Taming Hollywood's Ultimate Playboy. Amalie Berlin

fully passed her lips. Some words had a chameleonlike ability to become hurtful depending on who heard them. With his history, and his recent addict ex-girlfriend... If she was going to be working with him, she’d have to be more mindful.

      Before the statement could settle, or turn the room acid, she changed to what they needed to do. Work could always save them. “How long do we have to get you settled before the interviews have to start? And what time do you have to get ready for the premiere?”

      One of the assistants, Tall, Blond, and Slight—or Miles, as the others called him—answered, “As soon as possible on the interviews. Most of the reporters are here already, and from there about four hours before he has to get dressed.”

      She stood a little straighter, knowing that her words were going to irritate them. “Okay, then make sure it’s no more than two hours for the reporters. He needs a couple hours with his leg up higher than his head, and iced.”

      “Liam?” Miles looked around her to their boss.

      “She’s in charge this afternoon,” Liam said, all but pulling the words from her mind. “And if we have to sacrifice a few angry reporters in order to put in a satisfying show on the carpet, then that’s what we have to do. If you’re worried, double them up. Bring in two at a time. Limit the number of questions they can ask. We can keep them moving. You gave them all the script, right?”

      “Script?” Grace asked, zeroing in back on him.

      “Miles puts together all the information that we want them to have, they hand out copies and that keeps me from having to repeat myself. Sometimes they want a direct quote in my own words and the copy we’ve handed out is wasted, but usually they are a good way of shortening interviews.”

      Miles added, “I’ll limit them to three questions. Or maybe a time limit would be better. Three questions or...seven minutes.”

      “How many crews are there?” The math started sounding more than ridiculous.

      “You don’t want to know,” Liam said. “They were planning to have four hours to do this, but I threw a wrench into things by going to The Hollywood Hills Clinic for you first.”

      And she needed to be there in order to intercede, but Liam didn’t want people seeing her shirt. “Do you have clothes here? Other than the ones for the trip and the premieres?”

      He nodded. “Why?”

      “The crews are here and Shopper Tom hasn’t had enough time to get something here for me to wear. Thought maybe I could snag one of your button-downs and wear it instead of the polo until he gets here.”

      He nodded toward his female assistant. “Show Miss Watson what’s available in the wardrobe. The shirts I wore when I leaned out for that role eight months ago would probably work best.”

      Grace followed the woman.

      He’d leaned out?

      In general, looking at Liam’s chest was a bad idea if Grace wanted to keep her wits about her, but she couldn’t help herself now. His shoulders were broad, had always been broad. How much weight had he lost for a role? Everything looked normal to her with his clothes on... What other tortures was he putting his body through for this job?

      What would she have put her own through to turn pro? More than was sane. She’d done plenty during rehab when she’d been hanging onto a shred of hope. She had just never managed to get back there.