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Abby
Have you ever had a secret? A secret you can’t tell anyone? A secret so dirty and dark it makes you blush?
I have one. It makes my skin heat every time I think about it.
Everyone has something, right?
A kink?
A secret desire?
A fantasy?
I’ve been holding onto my fantasy for way too long, and it’s consuming my every thought.
Sometimes, when you have these wants that are never met, they grow. They build. They climb higher and higher, until you can’t control it anymore.
And that’s what’s happened to me.
Right now, I have the utmost need to have a stranger's hands all over me. Someone who doesn’t know who I am.
For me, that’s a difficult feat. I’m not being narcissistic when I say—everyone knows who I am.
People see me and immediately want a picture, autograph, or just to touch me. That’s the trade-off when you’re one of the biggest movie stars Hollywood has ever seen. My agent’s words, not mine.
The last movie I starred in topped one billion in the box office. One billion. That’s a lotta dough.
Unfortunately, the lack of anonymity wreaks havoc on my dating life. My sex life. If I wanted, I could get a line of men wrapped around the block, hoping to make all my dreams come true. That doesn’t turn me on, though. I want someone who has no clue as to who I am.
Is that so hard to find?
I’m wishing on a star. Pardon the pun. Is there no one here in LA who hasn’t seen my latest film? Is there anyone anywhere who hasn’t seen it?
It doesn’t help that the movie highlights me as a superhero goddess in a black leather suit. Which, don’t get me wrong, I loved everything about the role of Seraphina. But, trying to get a man to see me as anything other than that character is damn near impossible.
It’s entirely impossible.
Not one person knows me as Abby Carmichael anymore. No one knows me as Abby, the woman who has a need for someone to take care of her, and not all the characters I’ve played over the years.
What I want sounds so simple, but it’s not.
I’ve tried to date. I’ve tried to do the single gig, but it just doesn’t work. Trust me.
And maybe, I just don’t want any ol’ stranger to touch me.
There’s only one thing this girl wants for Christmas this year.
“Abby, thanks for meeting me today,” my agent, Emmett Garfield, holds out his hand for me to shake, pushing his black-rimmed glasses further up his regal nose with the other.
I slip my hand in his. It’s large. It’s strong. And it turns me on a little.
But, honestly...the glasses do so much more for me than any ol’ handshake ever could.
I transform into my character of Hollywood bombshell, and offer my signature million-dollar grin. “Always happy to please.”
His eyes darken from their normal chocolate-brown to black ink. “Step into my office.” And I’m kind of hoping there’s mistletoe hanging overhead. But, sadly there isn’t.
He moves his tall frame aside for me to enter the spacious area where he makes some of Hollywood’s most lucrative deals. His clean scent surrounds me as I take a seat in one of the leather club chairs in front of his desk.
A perk of being famous is I don’t have to ask for much. Case in point, Emmett’s assistant, Warren, sets a Diet Coke with a fresh glass of ice onto the side table by my seat.
“Thank you,” I say, even though I’m not thirsty.
Emmett nods him out of the office, and then turns his attention on me. “I have three projects you’d be perfect for. And also, Karl Devon is producing a movie and,” he pauses for full effect, “he might want you.”
Emmett’s eyes scan my face, and I wish more than anything he’d said the words, “I want you,” instead.
I know it’s absurd I’ve got this obsession with my agent. Hollywood is like being in high school. It really is. Actors bounce from relationship to relationship like popcorn popping. From what I’ve seen, it’s true what they say—couples in the limelight just don’t make it.
I’m at the height of my career, and I don’t want anything to slow down my momentum. So, I don’t want a relationship with my agent. Like definitely not. I just want his hands all over my body. Preferably, in the suit he’s wearing today.
That won’t happen with the dynamic we have going on right now. He definitely doesn’t see me as Abby Carmichael. I think he sees me as profits in his tailored slack’s pocket. I think he sees me as another Seraphina sequel. As a paycheck.
Too bad, because I’m pretty sure Emmett could deliver in the bedroom. He’d check all my boxes, and fulfill all my fantasies. I can tell by the dominating way he stands in this skyrise office that overlooks all of LA. It’s in his dark eyes that study everything with such precision, such a careful approach, that I know this man would take his time going downtown. If you know what I mean.
