Hollywood Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

book, and I’ve made calls to everyone I know to let them know her tactics so they can protect their clients as well.”
    “It would be wise to at least file an official breach of contract,” Anthony’s disembodied voice adds.
    I hesitate, then say, “Whatever; just don’t get too aggressive. I don’t want to look like the bitch on this one.”
    My assistant takes a step toward me. “We all know who the bitch is in this situation, you don’t have to—”
    “I’m going to workout.” I pivot on the ball of my foot and head to my gym.
    I shock no one by my predictability in these situations. Everyone in my employ from the security guards to my chef, housekeepers, personal assistant, and publicist all know my MO . Part of the reason I keep them around is because they won’t call me out on my avoidance techniques.  
    After two hours of cardio, an hour of lifting, and forty-five minutes of yoga, my mind is almost back to normal. I’ve forgotten the interviewer’s name, the wasted years following the attack, and my love affair and fierce battle with chemical substances. I’ve forgotten everything except the attack itself. That never seems to go away.
    In the past, cocaine and heroin were the only things that could make me forget the man who ambushed me in my little North Carolina apartment. I’d only been twenty-three and filming a television series for a year. While I’d known I was famous, I never thought I was famous enough to induce psychopaths to hurt me.
    Drugs had been my only solace during the recovery process—the period when the surgeries to repair what Rodney Douglas had destroyed stopped, and I began to learn how to function again.  
    Even though I know how and where to get them, and sometimes desperately want the cool embrace of a chemically altered brain, the drugs are gone. Now only one thing can satisfy the need to stop thinking about the pain Rodney Douglas had inflicted.
    The sex I have with men from all walks of life sates me. My psychiatrist says it’s a somewhat destructive way I use to regain the power he took. It allows me to control the memories of that night and create new ones. As bad as the physical attack had been, those wounds healed.  
    She says the sexual assault is what keeps me moving from man to man in an attempt to rewrite that night of fear and loss of control. But it’s not pain—mine or another’s—I seek. BDSM isn’t what I’m into. Beyond spanking and some stiff biting, I leave that alone. Too much trust is needed to be involved in something like that, and I don’t trust easily.
    What I’m really after is the satisfactory feeling I get when I come together with another person in the absence of fear. Pure, simple fucking. No worries. No fear. The quiet of my mind after such an extreme release of tension.
    After showering and dressing, I announce, “I’m going out.”  
    Not surprised, my security detail is already waiting in pressed outfits, worthy enough of being seen in clubs and on the covers of magazines when the shutterbugs snag a good picture of me.
    “Want me to come?” Julie asks.
    My answer is the same as always. “No.”
    “Be careful, okay?”

    I bring the guy to my penthouse on the Wilshire Corridor. He was easy to pick up. Most men are. I found him at the bar and introduced myself, not that I’d needed to. His wide eyes told me he already knew who I was and what I wanted from him. As soon as the door closed behind us with Oscar and Xavier standing guard just outside, I unbuckle his belt, then pop open the fly of his jeans.
    “Don’t you want to—”
    I stop his words with my mouth by pulling his head down to mine. We kiss, and our tongues tangle for a moment before he stands up straight again, a slight edge of uncontrolled distress in his eyes. I keep him close to me by using my grip on his belt, and his pelvis presses against my abdomen.  
    “I mean . . . you’re so hot and I . . .”
    “You’re cute and young and nervous, but