Page 6 of Reputation (Tempt)

The author, Meghan Hart, had been intimately involved in the entire process, even if it had all been done via email. She was very reclusive, but I’d figured she’d want to come on set for some of it. So far, she’d had her assistant send her videos. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“What are your other objections?” he asked. “Because I think you’d be perfect for this role.”

Of course he did. Though Pierce wasn’t the type to say shit he didn’t mean.

“Brooklyn,” I said, voicing my main hesitation.

“As you know, most of it will be filmed in LA. And the Abu Dhabi filming portion will only last for three weeks. Hell, part of it’s over winter break. You could take her with you.”

I wasn’t sure I had the time, let alone the desire, to take on another project. I was already stretched thin, and I knew it was affecting my daughter. So to ask her to give up part of her vacation to join me in Abu Dhabi for work… I scrunched up my face.

“Is it a hard no?” he asked.

“No,” I sighed, knowing he was right. It was an elegant solution for the studio, and the part was a good fit for me.

Hell, when I’d first read the script, I’d had the same thought. And even though casting had contacted me about it, I’d turned it down. Despite being a solo parent with a frequently unpredictable work schedule, I’d always tried to prioritize stability and routine in my daughter’s life.

Looking back now, I almost wished I’d said yes from the jump. It might have saved us all a lot of heartache.

“Anything else?” I asked after a beat of silence. Pierce was usually more efficient.

“There is one thing, actually.”

I frowned. “What’s that?”

“I heard about a book that might be released.”

“Okay,” I said, dragging out the word and wishing he’d get to the point.

“Supposedly, Annalise Windsor is going to release a memoir. A tell-all…” He waited a beat, then added, “A few early excerpts were leaked. And they don’t paint you in a very favorable light.”

“Fuck,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “How bad?”

I held my breath, hoping it wouldn’t be as terrible as I expected. Publicity—good or bad—was an occupational hazard and a fact of life. I was even more of a target since I was one of the billionaire heirs to the Huxley Hotel fortune.

My grandparents had started the company decades ago with one hotel and their entire savings. Today, the Huxley Hotels empire spanned the globe, ranging from budget-friendly extended stays to high-end luxury resorts. I might not have a hand in the day-to-day operations of the family business anymore like my cousins did, but my time there had taught me some valuable lessons that carried over into my role as an executive producer and studio head.

“Bad. I’m sending them over now.”

As soon as the email arrived, I opened it and scanned the contents. Supposed lurid details of our relationship. Allegations of wild parties, alcohol, illicit sexual acts. Not all lies. But not all truth either.

Still, her greedy, attention-seeking behavior reminded me so much of my ex-wife Trinity that I couldn’t see straight. I gripped the armrests, wishing I could toss my computer across the cabin. I should’ve known better. To most people—most women, especially—I was nothing more than a meal ticket, a conquest, or a fast-track to the Hollywood career of their dreams. Annalise was no different. Though she must be really hard up for money if she was trying to cash in on our failed relationship even now, years after it had ended.

“Unbelievable,” I seethed.

How the hell was I supposed to model healthy love and romantic relationships for my daughter when my exes kept pulling shit like this?

Fortunately, I had a great kid. And while I’d once dreamed of having more children, I couldn’t imagine putting myself in a position to give someone that much power over me ever again.

“We’ll take care of it. I’ve been in touch with your legal team, and I’ve already started working on some PR strategy as well. We don’t want this to impact awards season.”

“Agreed. Let’s have a meeting later this week to discuss it more in-depth,” I said, hoping we could quash this quickly and with little drama or expense.

“Oh, and um—” He cleared his throat. “We might also need to have a chat with your nanny.”

Pierce and I had spoken earlier in the week about Emerson’s social media now that she’d been featured in some tabloids as Brooklyn’s “hot new nanny.” It didn’t help that most of Emerson’s social media posts featured her in the tiniest running shorts or barely there bikinis. She had a great body, and she liked showing it off. Hell, I liked looking at it. Not that I was going to admit that. I couldneveradmit that.

So instead, I’d sent her an email at Pierce’s insistence. Asked her to post more “appropriate content,” even though I’d been hesitant to do so. I understood where Pierce was coming from, but Emerson hadn’t posted any pictures of my daughter.

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