TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,81
about not having anything to do with this city, Hollywood, the movie, or me.
What in the hell changed from the moment he told me I was just a random fuck to him, to when he spoke with Serena and told her he wanted to do Espionage?
Talk about a change of fucking plans.
Annoyed with myself and the fact that I’m weaving in and out of parked cars like a lunatic, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and send out an SOS.
Me: 411
When Birdie and I were teenagers, it took one small grease fire in the kitchen to realize that Granny had a tendency to confuse 911 with 411.
“Fire! Fire!” she had shouted from the kitchen. “Call 411! Call 411!”
Both Birdie and I were in the living room, and while the word “Fire!” should spur a quick, urgent response, the follow-up of “Call 411!”—the number you call from a landline to get freaking directory assistance—had us so confused, we started laughing.
Granny had gotten pissed. “This isn’t funny! There’s a fire! Call 411!”
The smoke alarm started going off, and we eventually called the correct emergency response number—911.
Once the fire department arrived and put out the fire, we explained the difference between the numbers to Granny.
You’d think that would’ve fixed the situation.
But it didn’t.
For the rest of her damn life, 411 was still her 911.
Thankfully, Birdie understands my text and calls me a few minutes later.
No time to waste, I answer on the first ring, skip any sort of friendly greeting, and get right into the meat and potatoes of it all.
“Everything is crazy! I feel crazy! Help me!”
“Oh boy,” she mutters on a sigh. “What’s going on?”
“Luca fucking Weaver is coming to LA! Tomorrow, Birdie. He is going to be here tomorrow because he apparently wants to do the movie!” I exclaim and toss my free hand in the air. “Like, what the fuck? Why is he doing that?”
The phone goes silent for a long moment.
“Birdie! Hello? Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” she says, voice quiet. “But I’m mostly just confused.”
“Tell me about it! I’m confused too!”
“No,” she says through a soft laugh. “I’m certain our confusion is from two very different sources.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s what I’d love to ask you,” she retorts. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” she asks. “For him to agree to do the movie so you wouldn’t have to tell Serena you fed her a line of bullshit about knowing him?”
“Well, yeah,” I answer. “But that was before—”
“Billie,” she cuts me off. “I know he was a dick to you in Alaska. And I know when you left his cabin, you guys weren’t on good terms—”
“Weren’t on good terms?” I toss out. “He basically told me I was just some random fuck who was using him for money and success!”
“Hey,” she says, her voice quiet and coaxing. “Take a breath. Relax. And try to look at this with a rational head.”
“It’s pretty fucking hard to be rational right now.”
“That is very apparent.” Her soft laugh fills my ears. “But it’s important for you to realize this isn’t a bad thing. It’s actually a really fucking good thing.”
“How is this a good thing?” I retort. “He is the last fucking person on earth I’d ever want to see again, and yet, it looks like I’m going to be stuck filming a freaking movie with him!”
“But he’s doing the movie, Billie,” she reminds me. “Somehow, someway, you convinced a guy you didn’t even know, an asshole fucking recluse living in the middle of fucking nowhere Alaska, to do a movie. A man who never wanted to step foot in Hollywood again is coming back to Hollywood. Because of you. He might be the world’s biggest prick, but you won this, Billie. You fucking won.”
I know she’s right in a way.
I mean, somehow, the impossible has managed to happen, and all that awful hiking and camping wasn’t for nothing.
But, deep down, when it comes to Luca, I don’t want to win.
I just want to forget about him. Completely.
Well, looks like it’s going to be pretty damn hard to forget about him now…
Luca
Welcome to Hollywood, the land of money, greed, and plastic surgery. Traffic. Palm trees. Botox. People.
LA has changed, but at the same time, it has stayed the same.
It still takes at least thirty minutes to get anywhere, and it appears Starbucks is trying to build a coffee monopoly. Fucking Starbucks. The world’s worst coffee, yet people still line up like gophers, waiting for gasoline-flavored caffeine.