a real challenge covering the bags under my eyes this morning.

I’d had everything under control. A couple glasses of wine, champagne for the toast, then plain soda disguised as mixed drinks. Until her. The only woman who hates me enough to make my blood boil to the point of no return.

Her little outburst during our dance left me standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, looking like a fool, and ready for something strong enough to numb its way through my body. Her comment about my speech threw me off so much, my brain to speech connection got fried.

Fucking idiot. I would’ve left me standing there on my own as well. Worst part is, Emma’s ‘too much’ is exactly what makes her so unique.

She didn’t say another word to me for the rest of the evening, but every time our eyes met, my shot glass refilled. She drives me crazy—and she doesn’t even know it.

“…basically, I need you on your best behavior when she’s around. Everyone reads their gossip column, and we can’t risk giving them some extra material for that too. I’ve heard back from What We Carry. They love your charisma, but they’re not sure whether you have the depth to play a grieving single dad.”

I hold onto the rails and jump off the treadmill, turning to face Jen. She’s typing furiously on her phone. I take advantage of the few seconds she’s not throwing information at me and chug half of my water.

“I haven’t been listening,” I admit, wiping my face with my gym towel. “I stopped somewhere between how my hair needs to look shinier and today’s performance on set.”

She huffs, shoves her phone back into her purse, and pulls out her absurdly large agenda. From the look of it, you’d think each year has about 630 days, but no, it’s just my life crammed into color-coded paper. And judging by her expression, she’s about to add something else to the chaos.

“Fine. I’ll repeat it,” she says, “only because you’re my favorite client.”

Her only client.

Jennifer Brawn has been a manager in the industry for many years, long before I showed up, and for reasons I still don’t understand, she took a chance on me when nobody else would. And at least now I can pay her enough to only take me on.

“I’ve set up a feature interview with Golden Magazine,” she begins, and my mind instantly flashes to Emma. I still remember the first time we met as clearly as every other thing she’s ever said to me since then.

“Hi, I’m Matt. And you are?” I’d held out my hand.

“Emma Miller,” she said, not making the slightest move to shake it. Julia elbowed her, and she reluctantly took my hand in hers.

I remember frowning. It was the first time a woman reacted that way to seeing me in the flesh.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”