Holy shit on a stick! I was going to fillet Reid Emory with a machete, then set him on fire! What? In the span of a few hours after signing his name on the dotted line, he’s already doing his own messed-up PR stunt? I stopped walking. Wait a second. With a groan I pulled out my phone. I’d forgotten to put a Google alert on the guy. I furiously typed in his name. Rage washed over me. Twitter alerts popped up all over the place, along with TMZ, Fox News, Kelly and Michael. I placed a hand against my chest and told myself not to freak out. It, whatever it was, would blow over.
I clicked on the first article just as the geek guy spoke in hushed tones into his headset. He led me a few more feet, then stopped.
“I gotta run back to set, but Mr. Emory should join you shortly. Try to keep it to a three-question minimum. After all, you’re technically trying out for the role of a lifetime. To think! Mr. Emory’s real-life girlfriend! And it’s all going to be documented on YouTube!”
“YouTube?” Reid was dead. So dead. Deader than dead. Pretty sure that meant the contract was now void, considering I no longer had a client and I couldn’t exactly work for someone who was no longer breathing. Strangulation. That’s what I was contemplating.
“See ya!”
I turned on my now stable heel—thanks to the shoes I kept in my desk for unlucky situations like this morning—and glared.
Ten women, all beautiful, all Botoxed within an inch of their lives.
“Get in line!” one of the girls spat. Ah, the shrew speaks.
Pretty sure I’d be grumpy too if I had someone poke my face with needles while I tried to stuff my curvy body into Spanx ten sizes too small for my body.
“Yeah.” A short, blonde-headed witch turned in my direction. “We were here first, and Max said that . . .”
I was seriously going to find whoever this Max was and beat him with a baseball bat.
Max, why did that sound familiar?
Max, Max, Max.
“Max!” I shouted. Then I stomped my foot.
“Shit, what did my brother do now?” Reid said from behind me.
I was about to answer when the girls all but lost their minds and dignity and started shouting, “Pick me, Pick me!”
“This isn’t kickball,” I muttered under my breath.
“If it was”—Reid winked—“you’d be the ball, you know because of your hair—oh, wait, that’s a frizz ball.”
“Funny.”
He grinned. “No, seriously, why are these women shouting?”
“For you.” I patted him on the back. “Something to do with the real-life taming of a shrew? Oh, and tryouts.” I looked down at the sheet the geek had given me. “And apparently we need to list our food allergies. I can’t eat shellfish. That gonna be a problem?”
“What the hell?” Reid jerked the sheet out of my hand and scanned it, his face paling by the second. “Who knows about this?”
“Everyone!” one of the girls squealed. “I was at the gym on the elliptical—”
“Of course you were,” I said under my breath.
Reid leveled me with a glare and cleared his throat.
“You were?” I said in a fake cheerful voice. “On the elliptical reading Cosmo, huh?”
“How’d you know?” She jutted out her bony hip, then pouted. “Anywaaaays . . .” She dragged out anyways like a pubescent teenager at a One Direction concert. “I was on the elliptical.”
“She said that already,” I whispered.
Reid elbowed me.
“When”—she clasped her hands in front of her—“I saw it on the noon news! ‘Up-and-coming actor Reid Emory takes Method acting to the extreme!’ I wasn’t the only girl either. Tons of us started screaming when they gave us the location and what you were looking for, and honestly, I may look sweet, but I can be a real bitch. I mean, that’s what a shrew is, right? And you’re going to tame me . . .” She full-on purred the last sentence as she blinked heavily in Reid’s direction.
“Something in your eye?” I asked sweetly.
Reid grabbed me by the elbow and led me away. “Just a sec, ladies.” He hauled me around the trailer and cursed. “Do something!”
“Wait, what?” I jerked away from him, spilling coffee onto the ground. “I should kill you for this!”
“Please, that’s what you do! You spill things!”
“How do you even know that?
“Chocolate stain, right corner of your shirt, near your ear.”
“Why!” I yelled into the universe.
Reid held his hands up. “Look, I know this has been somewhat of a bad morning for you, but if we don’t fix this . . .”
“We can’t just say it was a practical joke, now can we?” I tried desperately to keep my voice even.
Screaming erupted. We both peeked around the trailer to see hair pulling and one of the girls banging her fists against her own chest. Her boobs were immobile.
“Huh.” Reid frowned. “That’s not normal.”
“Nothing about this is normal,” I hissed as one of the boobs in question made an appearance. “How is it that we’ve been working together for less than three hours and you’re already a bigger pain in my ass than the clients I’ve had over the last five years?”
He smirked. “I guess I’m just that special.”
The crying got louder.
Reid looked like he was ready to cry himself.
“Okay, okay.” I handed him his coffee. “Drink this and I’ll figure it out.”
“If we don’t pick one, I have a feeling we’re going to be worse off.” Reid shook his head, then took a long sip. “Oh, wow, you actually remembered.”
“Best friends, you and me, until the six months of filming and postproduction are complete.”
He held up his hand for a high five.
I flicked it away.