Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

I woke up with a start, only to feel a warm, wet sensation between my legs. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I looked down to see Anna's head nestled between them, bobbing up and down like her life depended on it.

"Fuck!" I groaned, overwhelmed with pleasure as she tugged at my balls, pushing me over the edge with expert ease. I might have warned her about my impending climax, had I not learned just how much of a fiend she was in bed last night.

I gently caressed her head as she pulled away and wiped the corner of her mouth with her forearm. She looked divine, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her perky, all-natural breasts were perfectly framed by her slender waist and bubble butt.

"You are beautiful," I said with complete sincerity before pulling her on top of me and planting a fierce kiss on her lips.

As my hands slid down her back and settled on her round cheeks, she broke the kiss.

"Stop right there. I'm not doing it again."

"What?" I asked innocently, pulling her hips closer.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm sore as fuck. You really wore me out last night. Not to mention, I've got a flight back to LA in a few hours. I need to get ready."

"You don't have to go," I reminded her. "I can make other arrangements for you, if that's what you want."

"Nah, I don't want to complicate things. Neither of us is looking for a relationship. I don't want to cling to you like an evil spirit."

Anna's bluntness was quite refreshing and appreciated. When I brought her over yesterday, the first thing she made clear was that she wasn't looking for anything serious, just sex. Something I was more than happy to provide.

"If you must go, then just wait a sec." I disentangled myself from her and walked—still stark naked—to the bedroom door, where one of my staff had hung an envelope on the outside handle, per my instructions. I cracked the door open and grabbed it.

Anna whistled behind me as I leaned out. "Dayumm, that ass! You've got a better booty than me."

I grinned back. "It's all in the squats." I returned to her with the envelope and handed her a pen.

"Here, sign this document, if you will." It was the NDA my legal team had prepared that morning. Anticipating how the night might go, I'd messaged Bobby to have it drawn up—he delivered, as always.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked after skimming it. "Wasn't the video consent I gave yesterday enough?" Before I could even respond, she had already signed and handed it back.

Bobby, head of my legal team, had reminded me more than once about the importance of airtight NDAs—especially when it came to one-night stands. After several lengthy discussions, we'd devised a two-step strategy to handle any potential fallout due to my sex life.

First, the girl has to give her consent on video. That's because I may not always have a contract ready on hand, but I will always have my phone. Later on, she also has to sign an NDA—one that goes beyond confidentiality. It clearly states that she acknowledges this encounter will not lead to any employment opportunities, ever. It even includes a bunch of other clauses—things like contraception, and what would happen in case the encounter resulted in a child. Most of it is just legal padding, meant only for worst-case scenarios.

At first, it felt a little tedious to shoot a consent video before every sexual encounter. Even more so during that vacation with my friends before the [The Dark Knight] shoot. That trip was way too wild for something not to come out eventually, despite the NDAs signed.

But it's always better to be safe than sorry.

I placed the signed document in my cupboard before lying back on the bed leisurely.

"So, what are you up to today?" Anna asked after getting dressed.

"Free for now, but I've got some interviews lined up later for my upcoming TV show," I replied. "It's premiering this Sunday on BBC One in the UK and HBO in the States."

"Huh," she said thoughtfully. "I'm still a little surprised you'd do TV, given where you are in your career. My agent has strictly forbidden me from taking TV roles beyond guest appearances. He says I won't become a star if I play a regular role on a show."

"Then your agent is foolish," I shot back. "A lead role on television is far better than a supporting part in a film. If he doesn't get that, maybe it's time you found a new agent."

Anna looked genuinely taken aback by my bluntness and seemed to be considering it seriously.

"Also, I'm doing this show to reinvent my image. [Disturbia], [Superbad], [The Night Of], and [The D—]" I stopped myself before I revealed too much. "Another film I've got lined up. These four projects were chosen specifically to showcase my range as an actor. At the end of the day, I don't care about the medium. If I like the project, I'll probably do it."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "So, if you got another shot at theater, would you do that again?"

I shrugged. "Probably. As long as the play, or the musical, is good enough by my standards."

She nodded, her gaze drifting to my still-naked form. "Don't you think you should get dressed?"

"Nah. I'll probably lie in a bit. It's my house, after all, and I like to sleep in the nude." I winked at her before grabbing Troy Jr. playfully. "You're more than welcome to join me. I could get lonely when you're gone."

"Haha, nice try," she grinned, stepping away. "I'm heading back to my hotel to gather my stuff."

I deflated. "Fine. I'll call one of my drivers to take you back."

(Break)

Evan was frustrated as he stared at the mess called [Twilight] in front of him. When he had agreed to work on the film series, he hadn't expected to run into so many problems. The biggest issue, of course, was Troy. His superstar brother would never admit it, but if he had put more effort into making Twilight a good movie rather than just making Twilight, the film could've been so much better.

"It doesn't make sense to add a blue filter," Evan argued for the umpteenth time. "It looks so much better without that constant reminder of the vampires' cold, lifeless world. We're making a love story, Catherine—not an angsty horror flick. Any love story needs warmth."

Catherine Hardwicke, the director he was butting heads with, finally closed her eyes, clearly trying to think it over.

"Back me up here, Tobias," Evan turned to the film's main producer.

"I like both versions, to be honest," Tobias replied. "But I agree with Evan—the blue filter makes it look too cold. We want the warmth of yellows and reds in the story."

"Alright, you've convinced me," Catherine relented at last. "What does Troy think of this?"

Tobias and Evan exchanged a quick glance before Evan lied smoothly, "He's the one who asked me to change it. I showed him some footage when I was back home last week, and he said it needed correction."

The moment Troy's name entered the conversation, Catherine's hesitation evaporated. Ever since Troy had visited the set and set Robert Pattinson on the right track, she'd become a fan, not of his acting or singing, but his production instincts. It certainly didn't hurt that he'd already won an Oscar for producing a film as acclaimed as [The Perks of Being a Wallflower], where he'd actually worked alongside Tobias.

After what felt like forever, they finally wrapped up for the day in the editing suite.

"Hoof," Tobias exhaled heavily once Catherine left. "Glad that's over. Don't get me wrong—Catherine's a good director. But she needs to understand we're not making a critical darling. Why can't she just accept that we're creating a cheesy commercial film and embrace it?"

"Women," Evan declared sagely, prompting Tobias to snort.

"If these two films turn out as successful as Troy's hoping, we'll have our work cut out for the third one. Catherine's made it pretty clear she's not coming back."

Of course, Evan already knew that. In fact, he was glad Catherine had decided to step back after directing [Twilight] and [New Moon] back-to-back. Apparently, she was already burned out by the franchise.

Ever since he heard that, an idea had been floating through Evan's mind. If the series really did become the hit they were hoping for... maybe—no. No one would allow that. He was too inexperienced.

"Earth to Evan," Tobias waved a hand in front of his face. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"It's nothing," Evan brushed it off. "Just a wild idea. I thought maybe I could take over Catherine's job if we end up doing a third movie? But surely Troy wouldn't allow that."

Tobias stayed silent for a few moments, nodding slowly as if seriously considering it. "It's not a bad idea, actually. You're great at editing and stitching scenes together, your camera instincts are great, and dare I say, even better than Catherine's in some aspects. But most important of all, you know the production inside and out."

Evan's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Tobias nodded. "If we ever reach a point where Troy greenlights a third film, I'll definitely recommend you as my pick."

Evan could only nod in a daze. He knew Troy—if Tobias vouched for him, Troy would never say no to Evan finally making his feature film debut. Now, it all came down to whether the first two films made enough money to justify a third.

As he stood to leave, Tobias stopped him. "Wait. I wanted your opinion on something."

Evan turned back. "What?"

"Benji's been sending me some scripts he likes. Since Troy's been busy with his super-secret project, I've been handling him, and Benji just sent me one I think is great. It's a TV show—not something Troy would star in, but something Phoenix could produce."

Evan gave him a confused look. "Since when did Troy become ambitious enough to produce TV shows for someone else?"

"No idea," Tobias admitted. "He mentioned something about creating an online streaming library, but the whole idea sounds a bit far-fetched. Anyway, just read the pilot and the creator's notes about possible future plotlines. I really loved it."

Evan took the script from Tobias and glanced at the title: Breaking Bad.

(Break)

Jonathan Ross sat across from me with a big grin on his face. "It's so good to see you again, Troy."

"Thank you for having me," I said warmly.

"What's going on in your life? When did you get back from the States?"

"It's been a few days," I replied honestly. "I love Los Angeles, but London is home, so I'll always come back."

The audience erupted into loud cheers at that. I gave them a wave until the noise died down.

"So, it's a big week for you," Jonathan went on. "Not only do you have a film coming out—[Superbad], which is hilarious, by the way—but you also have a TV series airing on BBC 1, where you're suspected of killing a girl you slept with. Tell me—how do you go from a filthy sex comedy to a suspense thriller?"

That was a good question, considering that I had literally shot the two projects within days of each other.

"Both roles had their own challenges," I replied. "It was my first time doing a full-on comedy, and the audience's response has been incredible."

"You deserve it," Jonathan said sincerely. "What about [The Night Of]? Usually, people in your position don't go for TV series. What made you take that on?"

"I loved the script," I said matter-of-factly. "When the creator of the show, Peter Moffat, pitched the series to me, I didn't even need to hear past the first episode—I already knew I had to do it. Every scene, every character had so much depth. As an actor, I've always wanted to explore a role in more detail, something you can't always do in a two-hour movie."

Jonathan nodded. "But don't you get that opportunity with Harry Potter?"

"Not really. I did the first movie when I was ten or eleven, and now I can't even understand some of the acting choices I made back then. Every time I watch it, I just cringe at my young, squeaky voice. With this show, I got to go through Ben's entire journey over the course of a few months, and it was an incredible experience."

Jonathan nodded sagely before leaning forward. "I've seen the first two episodes, and I have to ask—did you actually kill that girl or not?"

I laughed. "Well, I certainly didn't kill anyone. As for my character… you'll have to watch the series to the end to find out."

"I'll be doing exactly that," Jonathan promised, before turning to the audience. "The Night Of premieres this Sunday on BBC One. Don't miss it—it's one of the best suspense thrillers you'll see in years."

The crowd erupted into applause and cheers one last time as I stood up. It was a routine talk show appearance. By now, I was so used to that environment that I could run through it on autopilot.

After exchanging some small talk with Jonathan, I made my way over to a small group of fans who had waited to meet me. I liked to think I didn't indulge them too much, but most of them knew by now that I often stayed back to say hello at the very least.

I thought it would be another casual meet-and-greet. I had no idea how wrong I was.

"Troy!" a woman in her mid-forties called out.

The moment I saw her face, I froze. A sharp pain flared in my head, growing worse with every passing second I looked at her. If thinking about her had always been difficult, being in her presence was pure torture.

A million questions raced through my mind, but before I could form a single one, she threw me off even more.

"Will you please sign a photograph for me? My daughter is your biggest fan."

The look on her face said it all—she didn't want to cause a scene here in front of everyone.

With trembling hands, I took the photograph from her.

In it stood three people: the woman herself, a man with an arm draped around her shoulders, and a little girl—four, maybe five years old—standing between them, smiling sweetly. She had the same green eyes as me and looked eerily like I had as a child. The only major difference was her hair: bright red, just like the man in the photo, probably her father.

As I looked up at Carla's smiling face, one thought screamed in my head: Holy shit. I have a sister.

But before I could process that any further, the headache erupted into something unbearable.

(Break)

"Are you okay, Troy?" Carla asked, worry etched in her voice as she watched her son clutch his forehead like he was battling a brutal migraine. A small trickle of blood slipped from his nose—then, suddenly, it intensified, and his entire lower face was painted in red.

She didn't even have time to react.

Right at that moment, Troy swayed on his feet and collapsed on the floor.

Carla screamed bloody murder, and she wasn't the only one. Several of Troy's fans standing just behind her screamed in fright at that horrible scene they'd just witnessed. But before she could take a step toward him, his security team leapt into action, pushing the crowd back and forming a protective circle around him. One of the guards dropped to his knees beside Troy, checking his vitals.

"I called an ambulance!" a girl nearby cried, her voice shaking. "I hope he's okay." Then she started sobbing.

Carla wasn't much better herself.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the bleeding had stopped, but Troy still hadn't regained consciousness.

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