If I’m Hollywood’s bad boy, then Teague Morrow is their golden child. Every romantic-comedy role goes to him. Women love his dimples, charming personality, and never-ending smile. He plays my best friend, Drake, in the show, which is fitting since he’s the closest thing I have to a friend in real life. If The Promised Prince does well, Flixmart will make book two into season two, and Teague will become the main character of the show for that season.
“Teague, I wouldn’t expect you to understand style.” I glance around. “Your wife’s not joining you?”
“She decided to stay home. Our baby is due in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s right. I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad.”
“Between all your women and partying, I wouldn’t expect you to comprehend something like that. I almost envy your freedom, but I love my wife too much for that.”
And I envy your settled-down family life.
My brows drop. That’s a weird thought to have. It completely came out of left field, making it easy for me to brush away.
“You, of all people, know that women and partying aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Besides, I haven’t been in that scene for a long time.”
“Yeah, right.” His neck kicks back in disbelief. “You are that scene.”
Why is that always the narrative? Cody Banner, the wild partier. It’s not like I was the only person at those Hollywood parties back in the day, but I’m usually the only person whose name ended up in the tabloids.
“You know it wasn’t that long ago that you were right there with me, living that same lifestyle.”
“Eh”—Teague eyes me with a smirk—“we all have to grow up sometime.”
“Tell me about it.”
For some of us, the transition is much more difficult. Take Teague, for example. He’s never been labeled as a playboy or a bad boy, even though his early years in Hollywood mimicked mine. He’s gotten a hall pass because of his dimples and boy-next-door smile and all the cinnamon-roll heroes he’s played in films, while I have to reinvent myself and my career just to gain some respect.
But he’s the golden boy, and golden boys never have to work as hard to be liked.
When Dallas was brainstorming ways I could restore my image, his was the first name he brought up. Said if I really wanted to win people over, I needed to pattern myself off Teague Morrow. But even as Dallas said that, I saw the doubt in his eyes, like he didn’t think I could ever be that guy, no matter how good at spinning stories he is.
“Are you nervous about the showing tonight?” Teague takes another sip of his water. “Romantic series aren’t your typical genre. Heck, I didn’t even know it was in your wheelhouse.”
“Everything is in my wheelhouse.”
“Maybe.” His smile is more friendly than smug. “We’ll have to wait and see what the press and fans think about the show. If the response isn’t good, it complicates everything. A streaming series is a lot different than a movie. There’s the added pressure of episodes releasing each week on Flixmart while you finish filming the last few episodes of season one. There’s a lot riding on this for all of us. Are you sure you can handle the pressure?”
“You don’t have to worry about me or the show. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“But it’s hers.” His gaze travels across the tent.
For the first time tonight, I see Jenna. She stands out in a fitted red dress, a nod to the iconic red-dress scene we’ll film sometime in the next week and a half. Her blonde hair is slicked into an elegant bun with some kind of droopy side-bang thing happening in the front. I might not know how to describe the specifics of her dress and hair, but I can describe how she looks—absolutely memorable.
“What?” I shrug. “You haven’t been impressed with Jenna on the show?”
“She’s really nice, but she should probably stick to modeling.” Teague laughs. “It’s cute these days how everyone thinks they can act.”
I frown. “Jenna can act.”
“Come on. She’s just another pretty face.”
Jenna and I have had our differences for the last five months, but that doesn’t mean I want her to fail at acting. To be honest, I don’t even know why we don’t get along. I started the project thinking we’d be a great fit. But on day one, she showed up with a chip on her shoulder, probably because she didn’t know who I was. But after that,she didn’t even try to forgive me or get to know me. She’d already decided, from what she’d heard around town, that she didn’t like me. So the rivalry began. But right now, none of that seems to matter. Yes, she has a pretty face—she has a pretty everything—but she’s also talented. Better than some actresses who’ve been in the business for twenty years (not that I would ever admit that to her).
“Jenna works hard, takes copious notes, implements all of Quinton’s suggestions”—much to my annoyance—“and dives deep into her character. She’ll end up being one of Hollywood’s most sought-after actresses. You’re wrong about her. Just wait and see.”
I have no clue where this protectiveness is coming from, but it’s rearing its ugly head like someone just insulted my little sister. Yeah, sure…this is a big-brother kind of protectiveness. Let’s go with that reasoning, because any other doesn’t make sense.
“It’s not like you to hand out compliments.” The amusement in Teague’s smile kicks up a notch. “If I hadn’t seen you two together on set, I would’ve thought there was something going on between you.”