Encore (Famous Book 4) Read online

  Encore

  Famous Book 4

  Eden Finley

  Encore

  Copyright © 2021 by Eden Finley

  * * *

  Cover Illustration Copyright ©

  Cate Ashwood

  http://www.cateashwooddesigns.com/

  * * *

  Professional beta read by Les Court Services.

  https://www.lescourtauthorservices.com

  * * *

  Proofread by One Love Editing

  http://oneloveediting.com/

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to: Eden Finley - permissions - [email protected]

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Blake

  2. Jordan

  3. Blake

  4. Jordan

  5. Blake

  6. Jordan

  7. Blake

  8. Jordan

  9. Blake

  10. Jordan

  11. Blake

  12. Jordan

  13. Blake

  14. Jordan

  15. Blake

  16. Jordan

  17. Blake

  18. Jordan

  19. Blake

  20. Jordan

  21. Blake

  22. Jordan

  23. Blake

  24. Jordan

  25. Blake

  26. Jordan

  27. Blake

  28. Blake

  29. Jordan

  30. Blake

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  What’s next in the Eden Finley universe?

  Also by Eden Finley

  Songs that inspired the Famous series

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Blake

  The smirk on Jordan’s lips makes me want to punch him in his goddamn beautiful face. Even across the bar, his gloating arrogance can be felt from here.

  He texted me to meet him at this old-school, exclusive cigar lounge, and the minute I walk in, I feel out of place. I’m used to people staring at me—it comes with the territory of being famous—but this is different. Everyone’s head turns like they’re witnessing a nun walking into a porn convention. Or … maybe the other way around. A porn convention walking into a … convent?

  It’s a typical men’s club, and everyone’s dressed in suits.

  Hey, my ripped jeans are designer—that’s something, thank you very much, pretentious manly men who need men-only spaces to feel superior.

  Jordan Brooks, though. He’s dressed as casually as I am, but he’s his relaxed, confident self. Like the environment needs to adapt to him, not the other way around. I haven’t known him long, but I do know enough to acknowledge he’s the complete opposite to me.

  I quit music and became an actor because I like it when I can pretend to be someone else. He’s an actor because, well, he loves attention.

  From his insane six-four height to his deep brown hair with subtle highlights and his stubbled chin, he’s undoubtedly one of the most objectively attractive men alive. His gray eyes shine in a way that’s so … Hollywood.

  I sit in the plush leather seat opposite him at his low table. “Is there a reason we’re meeting here and not at a club or somewhere less …” I look around. “Uppity?”

  “A gentleman’s agreement should be done in a gentlemen’s space.” He opens his arms wide and smiles like the smartass he is.

  “You’re holding me to this stupid bet?”

  “The bet where I told you your ex-bandmates were hooking up and you said I was crazy?”

  Damn Mason and Denver for coming out on national TV last night.

  “That would be the one. I actually found out a couple of weeks ago, but they gave me the impression they weren’t going to come out anytime soon.”

  “And you weren’t going to tell me?” Jordan pouts and looks ridiculous.

  “Hey, I’m not going to out anyone. I might not know much about the queer community, but that’s a big no-no, right?”

  “Mmhmm, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with not wanting to do my movie.”

  Not at all. Ish.

  “Are we sure this bet wasn’t a hypothetical thing?” I ask. “You know, like saying ‘I bet you ten million bucks that Marcus Talon won’t win another Super Bowl.’ Would you really make me pay you?”

  “Yep. You’d deserve it for making that idiotic bet. Marcus Talon is the GOAT.”

  I cough in between saying, “Tom Brady.”

  “Should we make this bet, then? I could do with ten million dollars. I would buy a puppy rescue and name all the puppies Blake. Blake One, Blake Two—”

  “No bet. Especially when it turns out you’re the type of guy who makes me pay up.” Why did I make this stupid bet to begin with? Oh yeah, because I thought there was no way Denver and Mason were actually messing around considering we’d worked together for seven years, and I never once got that vibe from them.

  “A bet’s a bet,” Jordan says. “Honor and bro-code and integrity are at stake.”

  “You said bro-code and integrity in the same sentence. I don’t know how serious you can really be.”

  “I am always serious.”

  Bullllllshiiiiit.

  “Why do you want me to do this movie so badly?” I ask. “I’m sure there are countless actors who could do the role—gay actors.”

  It’s not that I’m against doing the role. I actually think it would be a great opportunity for me to break out from the action franchise I’m known for. It’s going to be a big-budget romantic drama with two men as the leads. It has possible Oscar written all over it if they lean into the drama, though I’ve read the script and it feels too much like a rom-com to be considered.

  Either way, it’s a role I could play to break out of the typecast of action hero. Plus, I won’t have to gain thirty pounds of muscle to play it. That would be a nice change.

  I swear each time I wrap filming on a Coby Godspeed movie and I’m no longer rigorously working out six days a week, my muscles deflate faster than a helium balloon.

  But another straight guy playing a gay character in a movie is bound to get backlash. Representation is important, and there are plenty of queer actors out there who could do the role.

  “Ben won’t hire another queer actor,” Jordan says. “He wants a mainstream actor, someone who’ll get butts in seats, and I want you. I think you have the talent to branch out from being shirtless and running after moving trains or jumping off exploding buildings.”

  All of which I’ve never actually done, thanks to stunt doubles. This is a chance to actually advance my acting career.

  “What’s the deal with you and Ben?” I ask.

  Benjamin Randt is the director, and the entire reason I’m even up for this role is because I had a chance encounter with him and Jordan in a nightclub. That’s how it works in Hollywood.

  Jordan licks his lips. “We’re … together.” He winces.

  “Mmm, sounds like true love,” I say dryly.

  “I’m still getting used to doing the committed thing. It’s new for me.”

  “Because he doesn’t share. That’s what you said, right?” It was a passing comment Jordan made when we met—when he first tried to convince me to take on this role.

  “He’s a traditionalist like that. Until me, he’d never been with a guy, so he’s very heteronormative in his ways.”

  “And you’re not?”


  “Fuck no.” With how vehemently Jordan’s against it, I get the feeling there’s a story there and he might be protesting a little too hard.

  “How’s commitment working out for you?” I ask.

  He cringes.

  “That good?” I laugh.

  “It’s fine. Professionally, it makes sense. I think while we’re making movies together, it’s easier to be faithful than deal with the drama of jealousy and all that other bullshit.”

  “Sounds so romantic. I hope to find a relationship like yours one day.”

  “Romance is stupid.”

  “Says the rom-com actor.”

  Jordan leans back in his seat. “Okay, I’ll admit romance can work when you find someone you could tolerate forever. I’ve seen that kind of connection. My best friend from back home and his husband are so sickeningly in love nothing could come between them. But in Hollywood? Forget it. Not possible. No way. It only took me a couple of years of living here to give up on even trying for it.”

  He can’t be right about that, can he? I get it to a degree. I could never date a fan because I would constantly ask if they were with me for me or for my fame. The only way to find an equal in Hollywood is by being with another famous person, but to do that without conflicting schedules is next to impossible.

  “You know I’m right,” Jordan says.

  “I may relent that it’s hard to have something real in a world that’s so fake.”

  “Wow. That’s so philosophical.”

  “I’ve seen it happen, though.” All my ex-bandmates are in solid relationships. With men.

  By some chance, it turns out the other four guys from the once chart-topping boy band Eleven all have boyfriends, and until last night, they were all in the closet. Denver and Mason came out together while performing a duet on TV, but it’s too early to tell if it was a smart decision career-wise. That’s the downfall of Hollywood. To have any semblance of privacy, you need to be secretive, and when those secrets leak? There’s a chance this industry could turn its back on you.

  It’s that easy.

  It sucks, and I understand why Harley and Ryder still don’t feel safe enough to step out and live their truth for everyone to see.

  “You’ve seen it in Hollywood?” Jordan asks.

  “Hey, I can name a ton of Hollywood couples who have been together for practically ever. Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson. Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick. Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell.”

  “They’re the exception to the rule. Hollywood relationships are lucky to last five years. Tops.”

  I flag down a server to order a drink. “Fine. You win. I don’t even know why I’m fighting you on it when I don’t exactly have firsthand proof. All my relationships for the past ten years have been …”

  “Shallow,” he answers for me.

  “Exactly.” I’m not even sure you can call them relationships.

  “You’ll have to find someone on the set of our movie coming up. It helps when you have to spend time together.”

  “And if we have a fight and then have to still see each other every day?”

  “Be professional.” Jordan says this as if relationship drama is so easy to ignore.

  “Do you really think you could be professional if you and Ben broke up?”

  Drinks arrive, and Jordan holds his up for a toast. “That’s why I said it’s easier to do the monogamy thing with him while we’re making movies together.”

  “It just sounds so … cold and unromantic.”

  Jordan smiles.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re perfect for this role because you’re an actual romantic.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” How can I be a romantic when I’ve never experienced romance? Becoming famous at seventeen hasn’t given me the opportunity to have a normal lifestyle.

  “Come on, you know you want to,” he taunts.

  “My agent did say I should do it.”

  Jordan whips out a pen and scribbles something on a napkin.

  “Do you carry a Sharpie around with you in case someone asks for an autograph?”

  “What, you don’t?”

  “No.” Though, thinking about it, it would make things easier. It just feels so conceited.

  He slides the napkin over to me, and I huff a laugh.

  “I, Blake Monroe, solemly—spelled incorrectly, by the way—swear I will do Jordan and Ben’s gay as fuck movie. I feel like this might possibly not hold up in court?”

  “Wanna kiss on it? That’s legally binding.”

  “No, it—”

  “It is when it’s my lips. I’m really that good.”

  I sigh. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I? Besides, I don’t think Ben would be too pleased with that.”

  He holds out the pen for me. “You’re right. So sign it.”

  “Fine.” I do as he says.

  Then he stands and clasps my shoulder. “I can’t wait to have all the fake sex with you.”

  As he begins to walk off, I call after him, “Wait, there are sex scenes?”

  He spins back around. “Didn’t you read the whole script?”

  “I skimmed!”

  Jordan grins. “This is going to be so much fun.”

  Chapter Two

  Jordan

  The first day of shooting is always the best. I’m like a kid on Christmas. I can’t sleep the night before, and by the time daybreak rolls around, I’m like an excitable puppy.

  “It’s the first day,” I sing at Ben.

  He pushes me off him. “Go work out and get rid of all that excess energy. I know what you’re like on a set when you don’t.”

  “I could think of another way to wear me out …” I grind against him.

  “Let me sleep. Unless you want me firing interns and production assistants all day, go away.”

  “Fine. The weights will do me good. I have to be nice and tight for the camera today.”

  Today’s call sheet includes a scene where I’m half-naked for most of it. I’ll be swimming and come out of the pool dripping wet, and it’s supposed to be the first time Blake’s character notices how hot I am.

  Please, it’s so unrealistic. Even straight men know how hot I am. I was a model before I was an actor. I have literally made all my money off my looks.

  But I guess movies are all about the entertainment, right? Who needs realism?

  Today is going to be fun.

  Blake’s been messaging me all week and asking for character inspiration because he’s trying to get into Madden’s head. I admire him for taking this role seriously, even if he’s only doing it because he lost a stupid bet—a bet I totally would’ve let him get out of if he really wanted to, but I think deep down he knows this is a good career move for him.

  I’m excited to work with him. He’s been on my radar of actors I want to work with, and it has nothing to do with his acting skills. The man is hot. Blond hair, blue eyes, all-American boy. He didn’t catch my eye so much when he was with the boy band Eleven, but his Coby Godspeed movies where he’s being a shirtless badass …

  Whew, is it hot in here? I haven’t even started working out yet.

  I hit the gym outside in Ben’s pool house, and the plan is to work out until my excited bubble of energy has burst.

  My assistant, Jojo, turns up before that happens. She enters with my morning coffee and a wide smile. “How long have you been at it this morning?”

  I’m sweaty and breathless, but I still have too much excitement buzzing under my skin. I check the clock, and oops.

  I lift my shirt to wipe sweat from my head. “A while.” If two hours is a while. My muscles will probably cramp up later from being overworked. Either that or my adrenaline will carry me through the day, and then I won’t be able to move or get up tomorrow.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed, or you’ll be late for your first day,” Jojo says. “Ben’s already gone.”

  Okay, that’s kind of annoying.
He could’ve come to tell me. But at least if we go to the set separately, I can leave as soon as my scene is done.

  Jojo hands me my coffee. “Drink that.”

  “Thanks.” I sip it, and it’s barely lukewarm. “How long have you been here?”

  “Twenty minutes. I didn’t realize I’d have to drag your ass out of the gym. You usually only last fifteen minutes on a good day.”

  “Are you attacking my stamina or my penchant for being lazy?”

  “I said nothing about your stamina, Mr. Egotistical.”

  “Well, good. I won’t have to prove it to you. You might be a woman, but I could picture Ryan Reynolds while I have sex with you.”

  She sighs because she’s used to my shit and knows I’m one hundred percent gay and two hundred percent flirt. That makes me three hundred percent awesome.

  “I’ll pass. Thank you for the offer, though,” she says sweetly.

  “You’re always so polite.”

  “I have to be to make up for all the times you say inappropriate things.”

  “Truth.” I rush through my shower, and we get on the road, but from the minute I step on set, I know something’s wrong.

  Today’s shoot is being filmed on location at a country club in LA, but where there should be lighting and camera equipment, almost nothing is set up.

  There’s someone crying in the corner, an intern I’m guessing, production assistants are avoiding eye contact with everyone, and then I find Ben pacing by his director’s chair.