Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

The deep wine-red Velora Noctis sat at the edge of the broad stone pavement outside one of Aurora’s busier business towers, its glossy body darkening almost to black wherever the afternoon sunlight failed to reach it.

Around them, the city continued doing what Aurora apparently did best, which was refusing to calm the fuck down for even five minutes. Cars slipped past the curb in polished streams, pedestrians crossed beneath enormous digital signs, delivery drones moved between buildings overhead, and somewhere across the avenue a giant screen was trying very hard to convince several million people that they desperately needed a watch worth more than a house.

Inside the Velora, Park looked away from the building and toward the green-haired girl behind the wheel.

"Thanks for driving me."

Jessie gave him a small smile. "You already thanked me."

"I’m thanking you again."

She smiled while Park reached into the narrow space beside his seat and picked up the large cream envelope he had brought with him. NX Arc’s contract sat inside along with several documents.

He checked that he had everything, tucked his phone into his pocket and pulled the passenger door open.

"Good luck," Jessie said.

Park looked back at her and nodded. "Thanks."

One shoe touched the pale paving stones outside. He was already halfway out when Jessie suddenly called him again.

"Hey, Park."

He stopped with one hand still on the door and turned.

"Yes?"

Jessie leaned across the centre console... Park had just enough time to realize she was coming closer before her lips touched his cheek.

It was soft and quick and gone almost immediately.

"Good luck," she repeated.

For perhaps half a second, Park simply looked at her.

Jessie was already beginning to regret every decision that had led to this exact moment. He could see it happening in real time. The confidence that had carried her through the first kiss was quietly packing its bags while a faint flush spread over her cheeks and her blue eyes suddenly found the steering wheel extremely interesting.

Park left the poor woman alive as a gentle smile touched his face. "Thank you."

Jessie finally looked at him: "Drive safe."

He stepped out and shut the door but the instant the dark window separated them, Jessie released the breath she had been holding for the last ten seconds and dropped her forehead lightly against the steering wheel.

"What the fuck am I doing?" She stayed there for another moment, reconsidering several life choices, then straightened, put the Velora into gear and pulled away from the curb considerably faster than dignity required.

The rear tires gave a brief angry chirp against the pavement.

Park turned at the sound and watched the wine-red sports car disappear into Aurora traffic.

A smile crept across his face.

He considered opening his phone and sending her something immediately, decided tormenting her could wait until after he secured legal representation for what might become his entire career, and finally turned toward the building behind him.

Then he looked up and kept looking.

Ashbourne, Vale & Crowe occupied a forty-storey glass-and-stone tower in the middle of Aurora’s financial district.

Park stared at the building for several seconds, genuinely wondering what the hell lawyers could possibly be doing with forty fucking floors. Were people suing each other competitively here? Did divorces get their own department? Was there an entire floor dedicated to rich men explaining why the yacht technically belonged to a holding company?

He remembered what he had read about Ashbourne, Vale & Crowe and decided forty floors might actually be conservative.

AVC was one of the Celestial Empire’s most prestigious private law firms, the sort whose client list rarely appeared anywhere in full because half the people paying them preferred that nobody knew they needed lawyers in the first place:

Major corporations used them, celebrities, Bender Families, nobles, and even foreign royals, athletes, old-money heirs and politicians all seemed to eventually wander through these doors whenever life became expensive enough to require somebody who billed by the hour to make the problem disappear properly.

And spoiled rich kids used them whenever they managed to turn a nightclub, sports car, leaked video or terrible romantic decision into a legal problem their fathers would rather never read about in the morning paper.

Park had laughed for nearly a minute when he found that particular description online.

He’d booked his own appointment.

He hadn’t asked anyone in the Bennett family for help.

Park wanted someone who was his.

So he had researched... researched some more.

He had compared firms, entertainment departments, major cases, music deals, corporate work, intellectual-property practices and enough lawyer biographies to make him question whether everybody in this profession had been born wearing navy suits.

Ashbourne, Vale & Crowe kept appearing.

Best entertainment practice... best private-client practice.

One of the strongest corporate groups in the Empire.

Major intellectual-property department.

Tax, privacy, litigation, international transactions.

Basically, if Park managed to become rich, famous, sued, robbed, copied, blackmailed, internationally taxed or somehow all six before lunch, AVC probably had a floor for it.

’Maybe that is where the forty storeys went.’

Part of him wondered whether choosing them was simply another symptom of finally having access to Bennett money and no longer possessing the psychological brakes of a broke man. There was still a part of his old brain that saw expensive things and automatically began calculating rent, groceries and how many months he could survive instead.

That part was becoming increasingly useless.

He could afford this.

More importantly, if Park was serious about building a career that crossed acting, music, songwriting, endorsements and whatever other insanity the System eventually threw at him, getting cheap legal advice simply because he was still technically a rookie who felt like saving money on brakes after buying a supercar.

For once, he wanted to do something properly from the beginning.

Park adjusted the envelope under his arm and headed for the revolving glass doors.

Two women leaving the building looked at him. One looked back after passing. A man near the entrance glanced over once, then again with an expression Park had become increasingly familiar with over the last few days. Inside the lobby, several heads shifted subtly in his direction as he crossed the polished stone floor.

Marvelous Halo doing its unpaid internship again.

Park ignored it.

The lobby was enormous without being gaudy, all pale stone, dark wood, glass and expensive silence. Several reception stations stretched behind a long black desk, with security positioned discreetly enough that ordinary clients might forget they were being watched.

Park approached one of the receptionists, a woman perhaps in her late twenties with neatly pinned hair and the professional smile of somebody who had probably seen cabinet ministers throw tantrums before breakfast.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?"

"I have an appointment with Ms. Harcourt. Nathaniel Park."

She typed his name into the terminal, recognition appeared almost immediately:

"Yes, Mr. Park. Ms. Evelyn Harcourt is expecting you."

Park resisted the deeply childish urge to look pleased that somebody important was apparently expecting him.

"Entertainment and Media is on the twenty-sixth floor. Reception there will direct you to her office."

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome."

Park crossed toward the elevators and pressed the call button. One arrived almost immediately, but before the doors could close he noticed a man hurrying across the lobby with one hand raised.

Park caught the door.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The man slipped inside, followed almost immediately by three more people who had apparently decided the elevator was now accepting late applications. By the time the doors shut, six of them stood inside.

Several exchanged greetings.

"Morning, Daniel."

"Meeting upstairs?"

"Unfortunately."

"Crowe’s already there."

"Fuck."

Park almost smiled.

’Clearly coworkers.’

He moved toward the back, took out his phone and returned to the document he had been reading in the car. Over the last two days he’d been studying entertainment contracts with an enthusiasm that would have frightened his former teachers. Masters, publishing, writer’s shares, recoupment, cross-collateralization, likeness rights, commissions, option periods, work-for-hire clauses.

Every time he thought he understood the industry, another term appeared and politely informed him that no, actually, there were seventeen additional ways somebody could legally take his money.

The woman beside him glanced toward his screen.

Then toward him before quickly away when Park looked up.

Park returned to reading...

....so owning part of the master and receiving artist royalties really were separate things.

Interesting.

The elevator chimed.

....Twenty-sixth floor. Entertainment and Media....

Park stepped out.

The atmosphere changed immediately.

This floor was alive.

Glass offices lined long corridors beyond the reception area while assistants crossed between rooms carrying files, tablets and coffee. Lawyers stood in small groups speaking quickly over documents. Several large screens displayed schedules, conference-room bookings and financial-market updates, while framed posters from films, tours and famous entertainment cases decorated portions of the walls without turning the place into some tacky celebrity museum.

Farther down the corridor, a cluster of people had gathered around one particular area.

Park caught a glimpse of security.

A photographer.

Someone in sunglasses despite being indoors.

’Celebrity, definitely.’

Park approached the second reception desk.

"Hi. Nathaniel Park. I’m here for Ms. Harcourt."

The receptionist checked her screen and smiled: "Yes, Mr. Park. Office seventeen. Ms. Evelyn Harcourt is waiting for you."

Park nodded.

"Thank you."

He adjusted the large envelope beneath his arm and started down the corridor.

His own lawyer.

Damn.

For somebody who technically hadn’t even signed his first real agency contract yet, Nathaniel Park was beginning to accumulate an alarmingly adult amount of paperwork.

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