Hollywood Nights Read Online Free

employee. He’d become a type of silent confidant, always around to witness the finer points of my screwed up, downward-spiraling life.
    Speaking of which…
    As James drove away from the apartment complex, I stared at it out of the window, watching it grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared. Simple, typical place. Eight, maybe ten units, and they all probably had the same layout as the one I’d woken up in that morning. It was nothing special, but it reminded me of the one I’d rented for the first six months I lived in Southern California, before the wave of Hollywood success came.
    The apartment didn’t intrigue me. The woman I found inside did.
    Miss No Name.
    I hadn’t slept with her. I knew that much, and part of me regretted the fact. She had a nice ass and rosebud lips, and long, tumbling brown hair with tinges of red to break up the darkness. I liked what I found that morning. Better than my usual choice on any given night. Miss No Name had more than looks.
    Miss No Name had moxie. And a hint of self-respect.
    Most women I met didn’t have either of those things once they encountered me. Whatever resolve they had always faded, and more than one of them had ended up begging me to sleep with them before we’d barely said hello. The younger version of me had loved this. I’d used it to my advantage many times, tearing through wannabe models and actresses who thought a brief relationship with me would further their careers.
    But now, with the last year of “life experience” behind me, all that was quickly becoming boring.
    James turned the car onto Santa Monica Boulevard, and we passed the familiar shops and buildings of Beverly Hills. I knew this route so well. Soon, we’d turn onto Benedict Canyon, then Mulholland Drive. Moments later, we’d arrive at the house I’d purchased during what felt like another chapter of my life, a happier time I wouldn’t ever get back. But a guy like me probably didn’t deserve real happiness.
    My phone buzzed, and I shifted in the seat until I dug it out from the back pocket of my pants. When I saw the number, I considered throwing the phone out the passenger window.
    Incoming from Kenneth, my publicist. At seven-fucking a.m.
    “What is it?” I said after I punched the answer button.
    “Have you seen LA Unfiltered this morning?” Kenneth tripped over his words. “Oh my God, Tanner.”
    “You know I hate that site. Never read it.”
    “This isn’t something about Lana, I promise.” Kenneth paused, then cleared his throat. “How many times have you been out partying this week?”
    “None.” Sounded good, right?
    “Don’t lie to me, Tanner. You can lie to everyone else, but not to me.”
    “Okay,” I said, not trying to hide my annoyance. Kenneth was a good man, and better than most, but sometimes I could do without the probing questions about my personal life. I was a grown-up. He didn’t need to babysit me. “I went out one night this week. Last night.”
    Kenneth scoffed. “Interesting, because Unfiltered has photos of you doing what looks likes Molly, and they say these photos are from Bungalow 23 ’s Rave Crave party three nights ago.”
    I sat up straighter in the seat. “What? You’re kidding.”
    “I wish,” Kenneth said, his voice turning harder. “It’s bad. First post. Ten photos. And of course, the bottle service at your table and some half-naked model-types make it all worse.”
    “Maybe it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” I said, trying my best to remember what had happened at the Rave Crave party. Goddamn it.
    “Good grief. You don’t get it, do you? This is more than drinking we’re taking about. These are photos of you doing drugs. Drugs. ”
    “Come on. Drugs?”
    “This won’t play well in the heartland,” Kenneth said. “It won’t play well here, either. In fact, it won’t play well anywhere. Did you have to go this far? MDMA? Come on, man.”
    “I bet those pictures were Photoshopped.” But I