Just the Sexiest Man Alive(35)

“Other Contenders.”

To say he was not pleased with this distinction would be an understatement.

It was the second time in less than two weeks that he had been promised the cover, only to see it go up in smoke on account of Jason f**king Andrews. It was enough to make a movie star—Hollywood’s It Guy, no less—want to fire his publicist.

Which is precisely what he had done, three minutes after arriving at Chateau Marmont and seeing the magazine Leslie had brought to their lunch meeting. What else was an It Guy supposed to do?

He certainly didn’t have time to bother with her tired excuses that she’d only promised he would be “on the cover” not “be the cover.” Whatever. He had waved her and her tired excuses off with a flick of his hand.

Scott knew that his time was now—he was hotter than hot coming off the success of A Viking’s Quest and landing the coveted lead role in Outback Nights. He needed someone who could deliver the best publicity 5 percent of all gross earnings could buy.

So now, sitting at one of the hotel’s poolside tables, Scott needed to come up with a strategy. He looked over at Rob, who had joined him for lunch once Leslie’s chair had opened up.

“I need Marty Shepherd,” Scott declared resolutely.

Rob nodded his agreement as he took another bite of his cheeseburger. “You should have Adam set it up,” he said while he chewed, referring to Scott’s manager. “Tell Shepherd that next year, you’ll settle for nothing less than Sexiest Man Alive and Most Beautiful Person of the Year.”

Scott glared at him. “That’s not what this is about.”

Rob eyed him skeptically, mumbling with a mouth full of food. “No? What’s it about, then?”

“Making sure I don’t end up a paunchy actor on some CW show whose biggest film break is Guy Whose Ass Gets Eaten in Anaconda 4.”

Rob looked hurt. “Hey—I’m on hiatus. So I’ve gained a few pounds . . . I’ll lose it by fall.” He pointed his burger at Scott. “And don’t take your Jason Andrews angst out on me.”

“I don’t have any angst,” Scott retorted. He held up the other magazine Leslie had dropped off, the most recent issue of Us Weekly. Jason’s so-called Mystery Woman.

“I’m just sick of hearing about the guy all the time. And I’m sure everyone else is, too.”

“Angst,” Rob whispered under his breath.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

Seeing Scott’s frustration, Rob adopted a more sympathetic air. Scott was higher then he on the celebrity food chain, so this meant that occasional ass-kissing, placating, and general ego-stroking was required.

“Look—you’re gonna call Marty Shepherd. The guy’s the master of publicity.” Rob grinned. “Even slightly round but cuddly character actors on CW shows whose biggest film break is a small but pivotal part in the newest Ocean’s sequel know that.” He proudly grabbed a french fry off his plate and bit down with relish.

Scott was surprised. “You got the part?”

“I’ll be filming in Vegas this Friday.”

“One day? That is a small part.”

Rob chose to ignore this. “Anyway, with Marty Shepherd, in a few weeks, that”—he pointed to the Us Weekly cover—“will be you.”

Scott set the magazine on the table in front of them. “So you think this whole thing with the Mystery Woman is just a publicity stunt?”

Rob shrugged nonchalantly, taking in the two bikini-clad pretty young things that passed by their table. It was the fourth lap of their not-so-subtle attempt to get Scott’s attention. He gave them one more walk-by before they finally gave up and said something.

“Isn’t everything these days?” Rob answered, eying the ass of the larger girl, who he guessed was pushing a size 6. If things went down with these two, this was the ass he’d be getting. “Jason Andrews has a movie coming out soon, doesn’t he?”

Scott nodded. “Inferno. Next month.”

“This sure would be a convenient way to get everyone in a frenzy over him before the film’s release.”

Scott saw the truth in this. He studied the photograph of Jason coming out of Mr. Chow’s with the so-called Mystery Woman. The woman, a brunette, had her face turned away from the cameras.

“Who do you think she is?” he asked.

Rob tore his eyes away from the pretty young things—who now were halfway around the pool—and leaned in for a better look. “I don’t know . . . she kind of looks like Kate Beckinsale. No wait—Eva Green.” He whistled his appreciation. “Definitely the best Bond girl yet. No doubt.”

Scott agreed with Rob’s guesses. The long, dark hair and body, from what he could see, definitively resembled either actress’s features. “Maybe it’s one of them . . . I can’t tell,” he mused. “She sure looks pretty f**king hot though.”

“She wouldn’t be with Jason Andrews if she wasn’t.”

When Scott glanced up sharply, Rob shrugged. “Sorry. But it’s true.”

“Who said she’s ‘with’ Jason Andrews?” Scott pointed to the photograph. “All I see are two people coming out of a restaurant.”

Rob humored this with a look. “I don’t think Jason Andrews does a lot of platonic entertaining.”