Mike slid behind the wheel of his silver Porsche, his sunglasses tilted enough to hide half of his face. Like it was going to work. Fans and paps had already gathered along the street. He nodded and smiled through the glass as he slowly moved forward among the waving hands, bouncing bodies, and popping flashes. His foot went gentle on the gas until he eased through the madness and made the turn.
It’d been fifteen years since he’d decided not to become a chef and made his first movie. He was used to the madness. The attention, the love, the lights, he appreciated. It meant he was still hot, desired, and successful; there was still time before the crowds didn’t remember his name.
“Good evening, Loretta.” He took his shades off when she greeted him at the door, giving her his perfected, fan-mode smile.
She didn’t smile back. She never did. The old woman hated him for a reason he never cared to know.
She escorted him to the living room and asked what he’d like to drink.
“I’m good.” He sank onto the couch and placed his sunglasses on the coffee table.
“Mrs. Dawson is expecting you. She’ll be down any minute.”
He nodded at her and spread his arms along the back of the couch. A chuckle escaped his mouth as she stalked away, murmuring in gibberish.
The lights were dimmed, casting a beautiful hue on the hardwood and glass interior. The room and décor were all shades of brown. Warm. Welcoming. The air smelled like the jasmines adorning the antique vases.
His gaze wandered with the ocean waves as he recalled the house where he was born— where Andrea Dawson was still Andrea Marino, and he was Mickey, il bambino dell’ autista—the chauffer’s kid. He couldn’t remember much of that house now, except that it was big. But again, he was almost ten the last time he went there. He’d been invited to Maggie’s first birthday. The garden swarmed with guests and plenty of children to play with. That day, he had seen Andrea for the first time after she got married. She was nineteen then, and God she was hot.
He glanced toward the sound of heels coming from behind him. Andrea smiled from ear to ear when she saw him, her lips a crimson red like the corseted dress that gave him a good view of her cleavage. Anybody else would have been tempted, but he knew better.
He rose, and she folded her arms around his waist, pulling him in for an embrace. “I missed you, Mickey.”
He ended the hug fast. “Looking good. Those fillers are really working for you.”
She flipped her long, brown hair as she sat next to him. “Thank you. Maybe I should give you the number of my doctor. You’re going to need him very soon.”
He smirked. “Nah, I’m good.” He put one leg on the other. “James called you?”
“Yes, your manager informed me that you don’t want to do Heavenly Kisses. No problem. I have two more scripts for you to choose from.”
“What is it this time? A rom-com or a romantic thriller?” He snorted. “Listen to me. This isn’t just about Heavenly Kisses. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my acting career doing nothing but being some sexy whatever who saves the day and gets the girl. I’m done with that kind of shit. I want to act. So bring me something different. Important.”
She sighed. “I understand what you’re going through. Believe me. After this long in the business you get bored. You want to try something different, something new, even risky.” She leaned forward, her tits on display even more. “But you can’t just make that shift all of a sudden. You have to ease your way into it, pave the way for your audience to accept that change, or else everything you’ve worked really hard for will be at risk.”
“Or maybe I just need a new audience. That’s the point of change, isn’t it?”
“But we—”
“No buts! Last Resort is the last movie on my contract with Universal and the last one of this kind I’m ever gonna make. Next year is gonna be different, and you’d better be ready for it.”
“I can’t let you do this. This is career suicide.”
“You know what? I just don’t give a shit anymore. If you can’t get me what I want, I’ll find a new agent who can.”
Her eyes flashed at him“Excuse me?” She jumped to her feet. “Have you forgotten what I’ve done for you? What my family did for you?”
He grabbed his shades and stood. “No, I haven’t, and I never will.” His gaze met hers. “I like what we have. Our friendship and partnership have been very successful so far.” He shifted on his feet. “For me and you,” he added. “I don’t want to end this, and I’m sure you wanna keep making the millions I make you.” He glanced down at her. “So get me what I want.”