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Ari: I don’t think that’s a word—simpage.

I blinked at my phone. Had I entered an alternate reality?

Me: You use that word on a daily basis.

Ari: Oh, well I use it correctly. How you just used it was clearly incorrect.

Me: …

Ari: Walker’s simpage is proper when it involves agreeing with me. I’m the obvious choice in this group to worship.

Me: You just used that word.

Ari: What word?

Me: I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.

Camden: So shouty.

Ari: Here, Rookie, let me dumb it down for you. Worshiping me=good. Worshipping Golden Boy=bad. Get it?

Lincoln: I’d like to voice an objection.

Ari: Overruled.

The door opened, and the director’s assistant, a brunette wearing a tight black suit came in. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this, Mr. York. I think you’re going to besopleased with how it turns out.”

I set my phone on the table and stood up.

Her eyes greedily took me in like I was a slab of meat, and I shifted uncomfortably as two more people filed into the room. “This is Joan and Carla. They’re going to be doing wardrobe and makeup for you today.” She slowly licked her lips before shaking her head and backing out of the room.

“If you can just change into these. We’ll be waiting outside. Just holler when you’re done,” Joan…or maybe Carla said to me. I probably should have paid better attention to their names.

Whoever it was set a neatly folded pair of black briefs on the table in front of the room and then left.

I blinked at mywardrobe.

“Briefs?” I muttered, panicking as I picked them up with two fingers like they might bite me. “They didn’t mention briefs.”

Nope. This wasn’t happening. I’d never live it down. I fired off a text to my agent, Tucker.

Me: You didn’t tell me the premise of this ad was for me to be eating a burger in my underwear. Explain. Now.

It took less than a minute for the dots to pop up.

Tucker: Logan, buddy, just breathe. This is an easy gig. You’re going to look amazing. Everyone loves abs.

Me: Easy? How about you eat a burger in your underwear on TV. I swear this wasn’t mentioned in the offer you sent me.

The dots stopped, then resumed. I could almost feel the panic in his response.

Tucker: I’m eating a burger in my underwear right now, Logan. It’s not a big deal. But it was in the fine print—the fine print that I told you to read.

I didn’t have an answer for that, because I probably had skipped some of the contract, trusting thatmy agentwouldn’t have me do something like this. A mistake I wouldn’t be making again.

Tucker: You’re a professional, Logan. Just think of the zeros. Lots of zeros. Think vacation home zeros.

I groaned, throwing my head back against the wall. More like paying-for-Sloane zeros, but either way, just as expensive.