Book Title: Shooting Star
Author: Arianne Richmonde
Genre: New Adult (Novella)
Release Date: July 10,2014
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
Star Davis and Jake Wild: they’ve met their match.
19-year-old, Oscar winning Star Davis is an A-list movie star. Hell-raisingly beautiful, she tosses men aside like used Kleenex. She commands 20 million per movie—or at least did until drugs, alcohol, wild partying, and a police arrest sent her kicking and screaming into rehab.
Now she’s out, squeaky clean, and determined to win the role she was born to play: the lead in Skye’s The Limit—ready to re-conquer Hollywood.
26-year-old British director Jake Wild lives up to his name: he’s the wildest player in town. He’s also Hollywood royalty. From a family dynasty of powerful directors and producers, Jake’s home is a movie set. With reams of hot starlets at his beck and call, Jake can get any woman he wants. But with his new movie, Skye’s The Limit in pre-production, he’s decided it’s time to get serious and change his philandering ways.
Star is “liability on legs” and Jake doesn’t want her near his precious movie. But Star has wily ways of getting what she wants. And apart from the role of Skye, what she wants is Jake right where he belongs:
Under her thumb.
Lights, camera, action . . .
But the action is not what Jake expected.
New Adult Contemporary romance 17+
Arianne Richmonde is the USA TODAY bestselling author of The Pearl Series: Shades of Pearl, Shadows of Pearl, Shimmers of Pearl, Pearl, and Belle Pearl. Also the USA TODAY Bestseller, Stolen Grace, a suspense novel. When she isn't writing you can find her hanging out with her husband and family of furry animals in the French countryside. Arianne loves hearing from readers and is thrilled to bring you her latest three-part novella series, Shooting Star, Falling Star, and Shining Star which will be released at 20 day intervals throughout the summer - perfect for the beach!
STAR:
THE FIRST THING EVERYBODY wanted to know
about me (apart from who I was dating) was how the hell did a nineteen-year-old
get (a) so rich and (b) so screwed-up? I asked myself the same thing, daily.
When I glanced at myself in a passing mirror I’d say, Hey Star, what happened? And when? When exactly was it that things got
so . . . so chaotic? And what, girl, are you going to do about it? I often
wondered how I’d been so lucky, but I also took it all for granted. The way
movie stars generally do when they feel fame is their birthright.
Still, I was no fool, every day I
counted my lucky stars and knew that at any given click of God’s big fat thumb
and index finger, all this could be taken away from me.
Not
that I was some religious God freak. I had never even gone to church. But when
the chips were down I found myself making deals with God. And after I’d hit an
all-time low at rehab, I promised God—the last night I was there, in fact—that
I’d be a good girl if he could just procure that part for me. The role I’d had
my eye on.
The role I was born to play: Skye in Skye’s
The Limit.
Most people think that actors are
super-confident. But no. We’re all terrified. Terrified that we’ll be out of a
job. That the last big success was a fluke—that we’ll be discovered as phonies.
And that someone more beautiful, more talented or more something-or-other will
topple us from our pedestals. The truth is, we are fakes. All of us. That’s the nature of our job. We lie. We trick people into believing
we are someone else. When we cry, sometimes it’s real and other times an act.
And nobody can tell the difference. We’re so good at what we do that we even
fool ourselves.
Especially ourselves.
We glimmer on the red carpet. We are
glorious. Victorious—but we’re also walking time bombs. Waiting to detonate.
Waiting for our secret to be revealed. The big secret being that we’re no better than anybody else.
We get zits. We look like shit before Hair and Make-up
gets their hands on us. People dump us. Hey, even Marilyn Monroe was treated
like crap by various men.
Even goddam, luminescent, Marilyn
freakin’ Monroe.
And although I wasn’t aware of it
then, I was as vulnerable as Marilyn when I walked out of that clinic and
stepped—in my Choos—into a velvet-carpeted limo, purring like a welcoming
pussycat, waiting to take me away from the ugly world of imperfection, back to
my cocoon of beautiful chaos, that shone so brilliantly on the outside—like a
floating bubble that mirrored a cerulean-blue sky and the sun which glittered
its golden rays—blinding all my fans.
That wonderful, hopeful afternoon I
knew I was back.
Back to conquer Hollywood.
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