Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Unbelievable,” I muttered.
Yanking the keys from the ignition, I flung open the door to my Prius and stomped each foot out of the car. The moment I stood—crack! My ankle twisted. I began to stumble, yet somehow, I managed to catch myself on the frame of the car door. I looked down at my foot. My heel had broken off, snapped straight from the bottom of my pump.
“Are you freaking serious right now?”
I kicked the shoe from my foot, bent, and without thinking, hurled it toward Robeks. Stupid freaking Robeks. It landed on the sidewalk with a satisfying clank, but that wasn’t enough to calm me down. My cell phone was still in my hand, so I wound up and threw that too. It landed with more of a thud than a clank, which was likely because my phone didn’t hit the ground…
It hit a person.
A man walking from the car parked behind mine rubbed his jaw as he turned to look at me. I hadn’t noticed him or his vehicle until that moment. Once I did, it was hard to notice anything else. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of rugged good looks that made you do a double take. I covered my heart with my hand for more reasons than one. “Oh my God! I hit you in the face?”
“Why the hell did you throw your phone at me?”
“It was an accident. I was angry, and I didn’t see you there.” I limped toward him wearing one heel. “Are you okay? Should I call 9-1-1?”
He bent and scooped my cell from the ground. “I think maybe you should call a therapist, sweetheart.”
My eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to be a jerk about it. I’m already having a bad day.”
“That makes two of us.” He shook his head. “You need to learn to control your anger.”
He was right, of course, but in the moment, I didn’t need a lecture. “I was frustrated. Someone hung up on me.”
He smirked. “Not surprised, with your attitude.”
I froze. “What did you just say?”
“If this is how you act when someone pisses you off, I get why they’d hang up on you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I’ve seen enough to know your type.”
“Wow. And I guess you’re better than my type?”
“Haven’t hit any strangers today, so…”
I limped the two steps separating us and grabbed my phone from his hand. “Thanks for the free behavior analysis.”
He shrugged. “No charge.”
I briefly considered taking off my other shoe and hitting him on purpose this time. But instead, I showed him my pearly whites. “You have a wonderful rest of your day.”
“I’d say the chances of that are pretty damn slim. Not when I’ll be spending it with you.”
“With me? I think maybe my phone did more damage to your head than it appears.”
He gave me a look. “Name’s Wes Callahan, Juliette. Your dad sent me. I’m your new bodyguard.”
CHAPTER 2
* * *
Juliette
What a day.
I walked out of Bradley Wilson’s trailer at five o’clock after a long, shitty day. Arlo had not, in fact, called the director this morning to inform him that his lead actor was demanding another set of rewrites. So when he showed up at nine to start shooting, all hell broke loose.
I wound up working ten hours on rewrites in Bradley’s trailer, while he did stupid shit like gargle with rose petals and get a lymphatic neck massage from a massage therapist who cracked his knuckles every five minutes and told his patient that his “lymph nodes hold rage.” Not to mention, I had to play charades to guess the changes Bradley mimed because his throat was a little scratchy, and he worried he’d lose his voice during filming.
So, the very last thing I needed at the end of this day was to find Wes Callahan, the guy from this morning, parked next to me in the studio parking lot.
He watched me as I walked to my car, but didn’t roll down his window until I knocked on it.
“How did you even get past the guards at the gate?” I asked. “You can’t get onto the property unless you’re on the pre-approved list.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I rolled my eyes. He might be better looking than the others, with his chiseled jaw and enviably full lips, but this guy was one of my father’s goons all right. That was exactly the type of response Vince Ginocassi, or any of his men, gave whenever I asked a question.
“You’re fired.”
The jackass smirked. And I hated that my eyes lingered on his mouth for a beat too long.
“You can’t fire someone you didn’t hire, sweetheart.”
“Well, you can’t just follow me around. That’s harassment. I’ll go to the police.”
“We don’t know each other yet, but trust me when I say that won’t stop me.”
Ugh. The jerk might have a jawline that rivaled Henry Cavill’s, but he was no different than my father’s regular crew. I knew there was no point in arguing with him, so I didn’t waste my breath. I got into my car and pulled out. As I waited at the guard’s station for the parking gate to go up, I called my father. Not surprisingly, he still didn’t answer.