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My jaw ticks. “What did the teen twit do?”
“Why don't you check Twitter or Exposé? They both have the whole scoop somehow. Then get your ass on a plane and get here.”
I packaged this deal, so Brad is right. I need to be there and make sure this ship doesn't sink, but I won't allow him or anyone else to think they can railroad me like this.
“Tell me what you need me to do, and I'll make some calls. Surely, I don't need to pack a suit and head to the heat.”
“That's exactly what you need to do, Paxton. What I say goes, and I say you get on a plane and fix this.”
My eyes shut, and I have to work to control my temper. It takes a lot to send me over the edge, but Brad has mastered it.
“With all due respect, I have other clients. None of which will be fine with me whisking off to some remote location to play favorites.”
“With all due respect, I’m your number one client. If I walk—and trust me, this is not an idle threat—I will take all your clients with me. We actors talk, you know.”
I know, much to my chagrin. But I’m not about to let some privileged shit with a freakishly chiseled jaw hold me by the balls because he’s good at reciting lines.
“I have no skeletons in my closet, buddy. I'm solid.”
“A story here, a story there. It'll be easy to ruin your reputation.”
“Are you fucking blackmailing me?” My voice rises, but I refuse to scream. I won't allow this little prick to get the better of me.
“Yes, and you'll fold within the year. And the kicker? I'll go straight to Thomas Reynolds just to piss you off.”
I knew getting drunk with Brad back in the day was a bad idea. One too many fingers of scotch, and I was telling him all about my hatred of Thomas Reynolds.
At the time, Thomas wasn't Brad's favorite either. We bonded over our mutual hatred, and Brad signed. Thomas Reynolds, the father of Mallory Reynolds—the little nepo princess who convinced me to go to bat for her client, Teagan Steward.
The woman who let me finger her at a Hollywood event.
Focus, Paxton.
Now Brad's using that tidbit to grate on my last nerve and prompt me into action because he knows damn well that I'll go to the ends of the earth to ensure Reynolds doesn't get another fucking client.
I run my hands down my face, feeling the fight bleed out of me. “This is not how I do business.”
“I need you on a plane. I need you dealing with this shit. I need this. I need the Oscar. You're my agent. Get here.”
Despite what I want, the truth is, he has me by my balls. I knew what I was getting into when I signed him all those years ago from his previous agent, and I say previous because he's no longer an agent.
He was ruined by rumors. Rumors I can now deduce were obviously spread by Brad himself. At the time, I didn't see the connection. But now, years later, and schooled by experience, I see the writing on the wall.
Back then, I was desperate to make a name for myself.
My teeth gnash together. I've put everything I have into my company, and this piece of shit could ruin everything, all because I had to make a deal with the devil.
Everything about this movie is fucked, but I'll be damn sure it gets made and that he wins an Oscar.
I refuse to put my reputation on the line, so that is exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to fly to God knows where and deal with this shit. I lean back in my chair.
“I'll see you tomorrow. The studio will send a jet,” Brad says. Before I can object, he's gone.
My fist clenches and then hits the desk with a thud.
Motherfucker.
3
Mallory
@Stargossip: Trouble in paradise. When a tree falls, does it make a sound? Yes, it does, and it sounds like Twisted Lily's lead actress throwing a shit fit. Literally and figuratively. Sources tell us while shooting, our favorite teen star fell from a tree, leading not only to a full stop of production but also a tantrum fit for a star. Thoughts?
@Moviesaremylife: Cry me a river.
@Booksaremycatnip: They should walk. Movies are never as good as the book!
@Iloveme: Teagan is hot!!
@Deathtothesystem: The whole industry should burn . . .
Today is not going as planned.
First, there was the frantic phone call from Teagan. Now, this.
“What are you doing here?” Paxton hisses as his footsteps halt in the aisle of the private jet.
My heart hammers in my chest. Of course, he's here, Mal. You didn't really think the studio sent a plane just for you. “I could be asking you the same question.”
