Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I was given the bad-boy persona after the label used my heartache over my fiancée cheating to their advantage. I treat women like dirt, and no one can tame me. Apparently.
That’s the story they give. I’d love someone to tame me. I want to wake up next to my soul mate every day and make love to them every night, but fame changed all that. After that first crushing heartbreak, I didn’t know who I could trust. So I leaned into the bad-boy reputation. It’s no surprise I’ve ended up alone.
“He should be here any minute,” Denver says.
“I’m here,” I croak and step around the corner and through the sliding door.
“I knew it!” I’m guessing the brunette is the one who squeed before.
I glance at Denver, wondering if he’s thinking the same thing as me. The fandom of Eleven never gets old. But instead, he’s staring at me, his eyes wide, his lips parted.
Oh, right, my hair. “Did I fuck up my haircut?” I run my hand through the product-heavy tufts.
“No. It, uh, looks good.” He turns to his contestants. “Everyone, this is Mason. Mason, this is Cece, Declan, Henry, Isla, and Reggie.” Denver points as he goes, but I’ll probably remember them as Super Fan, James Blunt 2.0, Preppy Boy, Blondie, and Token Black Guy. With Super Fan being Latina, I guess they’ve hit their diversity quota.
I wave awkwardly. “Hey.”
There’s a spot saved for me at the opposite head of the table to Denver.
“Dig in,” Denver says about the pizza boxes laid out in front of us.
We all grab ourselves some pizza, but there’s a weird vibe around the group. I don’t know if it’s because I’m here or if they’re nervous or what. I raise an eyebrow at Denver in silent question, but he looks as confused as I do.
I lean back in my seat. “I take it from your silence, you all have questions for me.”
“There he goes with that ego of his,” Denver snarks but smiles at me.
“Where have you been?” Blondie asks.
“Montana.”
She rolls her eyes. “We know that, but I mean why?”
“Oh. Uh, to be close to my family. It’s where I grew up. I was tired of Hollywood bullshit.”
Five pairs of eyes blink at me.
“We’re supposed to be trying to get these people interested in the business, Mase,” Denver says.
“Right. Oops.” I put on an over-the-top voice. “Get a record deal, kids. It’s great.” I throw them two thumbs up.
Denver’s not impressed. “Okay, now you’re plain scaring them.”
“You guys are funny,” Super Fan says. “So it’s really true, then? You guys are actually friends?”
Wow, hello, loaded question. Not that they know any better. Denver pierces me with that aqua gaze I have such a soft spot for. He wants me to answer this? Fine.
“Best of.” Rule number one in Hollywood. Stick to the script. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have been so difficult to say how close we are. Now …
“He’s lying.” Denver smirks. “He’s just here for the food.”
“That too,” I agree.
The James Blunt lookalike turns to me. “I’ve seen what’s been said about you after that photo … and, uh … I don’t really know proper etiquette when it comes to this stuff, but I wanted to say, they’re assholes.”
I snort. I actually like these kids. And by kids, I mean they probably range from eighteen to twenty-five, maybe. God, Denver is a mentor to people his own age. “Thanks, but it’s all part of the business.”
I hate that I still have that ingrained response fall from my mouth, and my instinct is to defend an industry that is full of body issues and impossible standards.
“Actually, you know what?” I say. “You’re right. They are assholes. A lot of people you’ll meet in this industry are. But if you call them out on it, it will only look bad on you.”
“Mase,” Denver warns.
“No, they need to hear this. If you’re all serious about having a music career, you’re going to need to hear some hard truths. Changing your image, putting on weight, having a different hairstyle is always going to make you a target for online hate. Remember when Harry Styles cut off his long hair?”
“Teenage heartache around the world,” Denver says.
“If you’re going to be a public figure, you need to have thick skin to survive. Is it right? No. Should someone take a stand? Probably. But there’s already enough pressure on new acts to be mainstream enough without having to worry about scandal. Managers see troublemakers and run the other way. Record labels drop acts without warning.” I know. Trust me on this.
“Now that Mr. Grumpy Pants has brought down the mood, there are good things to the industry. Right, Mason?” Denver stares at me intently as if to say I need to fix this.
“Fine. I will say there is absolutely no better feeling than being onstage”—my eyes meet Denver’s—“with your best friend, and watching as thousands of fans scream for you. That kinda makes all the bullshit worth it. It’s hard work, but you get to see the world, you perform for packed stadiums to people who have paid so much money to come and see you. The fandom of it all is intoxicating.”