In Too Deep (Doing Bad Things Book 2)(4)

By: Jordan Marie

“Twelve hundred for this week and twelve hundred for next?” I question him and I hate the look of victory that comes over his face.


“Fine. The rooms aren’t completely ready, but I’ll give you my best one. It’s almost finished and the air conditioning works good in there,” I tell him, and okay I’m kind of lying. The air conditioning does work, but sometimes the breakers blow if you use the receptacles in the bathroom. This guy looks haggard as hell though. I doubt he knows what a blow dryer is and that’s really the only thing you use in the bathroom…Right?

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he mocks, as I grab the key to room number seven. Seven is supposed to be a lucky number, but considering I’m contemplating picking my stapler back up and bludgeoning my new tenant with it…I have a feeling it’s not lucky at all for me.



I was an ass to the clerk. I know it, but I’m too fucking worn out to care. It’s been weeks and weeks of lawyers, negotiating and paparazzi and I’m just sick of it all. The last thing I wanted or needed was some backwoods Barbie to give me shit about renting her motel room a couple of weeks early. The place is a dump. I could wring White’s neck for suggesting it. Of course, I’m being sued for breach of contract, so I should get used to staying in dumps. It would have been so easy for me to keep my mouth shut and keep raking in the money, but in truth my career has been on its way out for years. I see what the press has been saying about me. I used to say it didn’t bother me, that I just didn’t give a damn. Maybe at one time I didn’t, but as time wears on, and the years pile up, it’s beginning to.

No one wants to think of themselves as a has been. Acting might not have been what I originally chose to do in life, but the career happened. I would have preferred going out on top, rather than becoming one of Hollywood’s C-list actors who tries to maintain their glory days with horrible roles…or worse… reality television.

Titan and Gavin think pushing me to write is the answer. I’ve always wanted to do it, but there’s something to be said about security and staying with the status quo—not making waves. I sure as fuck made waves when I walked off the set and told the producers I quit. Shit, it wasn’t waves, I’ve created a damn tsunami and it’s threatening to take me under.

If there’s a bright side to any of this, it’s the fact that White was right about one thing. Clancy, Idaho is the last place on earth anyone would look for me—or even recognize me. I can take a little comfort in that—very little.

I lie across the bed and I’m not one bit surprised to find it hard as a rock. Maybe I could send White flowers to thank him—black roses wrapped in poison ivy. I pick up my phone and dial Gavin’s number.

He picks up on the third ring.

“Hey buddy.”

“I made it here.”

“You sound so thrilled,” the bastard laughs. Sure, he can laugh. His life is going great lately and he’s got Casey. The asshole has it all. If he had to deal with all of the shit I have, he wouldn’t be laughing. Hell, he would be drunk. Which is the next thing on my list tonight.

“This place is a dump,” I sigh. I realize the motel is not really why I’m so bent out of shape, but it’s an easy place to begin.

“God you’re turning into a whiny-bitch Aden.”

“Fuck you,” I growl, rubbing my jaw and the coarse stubble scratches against my palm. I should shave or let it grow out…one of those. Maybe I could grow a beard so thick I could look like the fucking uni-bomber. It might at least get the press off my ass.

“Maybe that’s the answer,” Gavin laughs.

“What’s the answer?”

“Fucking. You need to get laid,” he responds and I roll my eyes upward at the ceiling. He can’t see me, but it makes me feel better.

My gaze freezes when it lands on the stained ceiling tiles above my head. Water has stained them a rusty-brown-red color and they sag in places I’m sure they’re not meant to. They’ll probably fall down on me one night while I’m sleeping. I can read the headlines now, “Famous American film star, Aden McIntyre found dead under a pile of debris in a flea infested motel….”

“Are you listening to me?” Gavin asks.

“Sorry, I was tuning you out. I was busy contemplating life and death.”

“Damn man, find a woman and get your dick sucked. Seriously. You’re starting to depress me.”

“The only woman I’ve seen around here is the owner of this dump.”

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