Page 1 of Beyond the Fame

Chapter 1 – Jensen

4 ½ Years Ago

I’ve never hated anyone more in my life.

Rebecca Taylor is a menace.

It’s nearing the end of negotiations on script changes for Tyler’s Team with Rebecca and the movie’s producers, and Rebecca is refusing to budge.

We’ve been going through the script, page by page, and we’re still discussing changes to two key scenes that Rebecca is fighting wholeheartedly against. This is why we haven’t signed off on the final manuscript, which should have happened hours ago.

I’m pissed, tired, and ready to walk out the door like the three other directors before me. Whoever gave her final say on the screenplay was an idiot. She may have written the book, but she clearly has no idea what goes in to making a movie.

Every time Rebecca scoffs or whines about a change, I grit my teeth and ball my fists. The way she’s latching on to the control she has, waving it around in my face… it’s fucking infuriating.

I take it back. I don’t hate Rebecca; I hate how much control she has over this screenplay. I hate that she’s stolen that from me. Having control over the artistic vision of a project is what I love about directing. It’s how I cope with the fucked-up world. I lose myself in the jobs that I sign on to and it’s freeing.

“Miss Taylor,” the movie’s executive producer, Shyon Maronne, says with a sigh. “I understand this is your brother’s story—”

“Do you understand?” Rebecca bites out. She grinds her jaw, narrowing those vicious blue eyes at Shyon, who is sitting next to me.

I shift in my seat, ignoring the way my cock reacts to her authoritative tone. I may despise Rebecca Taylor right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck her.

I accepted this job knowing how difficult she’s been. I came into negotiations ready for battle. I was ready to fight for my revisions. What I wasn’t ready for? A beautiful woman who makes me squirm.

Rebecca is nine years older than me and a force to be reckoned with. The skin-tight dress she’s wearing magnifies all her curves. I’ve caught myself staring at her voluptuous breasts far too many times, wanting to hold them in my hands. I’ve imagined wrapping her long light brown hair around my fist so I can tug her head back and stare into those vicious blue eyes.

She’s making my job harder; however, I’m weirdly turned on with how stubborn she’s being with her refusal to cave. I can’t help but admire her tenacity. She knows what she wants, and she has all the power. Except, power needs a source and if she doesn’t give in soon, the producers, and their money, will bail. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. It’s clear the production company keeps pushing for this project to get made because the book was such a success. Fans will show up in droves to see this movie, and I know that’s the main reason this project is still alive. But if it doesn’t work out this time, the production company might have no choice but to table it.

“My brother died, and this is all I have left of him,” Rebecca continues. “This is his legacy. You’re trying to change the good things that he did, and I—”

The threat of tears cuts off her words, and I avert my eyes. She’s nearly broken down three times now. The first time it happened, I had a knee-jerk reaction to reach for her—to hold her hand. The second time, my stomach flipped, and my hand twitched with that overwhelming need to console her again. This time... this time I force myself to look away because if I have to see her heartbreak one more time...

What the hell is wrong with me?

I don’t do emotions, especially the type that could crush my heart.

Emotions are messy. All of them.

I’ve only let myself truly care about one person and he’s currently destroying his life. My best friend’s addiction is killing him, and he won’t let me help. He won’t stop going out. He won’t stop drinking.

We hardly see each other anymore. We’re both busy with our careers. Mylan Andrews is the type of person who needs companionship. He needs someone by his side to help guide him. I haven’t been able to be that person for him lately.

When we are both free for a night, he drags me with him to a club. I shouldn’t go. It enables him, but I also want to protect him. When I’m there, I can make sure he doesn’t get out of control. His bodyguard and assistant also help keep him out of trouble, but we’re tired. We're running out of hope.

And this time, it’s all my fault.

Six months ago, I introduced him to Olivia Hadford, an up-and-coming plus-size model. I had no choice. She was determined to insert herself into our conversation at the premiere party for Mylan’s last movie. The same movie he kept showing up late to set to, kept flubbing his lines, and almost didn’t make it through filming before his manager sent him to rehab again.

It’s been over a year since his second stint. He was doing fine in his recovery until Olivia showed up.

She ruined him. She made him fall in love, then destroyed his heart. She knew he was an addict—an alcoholic—and used it to her advantage. She recorded videos of him in vulnerable states and sold them to the tabloids. When a reporter from Entertainment Now tipped Mylan off two weeks ago, he was devastated, and they broke up. He’s been coping with booze and pills.

A brutal cycle he can’t seem to escape.

I’m trying to be there for him. I'm trying. But I have a feeling I’m going to lose him, and he won’t let me fucking help.

I swallow the lump in my throat and sit up straight in my seat. Now isn’t the time to drown in my regrets.

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