The Secret Wife Of Hollywood's Monk

tructure of concrete and glass, perched on a cliff in Beverly Hil

h to fly a kite in, Holt Nicholson stood by the wi

y sweatpants. He held a glass of whisk

" Darius Clark said from the

nist. Tortured genius. Redemption arc. It sounds l

the script. "This is raw! I need someone who can

obsidian. On the corner, sitting atop a stack of l

elvet sc

lowed Holt's move

us squinted. "Is

ually, covering the o

d. "The Monk has a secret? Who

he temperature in the r

render. "Okay, okay. Touchy. Sp

look at Darius. He looked at his

" Holt asked, hi

s it true? Because if it is, it makes my life easier. I want to auditio

was s

is encrypted phone. Please. It's th

g, smelling of vanilla and terror. He had caught her. He had wanted to pull her closer, to shield he

ars. From a distance. Through

s claiming to

urd. It wa

he only way

esting the word. "Family rela

a no! Ha! I knew it! It explains

ted," Holt s

d. "You've s

Holt lied smoothly. "She w

mused. "Alright. I'll see her. If she'

ave. "Think about the

lt said. "I have... fami

door clicked shut,

scrunchie

. He brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. The scent was

v

in. Erich walked in

ng again. She's insinuating tha

runchie, his eyes h

," Holt said qui

release a

t. It looked ridiculous against his thick forearm and t

ed a story about 'misunderstandings' and 'awkward family greet

edy?" Eri

d back to

e line again," Hol