“And this thing is . . .”
“No clue.” Her shrug is as indifferent as her tone is in having this conversation right now. I’m certain her thoughts are already on her date tonight. “It’s all being kept under lock and key.”
“And you’re going to miss it?”
“I know. I’ll probably shoot myself in the foot for it when you’re promoted to vice president or some shit like that after you kick ass today.”
“Yeah. Right.” I swing my arm in the aw-shucks motion and snap. “My gofer game is so strong that Xavier will promote me on the spot.”
Knowing he’s going to be there does at least provide me a positive reason for working the overtime. As much as he’s a pain in the ass, there is always opportunity when he’s in the room.
“Whatever.”
“Now, are you going to tell me what my job duties are tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
And this is why getting a late start to my career is frustrating. I’m often teamed with younger employees who aren’t often aware of the fine points.
Then again, even at Simone’s age, I would have known the intimate details.
“Come again?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs again, her smile so sugary sweet I feel cavities forming.
“Well, then can you at least tell me who the client is?”
“Nope. Like I said, everything is being kept all hush-hush.”
“Great. You don’t know what and you don’t know who. I’m beginning to not like this idea.” I groan. “Last time we had hush-hush all hell broke loose.”
Simone snorts as we both recall the disaster of taking on a shock jock as a client and trying to redeem him in the public eye. Needless to say, the redemption part was short-lived and futile in the end.
“I don’t think it’s that kind of hush-hush. I think it’s more along the lines of Xavier stealing a big name away from another firm, and we have to keep it under wraps type of thing. He wants a big staff presence to show the talent that we’re there to support him in any way possible.”
“Ah, the song and dance routine.”
“Exactly.”
“So it’s a him, then?”
“Yes. A male. I mean, at least we know it’s not some diva with ridiculous demands.”
I give her the side-eye because we both know men can rival women in the diva factor at times.
“Look, I owe you like a million . . . something.” She waves her hand and laughs. “I can’t say dollars because we both know I sure as shit don’t have that.”
“Same, girl.” I sigh, still resigning myself to the fact that I agreed to do this. “Tell me where I need to go and what time I need to be there.”
CHAPTER TWO
Bristol
“Where’s Simone?” Kevin asks the minute I enter the studio as he whisks past me like his ass is on fire. Or rather, how us junior associates are required to act regardless of whether there’s a fire or not.
But he’s not a junior associate, so that tells me the pep in his step is because Xavier is already here.
“You’re getting me tonight.”
His step falters for half a beat as he cranes his neck over his shoulder and flashes a quick smile. “I’m not going to complain about that. You know we all fight over you. Life is way easier when you’re assigned to our events.”
“I’m touched.” I place my hand over my heart and wink as he holds up a finger telling me he’ll be right back.
“Excuse us,” comes from my right. I step out of the way from a few grips who are hurriedly pushing the black, wheeled cases that exist on every sound stage I’ve ever been on. After they pass, I scan the oversized space to try and get a hint of who this hush-hush client is.
The room doesn’t give me much more to go on other than I’m clearly at a sound stage (they’re a dime a dozen in the Los Angeles area), and there is a hell of a lot of people here. Sound engineers with their headphones hanging on their necks and pieces of random tape stuck to their all-black clothing from where they’ve taped mics to someone. The hair and makeup team stand whispering furtively in one corner with their belts loaded with brushes or hair accessories either clipped around their waists or worn like a cross-body purse. The lighting crew is on ladders as they adjust moving heads and spotlights toward the middle of the stage area. Toward the far side of the room is a huddle of people where Xavier stands very much in the center, clearly in control given the rapt attention of everyone around him.
There are a few closed doors behind the huddle, but it’s too far for me to read the printed pieces of paper in the acrylic holders that typically identify whose door the talent belongs to.
And there are a dozen or more other people milling about who look important—or from my experience, are trying to look important for their own egos’ sakes.
I quickly try to call my mom and check on Jagger, but as per usual, her cell goes unanswered. What I’d give for the woman to take it out of her purse and off do not disturb so she can actually hear when I call her.
“Bristol.”
I shove my phone in my pocket and look up when my name is called from across the room. Kevin is standing beside Xavier, and they are both intently looking at me. Kevin waves for me to come over.
With a huge gulp of here we go, I make my way across the large space, ever aware that they are blatantly scrutinizing me as I go.
I’m too old to worry about Xavier and what he thinks of me. Most of the junior associates with McMann are five to seven years younger than I am and have a lot less backbone.
Both serve as a blessing and a curse for me.
Being twenty-eight means I need to be amiable and not piss off any of the senior associates or managers. It also means I’m old enough to have a good sense of self, a pocketful of experience to pull from, and have dealt with enough bullshit that I’d prefer not to tolerate any more of it.
Like I said, a blessing and a curse. Especially when my mouth opens to stand up for myself without thinking, when my younger counterparts would most likely nod with a smile and suck up whatever shitty task has been set before them.
There’s a definite yin and yang, and I’m sure as shit still finding the correct balance to it. One that won’t get my ass fired.
It’s a weird thing to be a mother, in control of all things when I’m at home, and then to come to work and take orders from everyone else.
“Do you think she’s too old?” Xavier asks as I’m within earshot.
A purse of Kevin’s lips. A tilt of his head. A bristle of my shoulders in silent rebuke.
This is the only industry where scrutinizing a person’s looks is perfectly normal and accepted.
I listen but look over my shoulder to see who they’re talking about.
“Nah. Her hair can be fixed to look right. Her skin is flawless. Great coloring with no wrinkles,” Kevin says.
“The issue isn’t her skin.” Xavier’s smile pulls tight, his eyes averting from me. “The body type is off.”
Kevin shifts on his feet as I stop before them. “True, but body inclusivity is a big thing right now. It might make a statement that looks good for him. The ‘all body types are beautiful’ type of thing.”
“You have a point.” Clearly Xavier isn’t a fan of this idea by the strained smile and muscle ticking in his jaw.
“I mean, by no means is it what we had planned, but we’re in a pinch, and no doubt she can do what needs to be done.”
“Who can do what?” I ask, looking from one to the other and then back.
“Our lead actress is sick and casting isn’t getting a response from our sourcing firm.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we might have you stand in until we can get someone here,” Kevin says while I process the subtle critiques they were just giving about my body—because that’s exactly what every woman wants to hear . . . said no woman ever.
“Wait. What?” I ask.
“I believe they’re saying that they want you to fill in as my love interest.”
The deep tenor at my back has my heart beating fiercely because I’d know that gravel dipped in velvet-sounding voice anywhere. And as much as I hope that I’m wrong, when I turn around to face its owner, every part of me stands at attention when I’m proven right.