TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,79

without hesitation. “I’m sure Bailey would love the California sun, and you know full and well that I’ll be fucking fine out here. I have more than enough supplies to last me three winters.”

Wordless, I let it all sink in.

Go to LA? For Billie? It’s the only option.

My chest tightens. Jesus Christ. I was never supposed to end up back there, in that fucking city that stole my parents, my childhood, and damn near turned me into a shell of a fucking man.

“You gotta let go of the past, Luck,” Lou says. “You’re not the same man who left Hollywood years ago. You’re different. You’re stronger. And you’re ready to handle anything that’s thrown your way.”

But am I?

And, more than that, do I even want to?

The answer to both of those questions terrifies and excites me at the same time.

And when I end the call with Lou, I dial another person’s number.

One of the only Hollywood people I’ve kept in any sort of contact with since I left.

“Adele Lang’s assistant.” A male voice fills my ears. “Can I help you?”

“I need to speak with Adele.”

“It’s Sunday,” he retorts, but he doesn’t expand.

I narrow my eyes. “And that’s important because why?”

“Because all of Adele’s office calls are routed to my phone on the weekends. But I can give her a message—”

“This is an emergency,” I cut him off before he can rattle off some bullshit about waiting until tomorrow, when she’s actually in the office. “Tell her it’s Luca Weaver calling. I’m sure she’ll be glad to take my call.”

“Oh…” He pauses, surprise evident in his voice. “Just a minute, Mr. Weaver.”

Not even two minutes later, Adele’s raspy voice is in my ear.

“Well, well, well, Luca Weaver calling me on a fucking weekend spouting shit about an emergency. I can’t deny this is a phone call I only half expected to get. I guess that girl really does have something special.”

My chest squeezes at the mention of Billie and her ability to get people to do things they don’t want to do. I could get angry at Adele since she obviously led Billie to me in the first place, but even I don’t like to be a total hypocrite. “I need you to help me get a meeting with someone important.”

“You planning on making a comeback, kid?”

Kid. I laugh. “I’m definitely planning something.”

Billie

The fashion for a nervous breakdown is oddly stylish. Dressed in black from head-to-toe—shirt, skirt, heels—I head into work, ready to attend the funeral for my career.

The one good and bad thing about getting back from Alaska on a Saturday was that I had the whole weekend to cry on my sister’s shoulder via several telephone conversations—with my new, not-broken phone—about what really went down between Luca and me, and I had time to think about this morning’s team meeting.

I played every possible conversation in my mind, and I’ve decided there are two likely scenarios—either Serena is going to fire me in front of everyone and Charles is going to sit there with a big fat fucking smile on his face, or Serena is going to fire me in front of everyone and Charles’s big fat fucking smile is going to push me over the edge and I will end up on Dateline.

Fingers crossed it’s the former.

I walk through the conference room doors, and my hands shake as I pull out one of the large leather chairs and take a seat to the right of where Serena always sits.

She’s not here yet, which I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, especially since today’s meeting is starting later than usual at her request.

A part of me just wants to get this over with, and the other part of me doesn’t want to have to face it at all.

Charles walks in, two coffees in his hands, and sits down across from me.

He makes eye contact with me as he sets a Starbucks cup with Serena written across the side.

I might’ve been MIA for the past week and a half, but it appears nothing has changed.

Charles is still kissing asses and running errands.

And today, you get to witness him getting the job you wanted so bad, it made you go to Alaska, fall in love with a jerk, and come back empty-fucking-handed.

“How was your trip?” Charles asks.

My heart is broken, and I’m about to lose my job. How the fuck do you think it was, you idiot?

I force a smile to my lips. “It was good. Long, but