Princes of Hollywood (Signed)

Greer
“What’s this about a job?” I hide in my bedroom with the phone up to my ear, huddled on the double bed which takes up most of the room as my ex is currently watching football on the TV. Loudly.
“This actor needs a live-in PA. He talked about it with his agent while I did his makeup today. I texted you the details.” My best friend, really my only friend in L.A., Bristol Walker sighs. “You can’t stay at that apartment, Greer. Not with the asshole who cheated on you. If Will wasn’t already living on my couch, I’d have you here in a heartbeat.”
My ex yells loudly at the TV as if it offended him. Honestly, I don’t know what I saw in him. I would leave, but we’re both on the lease and neither of us could take it over on our own. Well, I definitely couldn’t.
“I’ve got a job already.” I pick at a loose thread in the sheets. Waitressing at a small diner doesn’t exactly bring in the big money plus they’ve cut my hours recently.
“One that’s a dead end and will never pay you enough. Look, call for an interview. The worst thing that happens is they suck and you say no.” Bristol covers the phone and her voice mumbles to someone in the background. She comes back to me. “One interview. It’s room and board, plus salary.”
“I don’t know how to be a personal assistant.” Something hits the door, startling me. I can’t stay here.
Chad keeps trying to convince me we should get back together. He’s not sorry; he’s just hit a dry spell. I’ve been sleeping on the couch, but last night he tried to carry me back to the bed. Like I would forget what he did. I don’t need a guy who cheats on me. Fortunately, I woke up when he tried to lift me and told him off. Given his grunts last night and his limp this morning, a few of my kicks must have landed hard enough to sting.
Hopefully that will stop him from trying that shit again.
I don’t even like him anymore, and I haven’t exactly been missing our lack luster sex life either.
“Fine. I’ll call the number.” It’s not like I have family to call for help. I’ve been on my own since the day I turned eighteen. Before that really.
“You won’t regret it.” Bristol sounds confident, but I can’t be sure. My life isn’t exactly coming up roses these days. I’ll be lucky to get an interview.
We end the call and I pull up the text she sent.

Needed personal assistant available immediately
Must be drug free and submit to random drug testing
Must be able to work day and night

It isn’t much information. I pluck at my lower lip while I stare at it. The door swings open and Chad saunters in. Disgust wells within me. He’s a good-looking guy in his board shorts with his button-up shirt open to show his fit physique. He looks like he stepped out of the nineties. His bleached blond hair only adds to the image.
When he flops onto the bed beside me, he gives me this look with his brown eyes that used to do it for me. Until it was also doing it for Sandy and Melanie and who knows who else. Now I just roll my eyes.
“What do you want, Chad?” I wrap my arms around my legs, drawing them out of his reach so he can’t touch me.
“I’m thinking you need to pay more for rent since I’m not getting any now.” He reaches out and tugs on the leg of my jeans. I almost hiss at him, but I bite my tongue. I still need to live somewhere. This is marginally better than the streets and I pay for it, so I have a right to be here.
“I can’t afford more,” I say through gritted teeth. We agreed when we moved in that he would pay more than half because at the time I couldn’t afford it, and he really wanted this place over the place I could afford. Now, I really can’t pay half.
He smiles his cocky, arrogant, knowing smile. “You could put out then. I’ll let you stay here rent-free.”
“Fuck you, Chad.” Fuck this. I scramble off the bed and slide my feet into a pair of flip flops.
“Come on, Greer. It’s just fucking.” He collapses back on the bed like the whiny bitch he is.
I grab my backpack and throw my laptop into it before grabbing some random clothes out of my drawer. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’m not coming back here tonight. Even the floor at Bristol’s would be better than this.
He rises on his elbows and makes a kissy face. “You always liked it when I went down on you.”
I roll my eyes. It’s not like he did that often. Only when he thought I’d reciprocate. Usually, I’d just pretend to come to get him to stop. I go into the closet and grab a few other things, just in case I get the interview.
When I come out, any words of indignation die on my tongue when I see he’s stroking his cock with a pair of my panties. I wish I’d stayed in the closet. How did I ever fall for this asshole’s bullshit? “You’re such a waste of space.”
“Where are you going, Greer? You’ve got nowhere to go. No friends. I’ll be your friend…if you suck me off.” He grins as he strokes his cock.
I sneer at him before charging out of the apartment. Clicking on the number for the ad, I haul ass to the elevator, listening to the ringtone. Almost a year of my life wasted on that asshole. Even though we always used condoms, I got checked because the last thing I wanted from him was a STI.
“What a fucking asshole,” I mutter as I step in and press the first floor button.
“Bad day?” a deep, groggy voice asks on the line.
Fuck, shit. No need to make it worse. “Yes, but I’m hoping to apply for the job as the personal assistant.”
Fake it ‘til you make it is what my foster mother always said. She was talking about smiling and being happy, but it applies to a lot of things in life.
“You do drugs?” His voice is gruff like he just woke from sleep. It skitters pleasantly down my spine.
“No, but would you believe me on just my word?” I lean against the wall of the elevator as the car moves to the first floor.
“I have a drug test here with your name on it.” The rough voice helps calm me down even as it keys me up. It’s been a while since Chad and I—a disgusted shudder runs through me. Mistake number one thinking sex equals love. From now on sex is just sex.
“You don’t even know my name.” I glance at the one light bulb still working in the elevator. This whole place is a shithole. I just want to find somewhere nice to live. Maybe I’ll find an apartment to share on the internet.
“Maybe I’ll just call you poppet.” He chuckles. “I’ll text you the address and you can come by to pee in a cup. We’ll talk about things.”
The way he says things makes my pulse throb. “How will you know it’s me though?”
“What’s your name, poppet?”
“Greer Morrow.” The elevator stops on the first floor, and I walk into the lobby.
“Sounds very old-school Hollywood. I like it, Greer Morrow.” My name rolling off his tongue is like melting wax dripping on my skin. Hot, dangerous, tantalizing.
My phone buzzes with a text and I’m sure it’s Chad. That helps cool any fantasies about the voice on the phone. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“Roarke Flynn.”
My insides burst with nerves. Had I just been low-key flirting with the Roarke Flynn? Sexiest Man Alive two years running? Whose sex scene in Lost in Vegas gave me the best self-administered orgasm of my life?
My throat closes a little and my mouth gapes like I can’t find air.
“C’mon, poppet, it’s not that shocking, is it? It’s not like you’re seeing my cock for the first time.” There’s humor in his tone, but oof, yeah, not seeing that. In person. Only on the big screen.
I clear my throat. “Would I be working for you?”
“Somewhat,” he hedges, his voice still gritty and low. “But we can discuss that when you get here. I’ll send you a text. You on your way now like a good girl?”
Fuck. Sparks bolt through my whole body at those words. “Yes, I’m coming—”
His deep, rich chuckle cuts me off. “Not so fast, poppet. We should at least get to know each other a little first.”
Heat floods my face. This is dangerous, but I have nothing to lose. “I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”