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ChapterOne
Katie
Istarted not to take this job, but my agent was so insistent, and she’s right, I know. I might already be one of the most well-known faces on the big screen, but this movie is going to be a big deal. It’s going to be one of those roles that makes my career. I could be remembered forever for this performance.
It’s got a bit of everything. Drama, a touch of comedy, romance. Not too serious but not too silly. It’s the whole package. The kind of role that actors and actresses kill for, yet the producers specifically asked for me.
I initially squealed and jumped at the opportunity, but I quickly deflated like a popped balloon when my agent told me who my costar would be.
Justin Robison. Notorious Hollywood playboy. America’s heartthrob. Bad boy extraordinaire.
His reputation precedes him. He’s known for sleeping with every young costar he’s ever had. Scandal seems to follow him everywhere he goes. While some people say any publicity is good publicity, I don’t want any of that negative sort of attention.
I’m America’s sweetheart. I’m known for being the good girl, the wholesome girl, and I want to keep it that way.
So, I started not to take this job to avoid working with Justin. But as my agent pointed out, I’ve never actually met the guy, so it’s not really fair for me to judge him too harshly without even knowing him. And that’s true, I guess. As someone in the entertainment business myself, shouldn’t I know better than anyone that you can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids?
So here I am, ready to give this a shot. I’m not going to lie, though. I’m wary as hell. We’re already ten minutes past time to start shooting, and everything is still on hold because my costar hasn’t shown up yet, and apparently, we can’t begin without him since he’s in the opening scene.
It’s not looking good.
I let out a frustrated sigh and glance over at the director who looks fit to be tied. He's on the phone with someone—Justin's agent probably—his face red as a beet as he curses and threatens that he better "get his ass here pronto or else."
Honestly, though, even I know the threats are meaningless. A name like Justin's is so big he can get away with crap like this. Technically, I probably could too, but I make it a point to always be on time to everything. I'm known for my excellent work ethic and calm demeanor. I'm easy to work with and never a diva.
Unfortunately, it looks like Hollywood's heartthrob is going to be a prima donna and a half.
Great. Just great. I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes. Instead, I bounce my leg up and down nervously, an anxious habit I have a hard time breaking when I'm left waiting.
I tried to come into this with an open mind, giving Justin a clean slate, but I have to admit, he's not making the best first impression showing up late right off the bat.
That's what I think anyway.
Until the man walks through the door.
You know how in the movies when a hot guy walks in, the camera slows and everything seems to move in super slow motion as he tosses his head, his perfect hair tousling with the slight movement?
Yeah, it's like that.
I've seen Justin in the papers before, so of course I know what he looks like, but nothing could have prepared me for the full-frontal impact of the man in the flesh.
He's a god. It's as simple as that. He has rakishly good looks with his dark hair and strong, chiseled jawline that's sporting that perfect amount of stubble that's not messy-looking but sexy.
He has a devil may care attitude. You can tell it in his stance. And he's even taller than he appears on TV and in the papers. The man has to be at least six foot four. I'm no munchkin at five foot seven myself. I'm not the tallest girl in the world, but I'm certainly not the shortest either.
But what sends my heart racing is when his smoldering brown eyes, eyes that look as sinful and addictive as chocolate lock onto me.
It's like the world falls away. I can't fully describe the feeling that washes over me at being the object of his intense scrutiny. And intense is the only way to describe it. Yeah, guys look at me all the time. I get checked out everywhere I go.
But no one has ever looked at me like this. His eyes are piercing, like he's trying to probe right into my soul.
It leaves me shaken when I finally break eye contact with him to look down at my phone again. I'm trying to act like he doesn't affect me so much, but my hands are trembling, and I know my face is flushed.
Oh god, this is going to be a disaster. There's no way I can act alongside this man.
I've completely chickened out. I'm uncrossing my legs to stand and walk out of this studio right now, but a shadow passes over me, and I look up to find him towering over me. He's still staring at me with those smoldering eyes of his, and I feel my knees go weak.
What the hell is wrong with my body? Stupid body! I'm furious at it for betraying me like this.
