Already Written (Hollywood Exchange #1) Read online

  Already Written

  By Xavier Neal

  Already Written

  Hollywood Exchange Novel 1

  By Xavier Neal

  © Xavier Neal 2016

  Cover by Angie Merriam

  All rights reserved

  License Note

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization of the Xaiver Neal. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in court of law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated To The Universe...Thank you for always letting me write my own story.

  Minka

  “Is that rats? Do we have fucking rats?” My best friend, Emerson, groans from the other queen size bed.

  For the amount of money we shelled out for this Vegas hotel room, how could she even consider that a possibility?

  I still my mocha fingers on my laptop keys.

  She quickly flops around until her bright brown eyes are zoned in on me. “Is that sound you? That sound better not be you.”

  Slinking down into my bed, I slowly close the computer in my lap.

  No. She's not really a morning person. Ever.

  “What the hell were you doing?” Emerson points a stern finger at me. “Don't you fucking say working. I did not shell out money for a plane ticket, a nice ass hotel room, and tickets to see Friday, the world's sexiest rapper-”

  “R&B singer-”

  “Hip hop artist,” she growls, “for you to spend this trip working.”

  Sometimes having a hot tempered Colombian best friend is scarier than you think.

  In a timid voice I try to say, “But my edits-”

  Emerson flings a pillow my direction.

  My face cringes as it hits the wall beside me. “But-”

  “Minka,” she huffs, turning on the bedside lamp, I purposely left off, to further my prevention methods in not waking her up. “For the next three days, I don't wanna hear any word that relates to what you do for a living. Not writing. Edits. Editor. Beta. Reads. Covers. Deadlines. Grammar. Hell, I don't even wanna hear the word book unless it's in the past tense form in reference to a reservation.”

  We should let the fact she said the past tense thing go, right? Yeah. Good idea.

  “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal,” I mutter and slide my device onto the bed side table.

  “I mean it, Minka Knight, I will hide your computer for the duration of this girl's weekend, if I catch you on it again. Time to stop writing so much and start living a little.”

  I live...a fraction of the time.

  On a sigh, I lean back against my pillows. “You know when we were in college, you used to thank me for waking you up.”

  “Yeah I had classes to pass. Now that I have, I would appreciate the chance to sleep in...at least on vacation.”

  Sheepishly I apologize. “Sorry.”

  “You can make it up to me by doing the coffee run.”

  I whine, “I don't even like coffee.”

  “Which is astonishing, considering what you do for a living. You would think you would be rolling around an IV stand of it.” She grabs a hair tie and swiftly pulls her long dark brown hair to the top of her head. “Get yourself whatever you want, but I want a latte.”

  “Iced or Hot?”

  “Are you joking?” Emerson swings her stunning long legs to the edge of the bed. “Pretty sure it's so hot outside the damn sun would like to request someone to turn the thermostat down.”

  “Iced it is.”

  She gives me a wink before her 5'10 body flounces off to the bathroom.

  She'd be beautiful on a book cover. Who doesn't love a tall, fit, brunette with a little flavor to her? I know. I know. She said don't say that word, but I'm not saying it to her...I'm saying it to you, so that doesn't count. It's not like she can hear us. Can she?

  Once the bathroom door closes, I slide my cell phone over to see if I have any new email notifications. Immediately, I see one from my editor. Knowing the only way I can check it without threatening my computer's life is if I do it from my phone, downstairs, while waiting for coffee, I slip out of bed and toss on lounge clothes. A pair of black yoga pants and a white tank top feel sufficient enough for the task, even if Emerson would argue otherwise.

  To her, these are acceptable if you're going to the gym clothes, and by that I don't mean like she would wear this to the gym, I mean that like she deems this acceptable for me to wear to the gym. Her entire wardrobe is well coordinated. Most of the time I'm glad she's around given my inability to put together an outfit to wear to the movies that isn't jeans and a t-shirt, let alone something important for awards banquets or book functions, but some days it's a little exhausting. And annoying. But I didn't say that last part. Nope.

  After slipping on flip-flops, I grab my phone, room key, wallet and exit our room for the elevator with one real goal in mind.

  Look, I'm gonna follow her stupid, best friend rules just as soon as I answer this email. I'm an author under one of the most amazing romance publishers in the world. You can't just go around ignoring emails when you get them. Instead of saying that to Em and possibly getting punched, because she wouldn't hesitate to do it, we're just gonna keep this between us. Deal?

  Pierce

  “Caroline, I can go get my own coffee.”

  My assistant’s face scrunches.

  “I am not incapable of walking-”

  “It's not about that, Pierce and you know it,” she squeaks and reaches for her buzzing phone off the dresser. “It's not safe-”

  “It's just coffee, Caroline.”

  Worst thing that can happen? It can be too hot and I'll burn my tongue. Highly doubt it's going to stalk me back to my hotel room and wait for me in my shower. And yes. That happens.

  “Just let me go get your coffee, Pierce. That's what you pay me for.”

  “That's not what I pay you for,” my weak argument is met with a weary look. “Fine. That's not the only thing I pay you for. Honestly, Caroline, I'll be fine.”

  She sways her thin frame in contemplation. “I guess, but take Gunz with you.”

  “That's not exactly alone.”

  “Just take him. He can shadow you with some space.”

  Drawback of being a popular actor? I can't even get a fucking cup of coffee without a chaperon.

  “Trying to avoid an unnecessary headline here, 'Actor mobbed by fans in Vegas' will have Eddie up both our asses. Save us both the trouble and take Gunz.”

  I toss my hands in the air. “Fine.”

  At the same time I grab my wallet, she announces, “Your test results are in, by the way. You're all clean.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” my mutter is met with a snicker.

  “I tried to tell you dating Camille wasn't a good idea.”

  “You don't get to sick a security detail on me and give me the 'your ex-girlfriend is a cheating tramp' speech.” When she smiles, I shove my sunglasses and baseball cap on in an attempt to shield my appearance. “I'll be back.”

  Her small body steps in my path. “You're just going downstairs to the lobby and right back.”

  “Actually, I'm going to go the hotel across the street.”

  “No.”

  “It's directly across the street. I'll be fine.”

  “Pierce.”

  “Caroline.”

  “Why are you so moody this morning?” She whines at me.<
br />
  “I'm not.”

  I am. I know I am. It's hard enough that the only true moments of privacy I get are when I take a morning piss, but with the recent high profile break up and the television show I star on suddenly exploding like a lice outbreak, the small space I get is now even smaller. I can't fucking blow my nose without someone documenting it on Twitter. Yeah, save me the mocking of the poor celebrity shit. I know. I'm not meaning to be ungrateful. I just... wanna breathe. And occasionally I just want a minute of normality. Example. Getting my own goddamn cup of coffee.

  My response is met with a skeptical look. “The barista downstairs makes it impossible to get a drink and go. She purposely screws up my drink order to stretch out our conversation. I've tried getting a drink there three times since we've been here. Plus, I'm pretty sure she posted a picture of me on 'Where To Find Them'.”

  Hey, to the person who invented that site. Fuck you. Celebrity low-jack wasn't needed.

  Caroline rolls her eyes as her phone buzzes again. “Eddie's gonna love when he finds out about that.”

  Eddie is my PR everything. To call him an agent would be understating his job by epic proportions.

  After a quick glance at it, she sighs, “Fine. Across the street and back. You have a read through with J.J. in thirty minutes. He had to push it up because Gen invited her parents over. He tried to text you.”

  “I'll check my phone.”

  “Just so you know, there have been a few changes made to next week's script.”

  Stifling the urge to growl I grump. “Love working on my vacation.”

  She gives me another sarcastic scowl.

  “I know. I know. That's what happens when you slip away for the weekend in the middle of filming. It's not a real vacation. I need a real vacation.” My body moves around hers. “I'll be back.”

  Quickly she echoes, “Right back.”

  The moment I step out into the living room of the suite, Gunz, my overbearing security guard immediately stands up.

  His crossbreed look of Vin Diesel and Dwayne Johnson instills an immediate safe feeling, but his overzealous approach to every move made within a three foot radius, is what really sends it home. When we contacted his personal security company, I would have never guessed the owner would still be an active member of the team, yet he is. His secretary who handles most of the actual paperwork and client communications explained how he prefers to be out in the world protecting. She implied he has a special ops background. But you can't ask him that. Well you can try. He probably won't answer. Gunz is a man of very few words. His second in command? She's full of too many words. Caroline had to fake an appointment to end the call.

  “Gonna grab some coffee.”

  My announcement is met with a nod.

  Before we're out of the apartment he's on my heels.

  Politely I state, “Shadow.”

  He nods again.

  See. Few words. Or I guess no words would be a more accurate description.

  We exit the suite and take the private elevator down. As soon as the doors open, I slide my hands in my pockets, tilt my head down, and casually make my way through the lobby avoiding eye contact. I slip out of the hotel and make a bee line to join the crowd already in the process of crossing the street. Unfortunately for Gunz, he gets caught by the light. A small smirk comes across my face.

  It wasn't exactly planned, but it doesn't mean I can't be grateful.

  With one more glance over my shoulder to see my fuming body guard, I enter the front of the hotel, spotting the coffee area to the right.

  The buzzing of my phone in my pocket slows my stride. I make my way into the obnoxiously long line and check it, the sight of my ex-girlfriend's face infuriating. Reluctantly, I answer, “What?”

  “That's rude,” Camille snips. “You can't say hello?”

  “You can't keep your legs closed?”

  My comment forces the older woman in front of me to turn around with a scowl. I mouth my apology.

  Guess you can see I don't take being cheated on very well. Crazy thing? It happens more often than you would think. Almost every woman I've attempted to start or be in a relationship with screws someone else along the way. It's probably not hard to believe most either screw someone closer to the A-List of celebrities or someone who can further their career. Welcome to Hollywood.

  “It was a mistake Pierce. I apologized. How long are you gonna hold a grudge?”

  Forever.

  “Why are you calling?”

  “Did you get the script changes?”

  Rubbing my forehead in aggravation I mutter, “I haven't read 'em yet.”

  “Oh....”

  “Why?”

  There's a small hum and then silence.

  Couldn't get her to stop running her mouth loudly and non-stop when we were a couple, yet when I want her to talk she goes quiet.

  The line moves forward just as I catch Gunz entering the building.

  He's even more inconspicuous than I am. One look at him and he basically screams there's someone important in the room or the WWE rehearsal let out early.

  Harshly, I repeat, “Why?”

  “I think you need to read it before we discuss it.”

  Another wave of frustration falls on me. “Just tell me.”

  “No, Pierce. You're gonna wanna read it for yourself.”

  After an annoyed grunt, I cover the receiver, and say to the female behind the counter, “Can I get a large citrus green tea ice latte?”

  She types on the screen before asking, “Can I interest you in a cranberry walnut scone?”

  “Where are you?” Camille interrupts.

  “None of your business,” I reply to her before the woman I'm ordering from. “No thank you.”

  She announces my total and Camille complains, “What happened to being friends? I thought you said we could be friends.”

  “No.” My quick denial is proceeded with me taking back my change. “I said we could be professional, which we will be. Which we have to be since we work together quite frequently. But there's no way in hell we'll be friends.” When she sighs deeply, I refocus the subject, “Tell me about the changes.”

  The long pause pushes the patience I don't have.

  “Well...you know how you and J.J. are supposed to finally rescue me since we're at the two part season finale?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Looks like the writers rewrote the reunion scene.”

  Shifting my weight back and forth, I shut my eyes. “And?”

  “And it looks like Natalie and Rex are more than happy to see each other.”

  I stop breathing. “We're making out?”

  “We're having sex.”

  Fuck! You would think once I stopped having actual sex with her, that would be the end of all sex related topics between us. Sleeping with a co-star ends up being like a prison sentence. You do your time and then after it you're on some bizarre probationary period and the paparazzi is your parole officer.

  “You're giving me an undying love speech before we do it.”

  “Fade to black?”

  “Hot and heavy.”

  And the kicks keep coming.

  “Tara spoke with Erick who discussed his vision with the writers...and apparently next season, we're getting back together.”

  The shock of the situation is interrupted by my name being shouted for what I can only assume is not the first time. In a fit of grumbles, I hustle to the counter and grab my cup. As I turn around sharply I snap, “I-”

  My hand bumps into a woman's chest spilling my drink all down the front of her white tank top.

  Should've let Caroline get my fucking coffee.

  “I...I gotta call you back.” Hanging up, I immediately begin to apologize, “I'm so sorry. I didn't see you-”

  “It was my fault I was too close-”

  “I wasn't exactly paying attention-”

  “I have a problem with personal space-”

  “I was distracted b
y-”

  “I'm kinda cold though,” her sweet voice finally stops my babbling.

  “Shit,” I sigh through gritted teeth. “Napkins! How could I not get you napkins?” The shittiness of my day continues to stack on my shoulders. Leaning over to the counter I ask, “Can we get a towel? And um...you're gonna need a mop. There's a spill, which is my fault and-”