Fan Service - Softcover

Danan, Rosie

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593437160 ISBN 13: 9780593437162

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

“Danan’s one of the best at breaking your heart with a single sentence...Because as romance readers we want to feel just as shattered — and just as redeemed — as the people on the page.”—New York Times Book Review

The truth is stranger than fan fiction in the next sexy paranormal rom-com from the beloved author of The Roommate.

The only place small-town outcast Alex Lawson fits in is the online fan forum she built for The Arcane Files, a long-running werewolf detective show. Her dedication to archiving fictional supernatural lore made her Internet-famous, even if she harbors a secret disdain for the show’s star, Devin Ashwood. (Never meet your heroes—sometimes they turn out to be The Worst.)

Ever since his show went off the air, Devin and his career have spiraled, but waking up naked in the woods outside his LA home with no memory of the night before is a new low. It must have been a coincidence that the once-in-a-century Wolf Blood Moon crested last night. The claws, fangs, and howling are a little more difficult to explain away. Desperate for answers, Devin finds Alex—the closest thing to an expert that exists. If only he could convince her to stop hating his guts long enough to help....

Once he makes her an offer she can’t refuse, these reluctant allies lower their guards trying to wrangle his inner beast. Unfortunately, getting up close and personal quickly comes back to bite them.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rosie Danan

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

Present day

Devin Ashwood wished he could say this was the first time he’d woken up butt naked in his backyard with no memory of the night before.

At least last time he’d been in his twenties. Call it a perk or a dangerous downside, but any former child star could tell you the consequences of mixing booze and benzos on an empty stomach.

Opening first one eye and then the other, he squinted up at the sky, trying to gauge the time based on the angle of the sun. Midday? Maybe? His parents never let him join the Boy Scouts.

Devin lifted his pounding head gingerly off the ground, wiping at dirt embedded in the surface of his scruffy cheek. His stomach rolled as he sat up. That combined with his sour tongue confirmed his suspicions: hangover.

Every muscle in his body ached. Was all this from working out? His personal trainer, Claude, had him on some new resistance-training program designed to keep his forty-two-year-old body from looking forty-two. It involved a lot of bungee cords.

Holy shit. Speaking of overworked glutes, he was ass to the wind out here. Thank god he slept on his stomach or he’d probably have second-degree burns on his junk right now.

What in the world had he gotten up to last night?

He remembered most of yesterday. After hitting the gym in the morning, he’d called his agent, gotten her voice mail, and left a rude message.

Jade had been dodging him for weeks now. As if he didn’t pay her to take his calls. Which, okay, yeah, Devin hadn’t booked anything to write home about lately, but how was he supposed to if he couldn’t get his own representation on the phone?

After hanging up, he Googled himself in a fit of self-loathing, got predictably depressed by what he found, and then fucked around playing Call of Duty until sunset. At that point he’d been desperate enough to speak to someone, anyone, other than the fourteen-year-olds on the other side of his headset who kept threatening to “pwn” him.

He broke down and asked his publicist to find him a party.

That was how he ended up all the way out in the Palisades for some cologne launch that was a total bust. If Devin wanted to smell like a lemon fucking a pine tree, he would— Well, he didn’t was the point. The only thing that made the evening halfway worth putting on dress pants was the bacon-wrapped scallops they had going around on little trays.

Devin only managed to snag one of those before some alleged former gaffer from the first season of The Arcane Files started chatting his ear off. At first, the guy, Mitchell or Michael, seemed decent. He told Devin his favorite episode was the one told through the POV of Colby’s beloved motorcycle, which did, objectively, rule. But then he asked what Devin was up to now, and when he explained he was actually trying to get the studio on board for an Arcane Files reboot, the asshole laughed.

“Wait, seriously?”

Devin got pretty drunk after that. By midnight, he was slipping the bartender a couple hundred bucks to hand him a bottle of Blanton’s and wandering off into the woods at the edge of the property.

But after that? The rest of the night wasn’t just hazy. It was missing.

Damn. It wasn’t cute to black out at forty-two. He was fucking middle-aged.

Devin got to his feet. He was filthy, his bare torso and legs covered in streaks of dried mud and scattered scrapes and shaded marks that promised to turn into full-on bruises. Running a hand through his hair, he pulled out a twig. What in the Bear Grylls bullshit . . . ?

Hobbling across his landscaper’s “vision” of a “tranquil rock oasis,” he let himself in the back door and went to put on boxer briefs. The question of whether or not he’d lost his phone in last night’s mystery exploits was answered when it rang just as he managed to hike on a pair of sweats. Unearthing the thing from a potted plant next to his front door, Devin fumbled for the accept call button.

“Jade,” he said, having seen her name on the home screen. “What the hell? I must’ve left you twenty messages. Next time you decide to go radio silent for a month, at least shoot me an email so I know you didn’t get sucked into a sex cult.”

His agent murmured some soothing excuses for her absence, something about a wellness retreat in Fiji, then suggested they meet for sushi later tonight.

Immediately, Devin’s hackles rose. Jade hated sushi.

“Whatever I heard, it’s good,” she defended, when he said as much. “I’ll order chicken teriyaki or something.”

Bullshit, he wanted to say but didn’t, too much of a coward to call her out twice in one phone call. He’d known Jade for almost twenty years; she sure as hell didn’t make a habit out of compromise.

She must have bad news. Oh fuck. What if she was quitting the business? Or pregnant?

Between the state of his hangover and delays from construction on the freeway, Devin barely managed to shower and make himself presentable before he had to haul ass to Venice Beach. An investigation into what the fuck he’d done last night would have to wait until tomorrow. It was probably fine. His publicist would have called by now if he’d done something truly heinous.

At the sushi spot, Devin’s pounding headache intensified despite the Advil he’d swallowed dry before handing his keys over to the valet.

He’d been in LA a long time. Fuck—he grimaced as he did the math—thirty-five years. Long enough to know that there were basically two kinds of places in this neighborhood: highly exclusive ones where you needed your name on a list to see and be seen, and ones crowded enough with tourists that you could count on getting hustled out in an hour so the waitstaff could turn over the table.

This place fell squarely into the latter bucket.

By the time he was escorted to the table, Jade was already there, pounding away at her phone with a steaming mug of something aggressively herbal at her elbow.

Jade wasn’t his first agent, but she was the first one Devin hired himself, a couple of years before he landed The Arcane Files. Thanks to what a judge called his parents’ “questionable investment” with his paychecks, Devin was slumming it as a cater waiter in Pasadena between auditions, barely making enough to cover rent on a shitty studio. In those dark, lean months after Sands of Time had gone off air, casting directors kept telling him he had a pretty mouth, then declining to actually book him.

At some benefit out on the water, Devin thought Jade—sleek and professional in her shiny black skirt suit—was a guest. It was only years later when they were sharing a joint in the back of a black car after the third-season wrap party that she admitted she’d snuck in a side door that night, just as hungry as he was.

“You an actor by any chance?” she asked him.

“How’d you know?” Devin had grown his hair out, paranoid about someone recognizing him working an industry event.

Looking back, that had been goofy. No one attending those galas fell into the demographic religiously watching daytime soaps.

Jade pointed to the headshot rolled up in the back pocket of his rented tux.

For some reason, she’d found that charming.

A few days later at her office—a single room rented in some warehouse out in Burbank—she offered him a contract.

“There’s one thing you should know...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593437160
• ISBN 13: 9780593437162
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 449
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: BERKLEY; https://www.penguin.com/?s=BERKLEY; ; Unit 2 Limavady Business Park; Limavady; County Londonderry; BT49 0HR; Vereinigtes Königreich
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