Money Shot, N.J. Harlow [thriller novels to read txt] 📗

tell the world the photos you saw in the Grapevine weresimply elaborate fakes. I will not go into my reasons forperpetuating this hoax. I am truly very sorry for the grief I havecaused these two women. I would also like to apologize to theeditors at the Grapevine. I lied to them, and stole their money. Iwill return every penny."

"My days as a Hollywoodpaparazzi are over. I will not invade the privacy of celebritiesany longer. I would encourage those I have worked with to considerthis, and suggest they use their photographic talents to createbeautiful pictures instead."

Questions followed, andRoxanne handled them all like a kid going to confession.

Bless me Father, for Ihave sinned.

The crowd didn’t even wantto give her a penance when she was done.

You know, this actingthing isn't so tough after all.

***

The producer wore acrisply pressed cream linen suit as he walked across the hotellobby. The Cayman Islands were a long way for Hal Keller to go fora story, but in this case it was worth it.

Besides, anything to dowith Desmona Jackson could be turned into a month long series andboost ratings by three share points. The thirty year old executiveproducer of the most popular entertainment television show knewviewers couldn't get enough of Desmona Jackson.

Keller headed outsidetoward the pool, enjoying the warm breeze. He looked like any otherwell-to-do tourist, tall and handsome, meeting a pretty girl at thepool.

He spotted her at the farend, a raven-haired beauty reclining on a teak chair, reading abook in the shade.

She looked up as he grewcloser. "Glad you could make it. Have a good flight?"

"Of course. Took thenetwork jet."

"You ought to stayawhile." She patted the empty chair next to her as she sat up. Hecouldn't help but admire her toned, petite body.

"I can't stay, Roxanne.Especially if you've got what you say you've got."

"And this time I madeseveral copies. But what the heck, I'll show you theoriginal."

She grabbed a cell phonefrom her purse, flipped it open, and pressed a button. "Might wannaget some popcorn."

Hal Keller took the phoneand saw a poorly framed shot of a hotel room occupied by DesmonaJackson and Nicole Wine. His eyes grew wide as he heard therevelation that would rock Hollywood for the second time in amonth.

"So the rumorsare true. She paid youoff."

"Uh-huh. Didn’t matter,she'd managed to destroy the original photos anyway. She gave meexactly what I got from the Grapevine. I just had to agree to leavethe state and never take her picture again."

"So how did you getthis?"

"I wore a bogus wire whenwe met. I knew they'd sweep me, and sure enough some flunky foundwhat he thought was a working mike. All the time I had my cellphone camera rolling. It was in the outside pocket of my purse,plain as day."

"Roxanne, this is reallygood stuff."

"That's why I called youfirst. Wanted to give you a chance to pre-empt the otherbidders."

"How much do youwant?"

"How much yougot?"

"C'mon, Rox, don't make meplay those games." He looked into her eyes and saw supremeconfidence, and the poker game was over before it started. She knewhis network had bottomless pockets when it came to theentertainment division.

"So, you gonna start thebidding," she said, grabbing her phone, "or shall I make a fewoverseas calls?"

Keller put up his hand."Okay, Okay. I can go one point five million."

"Which means you can gotwo. You can have it right now for two. Only condition is that youcan never reveal I'm the source."

"Done."

Roxanne leaned back andflagged down a hunky waiter who was carrying a tray of cocktailswith little umbrellas in them. "Two," she said. The waiter handedthem each a drink, then Roxanne signed the ticket.

"Thanks, Rox," saidKeller.

"I can afford it," saidRoxanne. She hoisted her drink toward him, "To moneyshots."

***

"He'll see you now, MissJackson."

"Thank you."

Desmona Jackson got up andheaded toward the producer's door. The perfectly coiffed blondesecretary held it open for her. She moved into the room and foundthree men behind a conference table. The room featured a panoramicview of Los Angeles, floor to ceiling windows running the length ofthe corner office.

"Desmona, nice to seeyou," said Producer Steve Ballantine. "How you holdin'up?"

"Fine," she said, lying."It's been an… interesting month."

"Yes it has," saidBallantine. "I understand that your studio has droppedyou."

She bit her lower lip andnodded.

"Well, perhaps their lossis our gain. We have a script we'd like you to consider. It's an'R' rated picture… we've done some focus groups and it turns outmen have no problem seeing you in a more, shall we say, adultsituation."

He handed her a script.She looked at the title.

Shooting Star.

Howappropriate.

"So," said Ballantine,"will you at least consider it?"

"I'm very interested,"said Desmona. "Gotta give the people what they want,right?"

"That's Hollywood," saidBallantine.

Desmona nodded. "That itis."

Copyright 2011 © N.J. Harlow

If you enjoyed Money Shot, check out thefollowing excerpt from N.J. Harlow’s novel...

"Rom-Com"

by N.J. Harlow

I used to think I was Eve in a previouslife. But then again, if that were true, I would have made theserpent eat the apple.

Doesn't really matter. These days, no Adamstands a chance against me.

Because I'm the new keeperof the Garden of Eden. Right now it's known as a television newsnetwork. I, Sydney Hack, a/k/a NeutronSyd, (Okay, okay, so I've fired a fewpeople) have been running it for a year and a half.

And the ratings have not budged one inchwith news anchored by the pageant fembots. If they don't move insix months, I'm out of a job.

That scraping sound you hear? Someoneupstairs sharpening the guillotine.

Sydney Hack, white courtesy phone, please.Your career is calling.

Time for a pre-emptive strike.

So I'm changing the rules tonight. I'm goingto start giving our target demographic, women over thirty, whatthey really want.

And what they want on their "to-do" list ison his way from the front door. He struts, as if in slow motion, achiseled six-foot-two trophy buck with tousled black hair and achin that could carve granite. I cross my legs and playfully rock aKelly green four-inch heel on my toe and smile, calling my dimplesand high cheekbones into service as he makes his way through thecrowded, dimly-lit restaurant. The brass rails and colorful tiffanylamps are suddenly painted in sepia tones as his powder blue eyesstand out like they were surrounded by