Taming Hollywood's Baddest Boy - Max Monroe Page 0,94

any way going to help my relationship with my sister.

Eight years ago, I left Hollywood and Rocky behind. So, I’m not all that surprised she isn’t answering my calls. If anything, I deserve the cold shoulder right now.

“You got it, kid.”

A few minutes later, we end the call, and I continue to head toward my dinner destination.

Going to dinner at Tao with two of my oldest Hollywood friends is the last thing I feel like doing, but I’m trying to turn over a new leaf and not be such a fucking loner. I’ve spent eight years living in Alaska, with my closest neighbor fifteen miles away.

So, it’s probably time I reinsert myself into normal society.

Although, this restaurant is anything but normal society. A hot spot for the rich and famous of LA, the meals are overpriced, and the guests are more focused on closing deals, checking their cell phones, or being seen by paparazzi.

Most likely, all three.

I pull up my rental to the front of the restaurant and let the valet park it.

The instant I step out of the driver’s seat, cameras flash and paparazzi shout questions toward me in rapid succession.

“Luca Weaver! Over here!”

“Luca, what made you come back to Hollywood?”

“What have you been up to for the past eight years?”

“What do you think of your costar Lucy Larson? Did you know she just broke up with her longtime boyfriend, Carson Denny?”

Christ. They don’t fucking give up.

I ignore their questions and head toward the entrance doors, but just before I step inside, one last paparazzi shouts, “So, you haven’t changed much, huh? Still a prick who thinks he’s too good for the media?”

A part of me wants to stop, turn around, and let the dickhead know what I really think of people like him. Eight years ago, I would’ve. Eight years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to step right up to him, yanking the camera out of his fucking hands, and tossing it into the street.

But I’m not that guy anymore.

I’m not the angry bastard I used to be. I’m grounded. Content in my life. And I’m certainly not looking to get assault charges on my record.

Just before I go inside, I turn around, offer a smile and a wave, and say, “Have a good night, everyone.”

Wide, confused eyes stare back at me, but the cameras continue to flash in quick succession.

I might’ve been a real prick to paparazzi back in the day, but I sure as fuck am not that guy now.

I mean, I’m not going to go out of my way to talk to them, but I will continue to keep my composure.

A tall, blond hostess meets me at the door and doesn’t waste any time leading me toward my friends.

“Luca fucking Weaver,” Howie announces as I’m walking toward the table. He smirks like the devil and stands up to give me a one-armed hug and a pat on the back. “Man, it’s good to see you.”

“You too,” I respond, my voice genuine.

Howie King is one of Hollywood’s most brilliant directors. Edgy, original, and, a lot of times, shocking, he doesn’t hold back. Actors have been winning Oscars because of his movies since the beginning of his career. It’s probably why there’s always an overwhelming slog through competitors if you want to work with him.

I move my eyes away from Howie and grin at Andrew Watson, the other old pal at the table.

“How the fuck are you?” he asks and follows it up with a bro hug. “It’s been eight goddamn years, and you still look twenty-fucking-six, you bastard.”

“Good to see you, man,” I say through a laugh. “And like you should talk, Mr. Sexiest Man of the Year.”

He smirks like the devil. “I’m glad they made that decision before you decided to make your big comeback.”

He’s ridiculous.

Andrew Watson is a fellow actor, a costar back in the day, and from what I’ve heard since I’ve been back in town, one of Hollywood’s hottest stars these days.

We sit down at the table, and a waitress steps up to take our drink orders.

I order a scotch on the rocks, and Howie and Andrew order their second rounds.

“So, what the hell have you been up to?” Andrew asks, his eyes bright with intrigue. “Have you really been in Alaska all this fucking time?”

“Yep.”

“No women, in the middle of fucking nowhere,” he muses on a dramatic sigh. “Dude, I don’t know how you did it.”

I laugh. “I had to do it. You both know I was a fucking disaster just