Page 4 of Princes of Hollywood

“Sorry about the whore talk. I don’t normally pay for company.” That voice. My God. He takes my hand and a live wire jolts through me. He doesn’t seem to notice as he draws me to the couch. “Sit. We have much to talk about.”

“We do?” I collapse on the couch as my knees finally give up. My blood thunders so loudly through my veins, I’m not sure I can even hear him. I shouldn’t be here. This type of life isn’t for me, I’ve already proved that once before.

“Of course. This is an interview, poppet.” He sits across from me. And then he winks. At me. A giddiness rushes through me like I’ve had too much to drink. Or at least what I think too much to drink would feel like.

I always wondered if I’d be the type of girl to get starstruck. My foster mom, Mary, had her share of famous friends, but not one of them made me feel like Roarke does. His focus on me is intense.

“Wyatt, bring Aiden and Mason. We should do this as a group. After all, if poppet gets the job, she’ll be living with all of us and making sure our every desire is met.”

I swallow so hard, I cough. He gets up and sits next to me, rubbing my back.

“Don’t die now, poppet. The garden is new. I’d hate to dig you a spot in it.” The heat of his body is like a drug I can’t help but crave.

Lifting my gaze, I sigh at how close and how perfect he is. Seriously, it’s no wonder he reigns at the box office. He’s gorgeous and overwhelming in real life.

He tips my chin and studies my eyes. “You seem like a brandy girl.”

“I don’t drink,” I murmur on autopilot because he’s touching me and all my thought process has devolved to that single touch.

He tilts his head like he can’t believe what he heard.

“For fuck’s sake, Roarke, release the poor girl before she has a heart attack.”

My gaze jerks to the familiar voice. Aiden Clyborne, tall, slender, but built, with a voice that women would beg to read grocery lists. He’s been in some of my favorite movies. His slightly curled, tousled brown hair looks windswept. His light blue eyes don’t miss a thing as he moves in to take my hand.

I barely process the jolt from his touch. I’m awestruck.

“Aiden, but from the look on your face, you know who I am.” Releasing my hand, he gives me a wary smile, like he’s afraid I’m going to fangirl all over him.

He’s not wrong. It’s on the tip of my tongue. How much I adore him in every film. But I keep my tongue from wagging.

Roarke laughs and moves across from me again. “She likes me best, Aiden. Mason Randall and Wyatt McBride.” He nods to the other two men. “This is my poppet, Greer Morrow.”

My face heats at him claiming me as I look to the last man to enter: Mason Randall. Mary used to talk about him. This up-and-coming director who her paramour was mentoring. Unlike the others who give off some warm vibes, Mason is all dark, from his black hair to his piercing blue eyes. He looks at me as if he already knows who I am and what I’m about.

And he definitely doesn’t like it.

I straighten my back and sit as tall as my five-foot frame allows.

“You answered the ad?” Mason takes a seat and sits back as if this is his meeting and he’ll be the one in control of it. Power radiates off him, and that energy makes me want to misbehave. Not that I’m going to, but I don’t do well with authority figures.

I need this job.

“My friend sent it to me,” I admit. “She thought it would be a good opportunity.”

Mason’s eyes flow over me, taking my measure. I don’t cower, but fuck, do I want to. He’ll be the decision maker in all this. I’m not good enough for whatever this job entails or even to sit on this beautiful cream couch in my outfit that probably cost me twenty bucks. Not compared to these gorgeous men in their expensive casual clothes.

I’m going to do my best to make them overlook my shortcomings because I want this.

All of it. This house. This life. These men. To play pretend like my life isn’t one long train wreck. Just for a little while, live a dream until I have to wake up.

Chapter 2

I’m a Survivor

GREER

“Actress?” Mason doesn’t waste any time, starting the interrogation. “Model?”

---