Page 2 of Her Dark Angel
I hold up my hand to stop his rambling. “Adam, it’s okay. I know I’ve been busy lately and as my manager, you have to handle shit like this. I would have appreciated a heads up beforehand, though.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise. You can decide whether you want to take this on. It’s only for six months, so keep that in mind.”
“Six months is a long time,” I remind him with a pointed look. “I have so much on my schedule and they expect me to just include other events and whatnot just to be seen with this man. It’s ridiculous.”
“I know it’s a pain in the ass, but we can make it work. It Girl is on track to be a box office hit once it’s released, but that could change at any time. Maybe a little publicity stunt wouldn’t hurt to drive in more viewership.”
He’s right, but I won’t admit it to him. I’ve been acting since I was eight, so I have a lot of movies and television shows under my belt. Most of the time they do well, but none have been nearly as big as It Girl is predicted to be. It’s my first main character role in a film in the romance genre, so it could potentially bring in more movie deals if it does well. It’s what I’ve been working toward for sixteen years in this industry.
So, maybe a publicity stunt isn’t the worst idea, but why does it have to be with him?
“They could have picked any girl for this guy to fake date, so why did they choose me?”
Adam shrugs and shuffles the stack of papers on the table in front of him. “James didn’t say. All he said was you were the chosen one and perfect for the job. I didn’t question it because I agreed that it could be a good idea.”
I don’t know what that means. Why me? There are way more popular actresses in the industry who are beautiful and would be well-suited for the job. Me being chosen out of every well-known woman in Los Angeles just doesn’t make sense.
I blow out a short breath and stand. “I’ll think about it, okay? But I’m not making any promises. And I’m still pissed at you for going behind my back.”
“Thank you, Kin. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Adam stands and wraps me in a tight embrace. “If you want to get to know the guy better, I can ask James for his address and you can sit down with him. It might help you get a better sense of what you could be walking into.”
I roll my eyes when we pull away. “I’m sure that would go down great like a fart in a crowded room.”
Adam bursts out laughing and I can’t help but laugh with him. This whole fucking scenario is bat shit crazy.
The large black box television sitting on a small wooden table at the edge of the room captures my attention. I watch the fuzzy footage of an all-too-familiar face being hauled out of a bar by two police officers at ten in the morning with handcuffs on his wrists. He’s struggling against their hold but is unable to break free. One of the officers shoves him into the back seat of a police cruiser while the male journalist on screen hurriedly throws questions toward the now-closed back door.
I turn to Adam with a raised brow, dread sweeping over me. He looks just as concerned as I do when he meets my gaze.
“Nash fucking Beck. That’s the guy you want me to fake date.”
Adam cringes at my words. “I’m sure he’s a nice guy… on the inside.”
I roll my eyes and walk around the table. “This is only proving me right as to why I should not agree to this contract, Adam.”
He groans and follows me out of the room. “I know. I know.”
I pull into the driveway of my home after a long day of being on set filming It’s Always Been You, my new project, and trying on outfits for a modeling shoot I’m booked for early next week. I kill the engine and lean my head against the smooth leather seat. My eyes gaze across the normal, plain-looking house on the corner of a very normal street with houses that look similar to the next. There is nothing particularly special about my house with its white exterior, perfectly cut rose bushes under the front windows, and the wooden porch with two black egg chairs. It’s just… plain and boring.
If it were up to me, I would paint my house black and rip out the rose bushes to replace them with flowers I actually like. But that wouldn’t be good for my image, as my mom liked to tell me when I was growing up. She reminded me every second she could that my image in the eye of the public is the most important thing as an actress. All eyes will be on me. Everyone will take notice of the way I dress, the way I act, and what my house looks like.
I wish I could wear black clothes every day and live in a house with dark furniture because that’s what I like. It’s what I need. Not the boring plain house I live in or the colorful clothes I have to wear because it’s ‘what’s good for me’.
I understand my image is important, but sometimes I wish I could just be myself. But apparently, that’s not good enough for my mom. She has always wanted me to be someone I’m not.
Inhaling slowly, I pluck my handbag off the front seat and slide out of the car. As I walk up the pathway to the porch, I wave to the neighbor on my right who is out watering her garden. She’s a lovely old woman who likes to stop by now and then to bring me a freshly baked loaf of bread, and even goes out of her way to water my rose bushes whenever I’m not home just to be nice.
“Good evening, Kinsley,” she greets with a warm smile.
“Good evening, Mrs. Jones,” I say, returning her gesture.
I continue walking to my front door and hurry inside. I’m in desperate need of a warm shower and to lie in bed and do absolutely nothing for the rest of the evening. However, I’m not granted that peace when I hear soft voices echoing from the kitchen. I drop my keys into the bowl beside the front door and hang my head.
This is the last fucking thing I want to be dealing with right now.
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath before I slip on the mask I’m used to wearing around others and walk down the hallway and into the kitchen. I pass by the framed images of my parents on the cream-colored walls, the photographs of me on set of my first commercial, and when I started working on my first television show.
I shiver at the face of the little ten-year-old girl with a smile larger than life. If only she knew what was coming her way. If only I could’ve warned her.