I step out of the cool lobby of my gym and into the blinding L.A. sunlight. I toss on some sunglasses and make my way to my Jeep, my muscles already aching with every step. I’m going to be stiff tomorrow. My trainer pushed me hard today to make up for the sessions I’ve missed. Too bad I couldn’t tell him why I’d gone AWOL.

I’m pissed off, plain and simple. When I’d tracked Kevin down at his office, dragging him out of a client conference call, and told him he had to fire Charlotte, he’d flatly refused. In fact, he seemed pleased that I was upset.

The flash of sunlight to my right draws my attention. “Christ,” I mutter, spotting the guy hiding behind a camera lens a few cars away.

I pick up my pace. I’ll probably see my picture in Us Weekly’s “Stars—They’re Just Like Us!” segment next week. It continues to surprise me how interested normal people are in celebrities’ lives. Yes, we do go to the gym, and yes, we do walk our dogs. Get over it.

The camera guy races forward as I reach my car. Within seconds he’s shoving the lens in my face to make sure he gets that ubiquitous deer-in-the-headlights shot that tabloid covers love.

“Get out of my way!” I snarl, making sure not to touch him. God forbid I lay a finger on him—the guy blocking the path to my car. I’ve gone down that road before, and Kevin had a fit over the ensuing media circus.

I shove past him and climb into my Wrangler. If the doors weren’t off, I’d slam it in the guy’s face. Instead, I settle for squealing out of the parking lot. I groan as I catch him waving at me. Maybe I shouldn’t have snarled at him like that. I bet that was the exact shot he was waiting for.

I glance down as my phone rings, and I let my car’s Bluetooth pick it up. “Hello?”

“It’s Kevin.”

Finally.

“Taken you long enough,” I say, changing lanes as I pick up speed.

“You’re not my only client, Tate. So, I got your seventeen messages…”

So I’m persistent. What actor isn’t?

“…and I’ll tell you, again, that we’re not getting rid of Charlotte.”

I clench the steering wheel. “And I’m telling you that she’s not my type.”

“Exactly. Not only will she straighten you out, but now, there’s no way this can get complicated.”

“Complicated?” I swerve around the world’s slowest Buick and gun the engine.

“Yes, like falling in love—”

“Love?” I laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I was also going to say sex. Just keep it in your pants. It only complicates things.”

Not really. Sex is fun, feels great, and I’m good at it. Why does it need to be anything other than a release? Why taint such an amazing feeling by getting involved? That’s when things get complicated.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” I say, remembering the look on Charlotte’s face at the mere mention of touching me. “My girlfriend made that clear during our meeting.”

“Great. Glad to see there’s no chance of that—” I hear faint talking in the background. “Hey, I’ve got a meeting.”

“Fine, but I still want you know that I’m against this—”

“Tate,” my agent snaps, “I’m done arguing. Sign the contract today or kiss your career goodbye.”

I roll my eyes. What an overstatement. I still don’t believe that shit about my career ending over something as stupid as my image. Talent, baby. That’s what sells.

“Oh, and you’ll also say goodbye to Ritter Agency,” Kevin adds.

I slam on my brakes for a red light. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m not tethering myself to a sinking ship. You’re committing career suicide if you don’t agree to this, and I won’t stick around to pick up the pieces.”

I grind my teeth, waiting for the red light to turn green so I can pour my frustrations into the gas pedal.

“Charlotte is it,” Kevin adds. “Make a decision by tonight.”

I slam my foot down as the light turns. I’ve outpaced everyone in seconds. “Fine. I’ll look at it.”

I punch the screen and sever the call. “Goddammit!” I don’t need to look at the contract. I already know I’m going to do it. Talent gets you far in Hollywood, but a killer agent gets you farther. And the faster I get another gig, the faster I can say goodbye to my ball and chain.

Looks like I’m looking down the blue-balls barrel of monogamy for the next few months.

* * *

I get up from my sofa to grab a beer from the fridge and plow right into Charlotte. “Whoa!” I throw my arm out and grab onto the wall.

“Sorry!” she cries, scrambling to right herself.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, motioning to the box in her hands. “That’s why Kevin hired movers.”

Charlotte’s lips tug down in a frown. “I can’t leave them to do all the work.” She glances pointedly at my sweats and empty beer bottle.

I step around her and head for the kitchen.

“You won’t even help your girlfriend move in?”

“You’re only my girl on paper, babe.” I bend over and retrieve a Red Stripe from the fridge.

“Glad to know the bar is this low.” She shifts the box in her arms. “You make the worst first impression, Tate—and second, now that I think about it.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

“Charlotte! My name is Charlotte,” she snaps. She steps around me and follows the herd of movers toward the back of the house.

I smirk at her back. “Just watch where you’re going next time, hot cakes. Don’t want to damage The Gunner.”

The Gunner? Where do I come up with this shit?

But it has the desired affect. Her body tenses as she grinds to a halt. I can feel her anger from across the room. I wait for the reaction that’s sure to come. She’ll whirl around, tell me off, and then call Kevin and tell him she quits.

But instead, she gives herself a little shake, takes a deep breath, and keeps moving.

Damn.

I shrug. There’s always next time…which is anytime now that we’re roommates.

“Tate?”

I look around as Kevin walks in my front door.

“Where’s Charlotte?” he asks.

I snort. “She’s here for five seconds, and I’m already old news?”

Kevin stops and cocks his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. How was Tate’s day?” His eyes take in my sweats and fresh beer. “Really tough, I see. Have you left Charlotte to do all the work?”

I shrug.

“Come on, this is new for her. A lot’s changed pretty quickly.”

“Not my problem,” I say, heading for the couch.

“I know you’re pissed at me and this situation, but you don’t need to take it out on her. Quit being so juvenile, or I swear, she’s going to run for the—” He stops. “Please tell me that’s not what you’re trying to do.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I don’t even bother hiding my smile.

Kevin narrows his eyes. “You really don’t think I have understudies?”

My smile slips.

“That’s right, buddy. Now, where is Charlotte?”

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder as I plunk down on the couch. “Just follow the noise.” Kevin moves past me and disappears down the hall.

I’ve just selected an episode of Mad Men when they reappear. Charlotte nods along as Kevin talks, his hands gesturing wildly. And he’s smiling—a rarity—which only means one thing: Charlotte’s already won him over.

“…Francesco will contact you tomorrow and set up a time. We’re so glad to have you here, Charlotte, and thank you for being so flexible about moving. I know we only gave you a few days’ notice.”

“It’s not a problem,” Charlotte says, tilting her head to smile up at my agent.

The smile transforms her face, lighting up her sea-blue eyes and accentuating her delicate cheekbones. Her cheeks have a rosy glow from the move, giving her face a becoming flush of color. A few loose tendrils of strawberry blonde hair have come loose from her ponytail, curling at her temples to frame her heart-shaped face.

I raise my eyebrows. She’s not horrible looking…I guess.

“There are a few more boxes,” Charlotte says. “I’ll only be a few more minutes.”

Kevin waves his hand. “Take all the time you need. We only want you to feel at home.”

Charlotte nods and then trots off toward the truck.

“What was that about?” I ask once she’s out of sight.

Kevin drags his eyes back to me. His smile is immediately replaced with a frown. “I was telling Charlotte that I’m having Sandra come by next week.”

I lean forward. “Why?”

“It’s clear that you two need to be coached on how to be a couple.” Kevin ignores my scowl. “I had hoped you’d try a little harder. Charlotte looks like the girl you go for, and she’s got a great personality—”

“You date her, then,” I mutter.

“—but you aren’t even trying. So, in order for this to not be a complete fiasco, Sandra will work with you both.” He turns toward the front door that Charlotte passed through moments before. “It may also help Charlotte get more comfortable around you.”

I take a sip of beer. “Why does that matter?”

“You know what, Tate? Cut the attitude.”

I ignore that. “Hey, what was that about Francesco? I hope you don’t mean my Francesco.”

“He’s not your Francesco. He dresses plenty of stars.”

I brush this aside. I know damn well I’m Francesco’s favorite. I never fail to draw a crowd in his suits. “What’s he got to do with Charlotte?”

“I’ve asked him to take her shopping—update her wardrobe and look.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Afraid she’ll embarrass your biggest client in public?”

“Tate!” Kevin snaps, glancing at the doorway for Charlotte. “When did you become such a snob?”

Snob?

“You lived in Rip Curl and Quiksilver when I discovered you.”

I duck my head, smarting a bit at the quick walk down memory lane. “Sorry.”

Kevin raises his eyebrows at that. It’s a rare thing to hear me apologize. “Charlotte doesn’t have thousands to drop on gowns and shoes. Just try to remember what it was like to be a struggling actor in this city. Didn’t I find you serving me a plate of eggs at Denny’s?”

I cringe and throw my hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. You’ve made your point.”

“Good.” Kevin glances at the doorway with a pleased smile.

“What is it?” I’m telling you—Kevin never smiles.

“You two are more similar than you think.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Really. She reminds me of a younger you. The fresh-eyed, wannabe actor that slogged through waiting tables for the chance to make it.”

I shrug. “That describes half this city.”

“Sure, but she’s also headstrong, determined, hard working, and stubborn.” He points a finger at me. “And that described you perfectly.”

“Described?”

“Before you got your head stuck up your own ass. Before—” Kevin waves his hand at me “—this.”

“You’re a dick, Kev,” I scowl, sinking back into the cushions.

“I’m the dick who made you something, and I’m the dick who’s going to save you from yourself.” We turn as Charlotte walks through the door clutching a huge box in her hands. I jump up to help, but Kevin reaches her first.

“Hey, now!” Kevin takes the box from her just as it slips from her fingers. “Don’t overdo it.”

Charlotte hunches over to catch her breath. “Sorry.”

“We’ll add a few spa trips to your itinerary,” Kevin says, following her down the hall to her new room.

I frown. I want a spa trip. Why isn’t he offering me—

Do you hear yourself?

I give myself a hard shake. Maybe Kevin’s right. What have I become? I glance around my spacious bachelor pad, looking for something that I love; something that I really, truly love, and didn’t have a designer pick out for me. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No, wait…

I walk over to the far corner and drag shopping bags and unused mountain climbing and camping equipment off my surfboard. I crouch down and run my hand over the rough layers of wax, sand, and salt.

Hello, old friend.

I stand up and walk over to the window, the one overlooking L.A. I glance down at my board and then back out to the hazy skyline of the “city of stars.”

Yeah, I’ve changed, and not for the better.

I turn as Charlotte and Kevin walk back in the living room, chatting happily about God knows what. She looks so natural, so genuine as she laughs at my agent’s stupid jokes. She hasn’t been chewed up and spit out by this town yet.

I sigh and turn back to the city that I’ve called home for ten years. Maybe I am a little off track. A little too Hollywood.

But I don’t see how a fake girlfriend is going to change that.