Ultimate Power Read Online Free PDF Page A

boisterous crowd and sauntered up to him, all swinging hips and bouncing tits. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, pushing her bosom into his chest. “Lance, good to see you,” she breathed huskily into his ear.
    He stepped back. “Good to see you as well, Kathleen, although I can't say that it's been all that long of a time.”
    She brushed her hand down his arm, then wrapped her fingers in his. “How is the newest block buster coming along?”
    He glanced over her shoulder. “It's coming along just fine, Kathleen.” He looked down at her and forced a smile. He wanted to rub her face in it. “We've finished negotiations, four major studios are bankrolling the project. We'll start shooting in Vietnam in a couple of months, I guess.”
    She swayed like a stripper and pushed his hand into her crotch. “Any teeny-weeny part for a struggling little actress like me?”
    “As a matter of fact, there is.”
    She looked up expectantly. “Honestly, there is?”
    “I need a gopher.”
    She pouted like a stupid tart, her hand on her hip. “A gopher?”
    He scanned the room. “Funny, this place is crawling with celebrities and you're the only person no-one has heard of.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Screw you Grenard,” she said, poking a manicured finger in his face, then turned on her heel.  
    He admired her generous tush as she marched away. “You already have, Kathleen, remember?”
    She glared over her shoulder and showed him the finger.
    Bitch . He had had her career lined up for her, but she had decided to do a high budget movie for a competing studio. They had promised her fame, they had promised her a share of the box office takings, the usual shit. She had conveyed the news with fluttering eyelids, like an excited teenager receiving her first pair of designer jeans. She had been, oh so proud of being recognized by the moviemaking fraternity.  
    The movie had bombed, and she had ended up owing the studio money. Served her right for dumping her manager.  
    If you wanted loyalty get a dog. A male, not a bitch. He snorted. Besides, she was a shit actress.
    He scanned the room again, nodding with a keen sense of appreciation. He had definitely made the right choice. He bought the penthouse from a soap star, and she hadn't held back on the decorating budget. Plush carpets and marble floors and sparkling crystal chandeliers.  
    He liked the place. You had to be where the action was, man. Sure, it came with a hefty price tag, but boy, was it worth it. He sauntered over to the balcony. The wraparound glass doors were open and a gentle summer breeze wafted into the apartment, giving it a cool and airy feeling, like you were suspended in space above the city. He admired the vista. He had a two-hundred-and-seventy degree view of the sprawling soapbox town below him, it was dusk, and cars were busily criss-crossing their way around town. People on their way to dinner or lovers or auditions, or whatever else the masses in Hollywood did on Fridays to keep themselves amused.  
    He leaned back on the handrail. The party was not yet in full swing, the DJ was playing Michael Bublè, waiting for the people to get stoned and make their way up to the roof. A waiter marched up to him and bowed his head. “Champagne, Mr. Grenard?”
    Grenard took a glass. “Cheers.”
    A gay-looking guy walked past and winked at him. “Hi, Mr. Grenard.”
    Lance Grenard nodded a greeting and smiled. It was hard to keep up with all the new faces.
    He climbed the stairs up to the roof where the action was. Large speakers thumped the latest dance track hits, and a DJ on a stage bobbed his head rhythmically to the beats.  
    He high-fived an attractive brunette in a two-piece and pointed a finger at the other girls gyrating in the pool. “You better not splash.”
    “We won't Mr. Gerard,” they said, giggling.
    “Only if you promise to join us later,” a girl no older than eighteen shouted, white powder still sticking to her