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Like I’d just said…not fucking happening.
I really needed to be able to play in Dallas next week, not go to jail for homicide.
“Okay. Thanks, David,” I said, hanging up without another word and frantically dialing Remy, the agent I shared with Lincoln. It took me three fucking tries because I was freaking out so badly.
“What’s up, my man?” Remy asked when he picked up. I could hear tons of people talking in the background. There was no one quite as good at schmoozing as Remy.
"Remy," I began, my mind spinning. "I need you to work some magic for me. Find out everything you can about the shoot Renage is doing tomorrow—whose brainchild it is, the concept, the entire angle they're pitching. Then, make sure I'm part of the shoot instead of Derek Thornton."
There was a pause, almost as if Remy was contemplating the absurdity of my request. "Ari, let me get this straight…you want me to get you in a campaign scheduled to shoot tomorrow where you replace an A list actor as the male lead?"
“Yes,” I said, relieved he got it.
“Ari, buddy. You’ve been playing great, but not this kind of great.”
I scoffed. I was playing fucking phenomenal!
I paced my living room, desperation overtaking reason. "Remy, despite the fact that you clearly have lost your mind–because I’m fucking amazing–I need you to promise them anything they want to get me in this campaign. I will do it for free. TELL THEM I HAVE A FUCKING PIERCED DICK! Just find a fucking way."
Remy sighed, an audible resignation in his voice. "Alright, Ari. But how do you expect me to explain your sudden, burning desire to participate in this campaign? Do you want to explain it to me?"
I ran a hand through my hair, my thoughts a whirlwind. "Think outside the box, Rem-dog. Tell them I've had a sudden 'epiphany,' or that I've recently developed an addiction to Renage. Well, actually…what exactly does Renage sell?”
“Ari Fucking Lancaster!” Remy spit.
“Kidding. Kidding. Of course I know what Renage is. Psssh. Tell them I’m a devoted believer in…Renage. Just get it done."
“I’ll do my best,” Remy said in the most resigned fucking voice I’d ever heard.
This was not thathardof a sell, for fuck’s sake. I was amazing.
Hours crept by like an eternity, each minute feeling like a countdown to the end of my fucking life. The prospect of Derek Thornton hovering around Blake was driving me insane. If this didn’t work, I was going to have to puncture her tires, break her phone so she couldn’t call an Uber, puncturemytires so she couldn’t borrow my car…kidnap her and take her to some deserted island. I was sure I could find one in a pinch if I really needed to.
Daddy Lincoln would let me use his new private jet.
Finally, Remy texted me. "You're in. Get ready for some media attention." There was more information he sent in a link but I didn’t click on it. I was currently on the floor, breathing in relief.
I hadn’t quite been prepared for a kidnapping.
* * *
Blake
The day of the Renage photo shoot had arrived, and I was a mess. It was the first job I’d booked in California since the Voyage Magazine job had fallen apart. Renage was a colossal opportunity, one that I hadn’t thought I had a chance at. It could be the break I’d been looking for.
As I sat in my room though, my anxiety swirled around me like a malevolent storm.
Waldo lay at my feet, his big brown eyes filled with concern. He nuzzled his wet nose against my hand, trying to offer comfort. I scratched his ears and offered him a weak smile, grateful as usual for his unwavering presence.
But no amount of furry affection could stop the relentless anxiety gnawing at me. Doubts plagued my mind, whispering insidiously that I was going to fuck it all up.
And then there was the pizza box sitting on my nightstand. I’d lost my mind and eaten it with Ari last night. I could still feel the greasy, cheese-laden slices churning in my stomach.
I stood in front of the mirror, hating every part of myself as I examined my reflection. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a harsh spotlight on my features. The voice in my head was loud this morning, making me an avalanche of self-doubt and self-loathing.
My eyes traced the lines of my body, lingering on the areas where I felt the most insecure. I was spiraling, despising every curve, every imperfection, every ounce of flesh on my body.
The guilt washing over me was familiar. I’d struggled with…food issues early on with the Shepfields. Maura kept a careful eye on my weight, weighing my food and restricting it so I looked exactly how she wanted. She’d raised me to think of food as the enemy. But an enemy I could defeat as long as I was disciplined.
