Celebrity Playboy

What if childhood fantasies come true?

Single.

Jobless.

Homeless.

That’s what surprising my now ex-boss/ex-boyfriend earns me. 

Embarrassed by his betrayal, I retreat home to Merlot, California, swearing off men. No more players for me. It’s sabbatical time, and my friend’s mountainside cabin is the perfect place for solitude.

The plan is foolproof until I show up and find Westlyn “River” Danes—my childhood fantasy crush and the biggest Hollywood playboy—crashing there.

The problem? Westlyn isn’t at all who we gossip writers portray him to be, and my defenses slowly wane. Can I safeguard my heart against his Hollywood charm? Or will he make my childhood fantasies come true?

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“She slept with the boss. That’s the only reason why she got the last promotion. You know that, right?”

I grind my feet to a halt right outside the breakroom’s entrance. Only one person is sleeping with the boss around here, and that’s me. Scanning the hallway for any other co-workers, I grip the coffee mug tighter and strain to recognize the gossip hounds’ voices.

“That doesn’t mean she’ll get this promotion.”

Ah, that’s Mark. His voice is a hard one to miss. Whenever he talks, I picture Justin Vernon from Bon Iver. His voice is that low and sexy. But the second voice—the high-pitched soprano tone—belongs to Carla, my work nemesis. She has had it out for me ever since I wrote the article that earned me the promotion within Hot Gossip’s organization. Sleeping with the boss was a bonus I never expected.

“Keep telling yourself that,” my nemesis drones. “You don’t stand a chance. Trust me. I’ve been burned before.”

“That may be so, but Tate’s a fair guy.”

“Who thinks solely with his dick.” She scoffs and then adds, “It couldn’t be any more obvious. She turns a blind eye to all of his side pieces.”

My mouth drops open in shocked disgust as Mark’s deep chuckle grates my nerves. Is this what everyone thinks about me? That I only stay with Tate for the job while he indulges in extracurricular activities? What side pieces are they even talking about? Ugh, there’s nothing worse than working for a trashy magazine. The employees suspect everyone acts like the people they write about. Worse yet, they deal with rumors so much, they believe them.

With my shoulders back and head held high, I barge into the breakroom and flash a sardonic smile at Carla. “What seems to be the topic of discussion, folks?”

Mark’s face turns a crimson red as he suddenly finds his shoes interesting. Carla’s mouth opens and then shuts, without uttering a sound. Well, what do you know? The cure for being a catty bitch has miraculously been discovered. All it takes is confrontation.

I narrow my eyes. “Oh, you’re through bashing me now? That’s good because I think there are better ways to spend our time, yeah? Like actually trying to earn the promotion.” I turn to Mark, who I’d rather smack than be friendly to, but I need to make a point. To do that, I must play nice. “You’re a great candidate for the senior editing position. Do I want it? Hell yeah, who wouldn’t, but I’m not a shoo-in as some people want to believe. I have to earn all promotions around here just as before.” I march past them and place the coffee mug in the dishwasher. I tuck my shaking hands to my side and face them both. “And Carla, I suggest producing an eye-popping article to garner a future promotion you so desperately want. Now, if you excuse me, I have real work to do.”

Sweat breaks across my forehead as I hightail it out of there and head straight to my boss-slash-live-in boyfriend’s office. I absolutely hate confrontation—avoid it at all cost—but sometimes, taking a stand is warranted. I knew rumors flew around the office once Tate offered me the copy-editing position. I was a new hire and fresh from my master’s program. It made sense. Then, the rumors escalated after he asked me out. But get real, people. It has been five years, and we live together, for crying out loud. It shows how naïve I am because I thought the rumors had calmed down.

Apparently not.

But the infidelity rumor is a new one to me.

“Come on,” I mutter as I hit the elevator button again. My patience has reached its limit.

As much as I want the senior editing position, I’m withdrawing my name from the running. I hate letting them win, but despite Mark’s douchebag remarks, he has five years more experience than me, and unlike Carla, he’s damn good at his job. Tate more than likely will choose him anyway, but I’m not taking the chance. I need to squash these rumors.

I step off on Tate’s floor, surprised the only sound comes from my red-soled heels clicking against the marble flooring. Where’s his newly-hired receptionist, Jody? Or is it Jill? I can’t remember. He goes through too many. Not giving it a second thought, I bypass the nameless girl’s desk and swing Tate’s office door open.

“Surpri—” The word dies on my tongue. I stand immobile as the world I know crashes around me. A shriek followed by an “oh shit” jars me from my stupor. I barely recognize the exasperated laugh coming from my mouth, but it’s the only sound I emit as Tate scrambles to pull his pants up. The nameless girl pulls her skirt down and tries to button her blouse.

“Loni, I can explain.”

I blink and wonder how the hell my boyfriend of five years can explain away that he was balls deep in his new receptionist. I’ve been so stupid.

His side pieces.

Plural, as in many. Fucking Carla. She was right all along. And that thought makes my stomach churn. I’m going to be sick. Or maybe I’m going crazy because instead of laying into him, I spin on my heels and murmur, “We’re so done.” Then, I leave. The office will be buzzing with the next rumor. But this one—the one about the boss’s girlfriend moving out and quitting her job—will hold the truth

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