“Who is going to be traveling on the plane with me? Which members of the papz will be annoying the shit out of me for a month?” I ask them and then look over at Cassandra, my personal assistant. She is taking notes on her phone of this whole meeting and will probably have everything lined up to make this happen flawlessly. When I broke into the game twelve years ago, I had no idea what I was getting into. The only thing I knew was that they were paying me a shitload of money to pretend to be a guy who loved his wife. Little did I know, that small cameo would lead to my next big gig, and from there, it just snowballed. I couldn’t keep up with anything. I didn’t know where to throw myself next, and my agent brought Cassandra in to keep me organized. At first, I fought it until I saw what she was capable of. My life was scheduled down to the minute. I knew where I had to be and when I had to be there. She made sure all my needs were met, she made sure I had a tux when I needed a tux, and she could tell just by the look on my face when I needed to escape and not be found. She just knows everything. Where I go, she is right there, and although we don’t live together, she is basically my wife without the fringe benefits. She knows her shit and is paid very well to keep my insane life organized.
He starts naming the reporters, and I have no clue who half of the names are until he gets to the one I dread the most. “Jessica Hawthorn from—”
He doesn’t have to finish before I put my hand up, making him stop in his verbal tracks.
“Not her,” I say, then look at Cassandra who shares a similar look with me. “Anyone but her.”
Stephen looks at Ryan and then back at me. He takes his glasses off. “That’s the only name that is non-negotiable.”
“Everything is negotiable, Stephen.” Smirking at him, I give him the “are you fucking kidding me?” stare down, but he just leans back in his chair and returns the look. “You just have to know what to negotiate with.” I get up, then look at Cassandra, who follows suit, grabbing her Hermes purse.
“This one isn’t,” Ryan says. “If there is anyone who is going to be on this press tour, it has to be Jessica.” I shake my head in the negative.
“I think it’s fair to say that Mr. Beckett is firm on this,” Cassandra says from beside me; the voice of reason when I can’t find my own.
“That’s a bit awkward now, isn’t it?” Ryan says. “Because so are we. You don’t go on a mega press tour and not invite the biggest entertainment journalist along for the ride. There’s no negotiation here, Tyler, so nut up and pack your bags.”
Rolling my eyes, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “She isn’t the best.” I think about the last time she interviewed me. She had a sheet with questions she could ask me as well as topics that were not to be broached, you know, like questions about my private life. She played nice for one question and then threw out the rest of the approved topics before diving into the nitty gritty. “What does your girlfriend think when she turns on the television and sees you on all the tabloids?” I smirked at her, got up, unclipped the mic from my shirt, and pulled it out. She leaned back in her chair, looked over at her camera guy, and said, “I guess that’s a wrap.” Raising her eyebrows, she wore a look that said I win. She didn’t even try to get me to sit back down and stroke my ego like other journalists would have done. She did nothing but put her hand up and wiggle her fingers goodbye, wearing a satisfied smirk on her face the whole time.
“She gets one shot,” I tell the room and see the smile on everyone’s face. “The minute she steps over the line, I want her off the press junket, you hear me?”
Ryan leans back in his chair. “We have a deal.” I look over at Cassandra as she nods at me. “The early reviews for the movie are coming in, and people are saying it’s the best of the year and your best work to date.”
I halfway listen to them raving about the movie before I finally walk out. I don’t say anything to Cassandra in the elevator. When she finally gets to the car, she looks at me and says, “How long is this silent treatment going to be? I need to know so I can add it to my calendar.” She says in that exasperated tone she takes with me when I’m being difficult on purpose. We get into the car, and all the while, she continues typing away on her phone.
“Cass, you know she is the biggest pain in my ass. Why did I agree to them scheduling her on this junket?” I finally say. “She has tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to dig up anything I have to hide.” Stopping at a red light, I look over at Cassandra, reminding her, “And last year, she had people believing I was in rehab. For fuck’s sake, my mother was in tears.”
“I mean, that’s not exactly accurate. She didn’t make people believe that; she just planted the seed of doubt. It didn’t help that you went into one of your off-the-grid moments and refused to take your phone. Do you know what it took for me to contact you? I had to call a guy who knew a guy who had a fucking donkey and some time to spare.”
“I was in Mexico, Cass. I had just fucking finished training in Utah. Eight hours a day in the gym in seclusion, and I needed to rest,” I snap back at her, thinking of how much training I had to endure. I wanted to perform my own stunts, and in order to do that, I needed to train as though I was racing in the next Iron Man triathlon. My meals were specially prepared, and I had trainers and training assistants who kept me on my toes . . . and because of that, not one ounce of fat remained on my body, and I performed all my own stunts flawlessly.
“I know that.” Nodding her head, she continues, “And if you would have granted even one interview, the rumors and gossip would have all gone away.” When she raises her eyebrows at me, I’m about to argue until a car honks at me. I look back up and see that the light is green. I don’t bother talking to her the rest of the way to my house, accepting defeat in this battle of wills.
As we continue the drive to my house, her demeanor shifts, and she’s in work mode all over again. “You have training with Norman tonight at six for three hours. You have nothing tomorrow. I’m putting packing on the schedule for Saturday, and I’m going to have Monica stop by and coordinate your outfits for the tour.” I knew she would already be preparing for this shitshow. “I just got an email with the itinerary, and it’s going to be hectic, to say the least. I also just booked you a month off when we get back because I know how cranky you’ll be. I just need to know where you want to go, and I’ll take care of the logistics.”
“You really think it’s necessary to go through all the fuss with the clothes?” I ask her, pulling up to my gate and pressing the button for the gate to open. “But it’s a good idea about going away. You can schedule yourself off, also.”
“I really do think it’s necessary to go through all the fuss,” she huffs out while I make my way up the winding driveway and park the car by the side of the house. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. All you have to do is leave your bedroom and let them make the magic happen.” I nod, realizing she’s right. The crew comes in, takes pictures of all my outfits, and then packages everything together. It’s like I’m a toddler, and my mother picks out my clothes, color coordinating everything down to my underwear. I walk into the house through the garage with Cass following me. My lambo and Ferrari both are parked in there. “If you don’t need me for the rest of the day, I’m going to get going and start the planning for the next month.”