Page 5 of Smartasses
Now she would have to go pay the GDP of a small country to get an hour of cruise ship internet so she could delete this post. This was what she got for acting on impulse. Again. When would she ever learn to think before she acted and actually listen to her head and not just her gut?
“Way to be a total creeper, Carter. What woman wouldn’t freak out when a strange man knocked on the door connecting their rooms—all while they were trapped on a cruise ship together for the next seven days?” He rubbed his palm over the spiked fuzz of his short hair that he still wasn’t used to. “And please, for the love of good beer and better women, do not start answering yourself.”
Yeah, because he wasn’t already treading that total weirdo line as it was. If she heard him mumbling to himself—and answering—that would be the thing to really drive Aubrey into avoiding him.
“Whatever you say, buddy.”
Carter had spent almost every day since he started noticing women around the most beautiful of them in the world. His parents were Hollywood royalty, which meant that everyone who was anyone, or who wanted to be, ended up at their champagne-drenched and cocaine-powered parties. Sometimes, those folks took an extra interest in him. In the beginning, he’d thought it was genuine, but he’d been an idiot. Of course, it wasn’t. That wasn’t the Hollywood way—where every relationship was transactional, and the best ones were those that vaulted the other person from the B to the A list. That culture was so ingrained that everyone just assumed his success was because of his parents. Now, Carter would be the first to admit that he had opportunities that others hadn’t because of his parents, but no one placed the mantle of a billion-dollar movie franchise on a person because of who their parents are. Producers loved their money way too much for that.
Still, the need to prove himself as a man able to do the work and carry a movie without the help of his last name or the world’s most talented special effects department was what lit a fire in him hot enough to burn down the Hollywood sign.
Right on cue, his phone rang.
“Carter, my man.” His brother and agent, Byron, didn’t sound the least bit winded even though the odds were he was calling during the middle of his workout. The sicko trained hard and with the dedication of a bodybuilder for the fun of it, not because the studio made him. “How are you, and are you ready for me to send the rescue helicopter yet?”
Carter glanced toward the sliding glass doors leading to his balcony. He could still see the New York skyscrapers in the distance. “We probably haven’t even hit international waters.”
“Did you get my gift?” his brother asked in one of his trademark oh-look-a-squirrel change of topics.
“I did. The condoms are a nice touch.”
A mountain of fruit, wine, cheese, and a box of condoms in a plastic-wrapped basket had been waiting in the middle of Carter’s double bed when he’d opened his door. In addition to being his brother and agent, Byron was also the biggest troll alive, so there was no doubt he’d included the condoms just to rub it in that Carter wouldn’t be getting any during this cruise. The last thing he needed was to get his cover blown by getting a little too up close and personal with a rando or having someone spot his stupid birthmark.
“Hey, just because you’re the uptight nerd version of Carter doesn’t mean you have to stay celibate,” Byron said as if he didn’t know well and good that the very opposite was true. “My therapist says that it’s important to express yourself and not bottle things up.”
Carter rolled his eyes. “Isn’t your unlicensed therapist also your weed dealer?”
“Hey, man, it’s LA. Everyone has to hustle.”
“Speaking of hustling for work, is everything lined up for New York when I get back?”
Allyson Hernandez had all but triple-dog dared him into making this trip. It had happened during one of those awful Hollywood lunches at a restaurant almost no one could get reservations for. With several shelves full of awards for her movies, she didn’t need Carter to get a table. However, being seen with him and even having it whispered that he might be attached to her next project could do wonders for getting financing for her next award contender. Meanwhile, he wanted a shot—a real shot—at the lead part of a single father with a genius kid who had an attitude problem. So it was a transactional meeting, yes, but the tolerable kind where everyone involved was in on the real situation.
He’d made his case, and Allyson had called over the server, asking about the guy she was sitting with. His answer? The Admiral. She called over a couple of others from the staff and got the same answer every time. He’d asked for one shot to prove he could disappear into a character. He’d do anything; all she had to do was name it. When she’d told him about the cruise, he’d booked his spot right there at the table.
“I’m hurt that you’d doubt me for making that meeting with Allyson happen,” Byron said with a huff. “We are brothers, you asshole.”
“Exactly,” he shot back. “That means I know you better than you know yourself.”
And the truth of it being that his brother wasn’t so thrilled about giving up guaranteed work for a chance at a maybe. Byron only believed in sure things.
“Such a dick. If only America knew what a pain in the ass The Admiral was.” He paused, drawing out the moment as if they both didn’t already know the answer. “Yes, it’s all set up. You know she doesn’t think you can pull it off. She says if you dock in New York and everyone on the boat hasn’t made you, she’ll add another point of the box office if your audition is good enough for you to get the part.”
“I don’t want the points.” How many times did he have to have this discussion with his numbers-obsessed brother? “I want the project. The story is amazing. It’s—»
“Snore fest,” Byron interrupted, his voice taking on the no-nonsense, cold-ass shark vibe that had earned him the reputation of being one of the scariest agents in the business. “Look, I love you, Carter, but I care about the points, and believe me, when you’re too old to play The Admiral and get that kind of stupid money, you will too. No one wants to end up like Mom and Dad.”
Now that was the truth. It was amazing how fast everyone fled when the parts dried up, the champagne ran out, and the cocaine dealer stopped delivering on credit. By the time their parents had to sell their house, the ranch in Wyoming no one ever visited, and all of the flotsam and jetsam from film sets that they’d collected over the years, the only people left by their sides were Carter and Byron. Their parents hadn’t taken it well—that was one way to describe what happened. The tabloids had called it a Hollywood nightmare murder-suicide.
“I’m not crashing my career,” Carter said, retreating from the edge of all those bad memories. “I’m diversifying. It’s smart.”
“I know, I know, just don’t get too classy to think about the bottom line,” Byron warned. “I know you love acting, but it’s still business.”
“That’s why I have you.” Byron was the one person in the world he could trust to always have his back.
“And you’re damn lucky for it.” The unmistakable beep of the treadmill being turned off echoed through the line. “Have fun, nerd.”
Carter chuckled. “You too, meathead.”
“Always, man,” his brother said, the booming, cocky confidence back in his voice. “It’s hard to be as good looking as I am and not have fun.”
Carter was still smiling when he hung up, but he couldn’t totally shake the oh-fuck feeling in his gut. This part mattered, and he would do whatever it took to make this cruise a success and prove to Allyson that he could disappear into a part so well that no one saw even a hint of The Admiral when they looked at him. Everything was riding on him staying undercover.
