Episode Hollywood Days With Hayes Novels & Stories

Also, Jason had not been coming to work. “Harry,” Grant called, following the tiny boy outside. The sun was hanging very low over the horizon, and work was done for the day. Harry turned with a smile. From what Grant heard, the boy was only passing time here before he would apply for the college of his dreams. Lucky boy. “Grant, what’s up?” “Cool, say, do you know about Jason? Been a while I saw him.” “You didn’t hear?” “What? Is there news about him?”

I replied firmly. Andrew leaned closer to me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You don't have a mere idea with whom you are dealing," he whispered, his voice dripping with confidence. "100 days, or I will marry you now," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. My heart skipped a beat as I stared back at him, realizing the gravity of his challenge. Could I resist his charm for 100 days, or would I find myself falling in love against my will?

"We're sorry to inform you that your wife passed away this morning in a car accident." The room went completely quiet. "What?" "I'm very sorry, sir." "No." The word left my mouth before I even thought about it. "No, you've got the wrong person." "Are you Mr. Adrian Hayes?" "Yes, but..." "Is your wife's name Aysha Hayes?" My mouth opened. Nothing came out for a moment. "Sir, are you still there?" "That's impossible." I looked beside me. Mira lay asleep with her back turned to me, the blanket pulled up to her shoulder. I quickly looked away and pushed the thought aside.

She hung up and stood at the window for a moment with the phone in her hand and the estate grounds below and the specific quality of the November morning, bright and cold and very clear, the kind of morning where you could see a long way in every direction. She went to find Simon. He was in his study. She knocked and he said come in and she came in and stood in the doorway without sitting, because what she was about to say did not require the chair across from the desk, which was the chair of a person in a conversation, and this was not a conversation. "Hayes has disappeared," she said. "The federal investigation moved on his residence Tuesday morning. He was gone. Voss believes he'll send s

It was our third. The first had been that night at the restaurant, my very first outing with Tristan where he'd introduced her to me then… as his wife. Now I understand why she seems so familiar. “Liora,” I answered, keeping my tone even. She raised a brow. “Liora…?” I exhaled softly. “Hayes. But it’s Cole now.” Her expression shifted. Eyes widening slightly like something just clicked. “Wait, Hayes?” she said slowly. “As in the Hayes that went down five years ago for… what was it again? A scandal, right?”

Saturday morning opened at the Hayes grandparents' residence, where the old power couple sat enjoying the innocent light of early dawn. Both of them were relaxing, sipping coffee and watching the 8AM broadcast on the giant flat screen TV centered above the mantel. Grandfather Hayes was seated in his usual armchair, his legs crossed neatly with his white socks showing. Beside him, Grandmother Hayes sat even straighter looking regal in her gold coloured cardigan. The television was, of course, murmuring in the background, playing the usual inconsequential weather forecast at first.

It’d be cool to have you in there, even if it’s just to check in. Let me know! It’s happening in 21 days—so no rush, just thought you might want to get in on the action. Travis Hayes (Yeah, it’s me, haha) Jason’s eyes narrowed at the name, lips curling slightly in an unamused smirk. His mind churned as the words settled in. Travis Hayes? The last person he ever expected to reach out to him. Of course, he didn’t exactly leave high school on the best terms. He almost didn't graduate.

Eilidhe POV The Next Day. It started with a fucking meltdown. The video hit T*****r first. Some shaky phone footage of Cole Harrington in broad daylight, losing his absolute mind on a guy outside some Beverly Hills juice bar. No audio, but it didn’t matter, his fists did the talking. The poor bastard never stood a chance. “Is he… foaming at the mouth?” Cat asked, squinting at the TV, curled into Declan’s lap. I was standing in front of the screen, hands on my hips. “Oh, he’s unhinged. Fully off his goddamn rocker.”

I’m already stressed , and the sun is barely up. I pour myself a mug of the burnt coffee , pretending the bitterness is intentional . My laptop is open because apparently my brain decided “anxiety at dawn” is my new personality. My fingers move on their own: “Hayes-Alvarez 1987.” The screen loads. Spinning wheel. Then an old news clipping pops up. Grainy photo. Two men shaking hands like they’re sealing the future between their palms. Victor Hayes — sharp jaw, storm-gray eyes full of calculation.

Adams? Hayes's expression turned to stone when he heard her, momentarily caught off guard, but he quickly recovered, his smile returning as he hastily explained, "No, no one came to me! You're reading too much into it. I just had a change of heart. I realized Mr. Yafe Stone and his crew aren't exactly the best company. I figured I'd be better off throwing in my lot with you." Celena could read between the lines, but Hayes was holding back. However, she didn't press him, instead following him into the factory.