Chapter 1: Rachael Leigh Cook
Standard Disclaimer:
You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...blah blah, you know the rest.
This story may be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use, but PLEASE leave my email/name on it! That's all I ask!
This is Part 1 of an ongoing series. Yes I know the celebs don't act like this in real life, but this is a fantasy after all.
Feedback is always appreciated, as well as suggestions for this series. This one starts off kind of slow but I had to do the background info somewhere. Enjoy...
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Following the death of my father, I became the inheritor of his business as a Hollywood agent. I hadn't known too much of my father, because he left my mother and I when I was 3 to pursue his dreams in L.A. and Hollywood. Having not received a birthday card or even a call in over ten years, I wasn't exactly excited about the idea of inheriting a business. I had just graduated college with a degree in English and was looking forward to finding a job as either a columnist or a teacher or something to that effect.
My mother died right after I graduated high school, so I had been on my own for a while. I wasn't planning on attending my father's funeral, until his most loyal employee, a woman named Rebecca Carr called me at home to tell me about the inheritance. Rebecca had been with my father since he moved to L.A., and though they were intimate with each other early on she told me, passion soon gave way to a deeper friendship and she helped his business grow. It was upon her insistence that I chose to attend. My father's funeral was a bit of a scene in Hollywood, as he had spent over 20 years there building a small empire. Young and old, famous and fleeting celebrities were in attendance. People guessed right away who I was, as anyone who knew my father as well as knew me said I was almost an exact image, albeit a little skinnier.
I was about 6'1 and weighed about 170 to 180 pounds. I didn't work out religiously but I was in good shape. The most striking feature I had been told were my eyes. Apparently I had inherited from my father this icy cold stare that burned through my dark blue eyes into people. Combined with my dark brown hair, I had been told by more than one ex- girlfriend that I could look very menacing sometimes when I got even slightly angry.
Following the services, I met with the executor of my father's estate, a Mr. Blake, as well as Ms. Carr to discuss the future of the agency.
"Your father had quite a successful business here Mr. Simonds," said Mr. Blake. "Over 30 employee's, a fine stable of award winning actors, actresses and musicians, as well as close to a hundred unknown's. Keeping retainers with virtually all of them was a brilliant move by your father, as the agency is now worth an estimated $50 million dollars. Being his only heir, you stand to inherit it, as well as his home and personal finances."
I was shocked. I knew he had done fairly well (my mother never said much about him and his success) but I had no idea HOW well. Blake continued:
"You can do what you wish with the business Mr. Simonds, but before you act I suggest you speak with Ms. Carr first before deciding one way or the other," Blake said.
Ms. Carr finally spoke. She was a woman in her late 50s, still in good shape for the most part. Her hair had gone gray but not in a witchy sort of way. It seemed to fit her perfectly, as though she had aged, you could tell that she must have been very attractive in her younger years. Her brownish-green eyes danced with this natural exuberance and I couldn't help but think that she would have made a good model.
"Dean, your father loved you despite his lack of showing it. I know you didn't know him, nor do you know the slightest thing about Hollywood or being an agent, but I think that you probably have the natural charisma your father had. You really should consider running his business. That was your father's last wish, that you help it grow," she said, smiling ever so slightly when she finished. She came across as a good natured grandmother, which was probably the effect she was going for. Her last part angered me a little, trying to play the pity card.
"Look, I know that he wanted me to run things, but I don't have the slightest clue. Even with you here to help me, I would still be lost, not to mention be light years behind in learning how to schmooze this town," I said.
"I only wish I could stay to help you. Like your father, I put my heart and soul into here but now I have to cash out. There are too many memories, too much pain. Besides, I'm an old woman. I want to enjoy my late years," replied Rebecca.
"Well, that's just great. Now I have NO ONE to help me, even if I DID decide to stay!" I said, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation.
"No, no, no, that's not true. Ever since your father became sick, I knew I would be retiring. I've been training a replacement though, and I'm sure that she will be able to help you just as well as I could," said Rebecca.
We discussed and debated for over two hours, but in the end (and much to my chagrin) I agreed to stay and try to run the company for an interim period of six months, just to see how things went. That would give me time to tie up loose ends and sell clients to other agencies if need be. I went home to my father's house that night, laying in bed thinking about all that I had brought upon myself. I concluded that I was at a good cross roads and that because of the safety net of money left to me, I could afford to take a risk like this. Hey, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, maybe I'll get laid somewhere along the way.
I went into work on Monday feeling optimistic about things, as well as a little apprehensive. I went into my father's office and sat down in his chair to try and sort out files and such. I hadn't been sitting for 5 minutes when a knock came on the door.
"Come in," I said as I straightened up in my chair and tried to look my most professional.
