TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,49

and honesty rings true in her voice. “My granny basically raised my sister and me, but she passed away too, about six years ago.”

“Wow,” I say, and my heart aches with sorrow for her. “That’s a lot of hard losses.”

“Yeah,” she admits. “But that’s life, you know? We all eventually lose the ones we love the most. That’s why it’s so important to soak up as much time as we can with them.”

I don’t really know what to say to that. I’ve been estranged from my entire family since I left LA eight years ago. My mom and dad, even my sister. Billie reads my thoughts perfectly and doesn’t hesitate to dive into the awkward breach.

“Since you asked me when I arrived if your parents and your sister were dead, can I assume you’re not close with your family?”

I shake my head. “Not since I left.”

“Not even your sister, Raquel?”

I laugh dryly with another small shake of my head when she says my sister’s name. “You know, sometimes out here, I actually forget about my old life. That everyone knows so much about me—that they know my family.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks, but just as I’m opening my mouth to respond, she adds, “Not the celebrity, but your friends and family and just your day-to-day life in LA.”

I pause for a quiet moment and try to figure out how to explain. It’s way more complex than a yes or a no. “It’s all kind of bittersweet. I do miss my sister. And some of my close friends. But I don’t really miss that life. It was starting to consume me, turning me into someone I didn’t want to be.”

“Hollywood does have the power to change people,” she says, and her voice is soft with understanding. “That’s why it’s important to surround yourself with the right people.”

I raise an amused brow. “And yet you want to be a part of it.”

“It’s not all bad.” She laughs. “There’s a lot of Hollywood that’s magical.”

“Magical?” It’s my turn to laugh. “Conniving, manipulative, fucking greedy? Yes. But magical? That’s a side of Hollywood I’ve never seen.”

“But you said you loved acting,” she states with a knowing gaze. “Surely, that part of it felt magical to you.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But for me, all the bad overrode any of the good.” I shrug and pop one last bite of fish into my mouth.

When I left that town eight years ago, it was out of pure survival instinct.

The longer I stayed in that life, the more reckless and out of control I became.

Billie stares down at her plate for a quiet moment, swirling her fork through the last bit of green beans on her plate. “My momma thought Hollywood was magical,” she admits and looks up to meet my steady gaze. “She played a small part in a TV show once, and I think she would have tried to make it as an actress if she hadn’t gotten pregnant with Birdie.”

“What show?”

“I don’t know…” She pauses and breaks our eye contact, glancing out toward the dark forest for a beat. “After she died,” she continues, meeting my eyes again, “Birdie and I would spend hours trying to figure it out, just wanting to see our momma one more time, but we never found it.”

Her gaze flits to the fire, and I half expect her to veer this line of conversation into something less heavy, but she takes me by surprise when she quietly adds, “But I do know the one line… Do you want to hear it?”

“Yes, please.” I smile. I can’t help it. Right now, ironically, I want to hear anything she has to say.

She sets her finished plate on the ground and stands to her feet. Bailey takes it upon himself to slide over and lick off any crumbs, but I’m too fixated on her to scold him.

“So, she played a waitress,” she begins, “and the main actress on the TV series, who was also a waitress, was taking someone’s order in the scene.” I watch as her hands pretend to pour a cup of coffee. “As she’s pouring the coffee, she overhears the other waitress’s conversation with the customer at the diner, and she chimes in with, ‘Whatever you do, don’t try the meatloaf.’ And then, her little TV debut ends with her bursting into laughter and walking away.”

Billie blushes, giggles, awkwardly tugs at her sweater with nervous fingers, and sits back down. “Obviously, she did a better job than me, but you