Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“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.”
“Yeah, you can go.” We enter the kitchen. “Before you get into the weeds with all the logistics, we need to go over a list of questions that I will answer and those I won’t.”
“Already on it, Ty.” She walks to the front door. “I do need to know what you’re doing after your month off, though. You have no filming till the new year, so the world is literally your oyster.”
“Fuck . . . a whole six months to myself.” I smile, grabbing a water bottle out of the stocked fridge. Another thing Cassie takes care of for me. “I think I’ll go stay at the ranch. Off the grid just enough but it won’t require a donkey to get my attention.” I smile at her, knowing she does truly love me even when I’m being a petulant, yet color-coordinated toddler.
Shaking her head at me, she tells me, “I just need the dates, and I’ll make it happen.” And with that, her work is done. She turns and walks out of the house, slamming the door behind her. I take my phone out and sit on one of the stools at the island, dialing my father.