Bad Reputation Read online

  Bad Reputation

  Callie Blake

  With Characters Created by

  India Lee

  Contents

  BAD REPUTATION

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  find me on social media!

  BAD REPUTATION

  He's everything a good girl knows to avoid...

  So why is it that she can't resist?

  Hollywood has never interested Peyton Greene.

  As her socialite cousin's unofficial caretaker, she's seen the ins and outs of the industry. The sleaziness, the backstabbing – the constant parade of womanizing assholes who break her cousin's heart every week.

  They're all bad news, and as far as she can tell, Connor Schaffer is no different.

  He's six feet and two inches of cocky, smirking asshole – the panty-dropping king of one-night stands, and everything Peyton hates. But when Connor signs a unique contract with her uncle, Peyton finds their lives suddenly entwined on a daily basis.

  And despite their nonstop, claws out fighting, she finds herself suddenly tangled in his sheets.

  Their spark was unpredictable, the sex unbelievable, and just like that, Peyton’s world is turned upside down. For the first time in her life, she’s discovering hot lust, real pleasure and everything she swore was strictly not for her.

  Long story short, Hollywood’s got this good girl screwed.

  1

  Last time I do this to you… promise!

  It was the second time this week that Peyton had gotten that text from Kensie but she didn’t think much about it anymore. Kensie was back – safely back in New York without a scratch on her skinny body. If she was going to make poor life decisions, at least she was doing it in Manhattan, where Peyton was only a cab ride away from her rescue.

  “Are we even going to get into this party? We’re dressed like shit and we smell like Pringles,” Hailey said, tying and untying the hem of her baggy tunic in attempts to make it look chic. She and Peyton had been watching their third hour of The Great British Baking Show on Netflix when Kensie’s text came in, asking to be rescued from yet another date gone wrong.

  Tonight, it was with a guy named Axe. Like the body spray. He was six-foot-two, a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet and he had a tattoo of a pink spider web on his knee. But he was an up-and-coming music producer who’d been featured on last month’s cover of Rolling Stone, so Kensie had to at least give it a chance. How else was she to become half of America’s next great power couple?

  “We’ll get in,” Peyton reassured Hailey, freeing her dark waves from a sloppy topknot. She gave a brief glance at the cab’s rearview mirror despite having no intention of fluffing her hair or doing anything to make it look like she hadn’t just been in pajamas. There was no need. She was nobody in New York but her name still managed to grace every list at the door of every party – because her socialite cousin, Kensie, knew she’d eventually rely on Peyton to get her drunk ass home. So the reason for the in was less than glamorous, but it was an in nonetheless.

  “Okay, let me get this straight though. Kensie ruins everyone’s life for three weeks but since she came back without getting herself killed somehow, she gets to redeem like, unlimited I’m-drunk-come-save-me coins?” Hailey asked while hastily bronzing her cleavage. Peyton snorted as she watched her friend.

  “You’re not allowed to trash talk when you asked to come with me tonight because you’ve never been inside Godsend,” she said, referring to the Lower East Side club that had been one of Manhattan’s hardest doors to get past for five years running. The place was an essential part of Kensie’s dating M.O – while good dates generally continued on to some intimate lounge, dates that went poorly proceeded over to Godsend, because Kensie was physically incapable of rejecting those more famous than herself – and most people were. “It just feels disrespectful – like I think I’m all that or something. I don’t want anyone to think I’m a bitch,” Kensie had explained to Peyton, “especially if I’m trying to make a name in this industry.”

  So the answer was Godsend. At Godsend, Kensie at least had an excuse to be separated from her date due to drunkenness, or run-ins with friends, or simply getting lost in the crowd. Peyton actually approved of these ways to get out of tough situations because they were better than the nights during which Kensie simply drank till one of two options happened: A, she got sloppy enough to just go home with her date, or B – Peyton’s worst nightmare – she got too sloppy to spurn his advances

  Tonight, it was the latter, which was why Peyton had her cabbie speeding down Orchard.

  “She’s kind of hilariously spineless for a super hot chick,” Hailey said. “I mean I’m sure she’s been telling guys to get lost since she was like, ten – why can’t she do it now?” she asked, running her fingers through her ashy blonde hair.

  “She just wants to let them off as easy as possible. It’s less awkward that way, when she runs into them again at parties or whatever.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think even you believe the words you’re saying, Nan.”

  Peyton dulled her hazel eyes at Hailey. Nan, short for “nanny,” was Hailey’s nickname for Peyton when it came to matters concerning Kensie’s welfare. It wasn’t a completely inaccurate description but it was old and overused and she knew that it annoyed Peyton. Hailey heaved a sigh.

  “I’m just saying. She’s twenty-five years old. She needs to start taking responsibility for herself at some point. And responsibility includes rejecting her own dates instead of letting you play bad guy for her so the whole industry thinks you’re just this harpy shrew who randomly shows up to kill her buzz.”

  Peyton didn’t respond. Hailey wasn’t exactly wrong. There were a lot of things she shouldn’t be doing for Kensie anymore and saving her from bad dates was only one thing in a list of a hundred. But her life was one long complicated explanation and though she’d known Hailey for over three years now, she didn’t feel like getting into it. So despite generally dreading date night rescue missions, Peyton rushed out of the car the second it stopped, barely waiting for Hailey as she bypassed the massive line and wall of bouncers outside of Godsend.

  “Had a feeling I’d be seeing you.” Grinning at Peyton was the cute bartender who usually worked Thursday nights. Pouring into a steel shaker, he nodded toward the mezzanine overlooking the dance floor. “She’s up there.”

  Peyton gave a nod of thanks and easily rushed up the staircase in her parchment Converses, giving another nod of thanks to the familiar bouncer who stepped wordlessly aside for her.

  Upon reaching the mezzanine, her hawk eyes scanned for all of a second before spotting Kensie’s buoyant red hair in the corner. It peeked out from behind Axe Aronson’s lanky, six-foot-two frame, which shamelessly smothered Kensie in their corner booth. Peyton felt her cheeks grow hot as she approached.

  “Hi,” she said brusquely. “Just checking that my cousin can breathe under you.”

  “Peyton!” Kensie squealed, her voice piercing through the din o
f the music. Axe hissed a string of profanity, covering his ear as Kensie burst forward into Peyton’s arms.

  “Can you stand?” Peyton asked quietly, trying to prop Kensie up in her five-inch heels.

  “Mm-hm!” Kensie lied exuberantly.

  Axe smirked. “She’s getting a little tired. We were thinking about going back to my place to get away from all the noise,” he said to Peyton’s thighs. Peyton tugged her shorts down to cover more skin. “You are… definitely more than welcome to join the festivities.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I have to get my friend home, too,” Peyton replied, nodding toward an awkward Hailey.

  “Bring her.” Axe gave Hailey the onceover, unimpressed. “She can watch,” he decided, turning back to Peyton with a leering grin. She pressed her lips into a deeply fake smile.

  “Mm, well, as enticing as that sounds, I’m gonna have to pass.”

  “Why?”

  “I have better plans for the evening.”

  “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  “Laundry,” Peyton returned flatly.

  Axe stood before her, his gaze still fixed on her as his smile faded. Quiet for a second, he finally turned to Kensie. “Babydoll. Coming home with me or what?”

  “Hm?” Kensie played dumb, her limp arms still wrapped around Peyton’s neck.

  “Sorry,” Peyton said with finality, ushering Kensie away. But the second she did, Axe grabbed a hold of her shoulder. Before Hailey could step forward, Peyton shot him daggers. “Let go.”

  Axe grinned down at her as if she were darling. “I really like the tough act, little girl, but when it comes down to it, I don’t think you wanna go head to head with me.”

  Peyton laughed, giving Axe’s body her own unimpressed onceover. She let her gaze linger on his bony, inked chest for a moment before smiling up at him daintily.

  “I could squat you,” she said, watching that smile of his once again slide off his lips.

  And with that, Hailey removed Kensie’s heels, holding them as Peyton lifted her wobbly legs off the floor, carrying her securely down the stairs and out the back where the taxi waited.

  2

  Connor raked his long fingers through his dark blonde hair, loosening his skinny tie as he sat at the bar with Liam. Their sleepy eyes surveyed the room at The Strathorne Hotel in TriBeCa. The premiere after-party had ended about an hour ago but there were still several handfuls of beautiful people lingering. The stragglers included a disproportionate number of gorgeous women in their twenties and thirties, which had Connor suspecting that they were waiting to approach him and Liam. That was usually how it went.

  Finishing his drink, he slid his rocks glass across the bar. “That was horrible,” he said, his voice gravelly after four scotches.

  “It was a bad movie,” Liam agreed.

  “Why did people even like it?”

  “‘Like’ is an understatement. It’s at ninety-six percent on Rotten Tomatoes.”

  “That’s mindblowing.”

  “People love movies about robbing casinos.”

  “I know but this one was the same as the last casino-robbing movie. And the one before that.”

  “I know.”

  “It was just bad. Who wrote that piece of shit, anyway?”

  Liam looked into his glass of whiskey before drinking. “You did.”

  Connor stared out blankly at the room. “Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, taking comfort in the sight of a leggy brunette in a black leather mini. He didn’t avert his gaze when she eyed him with a sultry look she’d probably practiced in a mirror. Connor reached for his empty scotch glass, shaking the ice. “Best part is,” he downed the diluted scotch, “I have to write a fucking sequel. To a movie called The Last Heist.”

  Liam feigned shock. “So that wasn’t the last heist, you lying son of a bitch.”

  Connor snorted. There was nothing else he could do. He was getting drunk at his own premiere with his favorite Hollywood actor and best friend of fourteen years, Liam Brody, because he could feel his own impending doom. He had signed the contract to write The Last Heist and, depending on its success, a sequel, because after eight years of working in the industry and busting his ass to win awards with small productions, he was finally ready for a massive paycheck. And The Last Heist gave him exactly that. With that paycheck, he purchased a two-bedroom duplex in Chelsea, a complete renovation of his old Doyers Street apartment – which he would use as a massive storage space for his books, bikes and snowboards – and an iconic SoHo tavern that had closed down last summer. He and Liam had put the money down together, hoping to spend this summer rebuilding the place by hand.

  But now Connor had to write the second last heist and considering the lack of material and the fact that the star-studded cast was not returning, he sensed his first flop on the way. The kind of flop that would make the remainder of his multi-million dollar contract completely not worth it. Not for his pride. He loved money but he had worked hard for his early success and stellar reputation. He regarded his career like his baby. Save from Liam and his parents, he loved that baby more than anything in the whole world.

  And now it was doomed to suffer. Connor could feel himself needing comfort in the form of another scotch.

  “Hi, Mr. Schaffer.”

  A flirtatious voice interrupted his melancholy. Connor lifted his gaze to see that leggy brunette standing before him and Liam.

  Eh, maybe he didn’t need that fifth scotch after all.

  “Hi,” he said as his eyes traveled across her hips, which stretched the leather of her mini dress so tight that it was a miracle she could walk. Connor set his glass down for a second time, feeling the warm buzz of the Laphroiag traveling up to his temples. He let his eyes wander about the girl for a bit before returning her gaze. “Connor’s fine.”

  She smiled, having expected that response. “I’m Willa. It’s such an honor to meet you, Connor. I’m a huge fan of your work.” She batted her eyelashes over toward Liam. “And yours too. I loved A Soldier. You couldn’t have deserved that Oscar more.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that,” Liam said with a polite smile before turning to his phone. Connor wanted to smack it onto the floor. Had this been a couple years ago, he and Liam would be jockeying for the same girl, trading smart jabs until her friend came along because there was always a friend.

  “My roommate is actually such a huge fan of yours, Liam,” Willa said, nodding behind her at a tall, tanned blonde in a short, white dress. That combination was one that once brought the most lecherous beast out of Liam but tonight, his dark eyes didn’t even flicker when he looked up. All he did was offer a polite smile.

  “That’s very flattering,” he said genuinely. “Please tell her I say hi,” he added before gathering his tie and jacket from another chair.

  “Don’t tell me you’re leaving,” Connor flashed a look of disbelief.

  “My friend would really love to meet you,” Willa purred, the undertones of her voice suggesting a little beyond just meeting. Connor flashed his eyebrows at Liam, a devilish smiling curving his lips. Liam laughed.

  “My fiancé’s waiting for me at home,” he said, laughing harder when Connor pretended to twitch at the word “fiancé.”

  “What was that?” Willa teased, sliding her hand up Connor’s arm as he pulled her close by her waist.

  Liam shrugged his jacket on. “He has allergic reactions to the idea commitment.”

  “That’s not true. My last relationship lasted five whole months.”

  “Impressive,” Willa humored him. Connor grinned, watching his own hand as he let it run down the perfect curve of her hip. His eyelids grew heavier as she slid it backward until he cupped her ass. Yeah, it was probably time to go.

  “Alright, brother, I’m out,” Liam laughed, giving a half salute before getting the hell away from the imminent hookup. Once he was gone, Connor looked up at Willa’s opaque green eyes. Colored contacts. Kind of weird but whatever. Connor knew he’d soon f
orget the turnoff, especially with the blonde friend sauntering over in her little white dress. She introduced herself to Connor but he promptly forgot her name. Not that it mattered. They were leaving soon anyway.

  “In case you were wondering,” Willa stroked his tie, “you don’t have to worry about commitment tonight.”

  Connor laughed as he stood and felt her hand wander briefly downward. “Yeah, I had a feeling.”

  With that, he, Willa and her friend headed for the exit. But just as they reached the door, a familiar face stopped them.

  “Just a minute, Schaffer.”

  Connor’s grey eyes blinked, slowly processing the icon standing before him with his famous silver-streaked hair, white-framed glasses and massive veneers. It was Russell Cohan. In his mid-fifties, the guy could still wear the hell out of a Givenchy suit and printed pocket square. His fake tan was a bit of an eyesore, but as a Hollywood giant who’d reigned supreme since Connor was eight, he could pretty much get away with it. Under normal circumstances, even Connor would be taken by Russell’s kind of industry royalty, but tonight, he was one scotch past the point of having normal reactions.

  “Don’t call a car just yet,” Russell smirked, taking Connor’s phone from his hand and slipping it into his own pocket. “Ladies, give us a minute.” Connor couldn’t help but groan a little as his two beauties excused themselves elsewhere.

  “You’re killing me, Cohan.”

  Russell laughed, flashing his oversized teeth. “I know you think you need to drown your sorrows in some twenty-two-year-old models right now but I’ve got a solution that will actually help instead of just numbing the pain.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t make it to your premiere tonight. But I heard your movie was good, in a generic, over-the-top, unrealistic way.”