Hot Billionaire's Drama Queen

Davidson's [POV]

Something bitter and sour coats my tongue. An ex-girlfriend. An annoying, clingy ex-girlfriend. If I'd realized she'd turn out to be this pathetic and irritating, I would've tossed her overboard the moment she said hello at that yacht party four months ago.

"You didn't actually take any of them, did you?" I already told Benedict not to, and he's excellent at following instructions.

"Of course not. She left quite a few messages and texts, though."

"Delete them, unread. I'm not paying you to waste time with that trash."

"Already done. But I thought you should know she's not giving up."

Of course she isn't. But it's to her benefit to look for the next sugar daddy elsewhere...and as soon as possible. Every second she grows older, the less desirable she becomes as a trophy. "I already blocked her on my phone."

"I warned security," Benedict says.

"Good." This is why Benedict is my right-hand man.

"And Ella called."

"Ha. Not just once, I'll wager."

"Twenty-six times."

My teeth grind together. My half-sister always calls when she needs something. And it's almost always money. Until she got engaged, she also asked me to introduce her to rich men in my circle. She refuses to understand I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy. Not because my enemies deserve better, but because I don't want her to get to live her dream of being a rich man's wife.

"What did she want?" I ask impatiently.

"The usual. Money. Fifty K."

I nearly choke. Fifty thousand dollars? She still hasn't figured out that I'm not giving her anything? "For what? Plastic surgery?"

Benedict lets out a small, muffled laugh. He knows how much I hate my half-sibling. "No."

"Good, because it wouldn't help."

She's not ugly, per se, but her features are off. Unbalanced. Every single one of them. And living in L.A. makes it a hundred times worse, since the city's full of gorgeous women. Every small town's prettiest girl makes the journey and dreams of becoming a movie star.

"It's for her wedding." Benedict manages a calm, non-laughing tone.

"Didn't she already get fifty thousand from her mother?" I demand. Although it supposedly came from her mother, it's really my damned money. Father was many things, but he wasn't a font of cash.

"Eighty, actually. And yes, she did. But apparently she needs more."

"Tell her no. She's lucky I'm not praying for a tsunami for the wedding."

She plans to get married on a beach. With flower-festooned arches and rose petals in the air. The entire idea is ridiculous. The sea winds will sweep every petal away before the ceremony starts.

I wonder if fifty K could buy her a new and improved brain? She needs that more than a ludicrous wedding to a trust-fund moron. That way, their children won't end up with turkey-level IQs.

"I don't think the chances of a tidal wave are particularly high."

"Can't you sacrifice a goat or something? Appease Poseidon?"

"Sorry. Outside my work scope," Benedict says.

"What 'work scope'? Celebrity assistants do anything their bosses want them to do. It's not like I don't pay you enough." His salary and benefits are at least twenty percent above the usual pay for celebrity assistants. I make sure to compensate my people well. "Make it a virgin goat."

"I'm quite sure it's illegal to sacrifice an animal within the city limits."

"I'll bail you out if you get arrested."

"It won't look good if you have an assistant who gets arrested for caprinicide. Bad publicity."

"For what?"

"Caprinicide. Caprine is the adjective for goats. You know, like bovine for cows, ursine for bears, porcine for pigs..."

Benedict the aspiring writer. Of course he would know a word like that.

"Fine," I say grudgingly. My public image is important.

I run a hand along my jaw. I take after my mother one hundred percent, and that apparently means I'm too pretty for my own good. I suppose I'm good-looking, but it's hard to be impressed with something I see every time I glance in the mirror. They say familiarity breeds contempt. In my case, it's bred indifference.

But that doesn't mean I'm unaware of my good fortune. It's this face that's allowing me to make an amazing living as a model and actor. The two Netflix dramas I starred in did well, so offers for more acting roles are flooding in.

"Also, I'm going on vacation for two months starting next Monday," Benedict says. "Just a reminder, in case you decide to consult Aiden about the legal fine points of massacring goats, although I'm not sure if animal rights are his thing."

"What?" I say, stunned. "Vacation?"

"You approved it last month, remember?"

"I did? Was I sober?" He might've sprung it on me while I was drunk. Or exhausted from late-night filming or during some six-a.m. photoshoot. There's no way I said yes without a temp to replace him.

"Oh, quite. It was during your breakfast. You also had a cup of coffee before you approved, which I made for you and waited for you to finish because I didn't want you to claim I took advantage. I told you I needed two months off to finish my screenplay, and you said okay."

Hmm... I vaguely remember him saying something about wanting to win an Oscar for a screenplay. I guess that means he has to write one first. I just didn't realize it would be so soon!

"So who's going to be my assistant while you're gone?"

"You told me you'd figure something out."

"I did? I must've been high."

"Nobody gets high off one cup of coffee. Anyway... You don't have anybody in mind?"

"No." Fuck. There's no way I can live two months without an assistant who can act as a gatekeeper. And bring me coffee. And groceries and anything else that might pop into my head.

"Well, you still have today and the weekend." Benedict sounds singularly unsympathetic.

"I don't have any résumés. And I'm in Korea!"

"It's only for two months. You just need an ironclad NDA, which Aiden has already drafted for you."

"Oh yeah, that sounds super simple," I say. "You know what? You aren't going anywhere unless you get me a replacement."

"What?"

"It's only for two months, and you still have today and the weekend. And you happen to be in L.A."

"Come on!"

"Less complaining, more working."

Benedict sighs. "Fine. I'll find someone before I leave."

"Thank you. It wasn't that hard, was it?"

The second I hang up, a new flight ticket pops up on my phone. I check it and sigh. The gate is at the opposite end of the terminal. Of course. At least the lounge for first-class passengers is near the gate.

I turn around and start walking through the crowd, getting the usual looks. This airport is cavernous. Well, cavernous might not be the best word it is bright with sunlight. But holy mother of God, you could run a marathon in here.

At least the walk will give me the time to gather my thoughts. Why the hell didn't I remember this vacation? And how is Benedict going to find somebody decent?

Argh.

Although I told him to get a temp or else, I don't want to be that kind of jerk celebrity boss who makes him cancel his time off. I know an actress who called her assistant to get the poor woman to handle freakin' phone calls when her mom died, and the assistant quit, which the actress deserved. I don't want Benedict quitting on me. We work well together, and I like the guy.