“So, you’re my client,” I said blandly. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You look the type.”
Insulting the client wasn’t part of the plan—in fact, the entire plan went to hell the minute my brain recognized the guy from the bar the night before. He didn’t seem like he’d be a diva actor who needed babysitting on the weekends because he’d decided to fly to the South of France for the weekend, get drunk, then miss his call time. I pressed my lips together. He didn’t seem violent either, or aggressive, but then again, what did I know? I’d had to lie plenty of times to protect my actors from the press. If I was paid for how many times I said, “They’re being treated for exhaustion,” I’d be a millionaire.
“So.” Reid leaned his forearms against the table, his muscles glistening under the fluorescent lights. How was that possible? “What type is that?”
“Arrogant self-absorbed actors are my specialty.”
“You forgot gay.”
“So now you admit it.”
He rolled his eyes. “I was joking.”
“I didn’t get it.” I sighed and opened the folder. “Okay, so this is how it’s going to work. I make sure you keep an impeccable reputation during filming, show you how to make the people love you—and I do mean love you—and if I do a good job, which I will, we’ll renegotiate for higher pay, which you’ll happily agree to, so we’ll sign on the dotted lines and be a match made in PR heaven. Questions?” I was being harsh, which was not normal for me. I usually started meetings with compliments and by the time we were finished signing the contract the actor was convinced that they couldn’t so much as breathe without me. I was torn between wanting to prove to Reid that he needed me versus it being the other way around. I’d never been in a situation where my client made me feel defensive, like I needed to wrap myself in body armor to keep myself safe.
“One,” he whispered. “What really happened to you this morning?” He leaned forward and sniffed. “And why do you smell like chocolate dog?”
“Aw, you’re such a charmer. We’ll have to work on that.” I patted the folder and pulled out my business card. “From here on out, I’m your girlfriend, your wife, the best friend you never had, your sister from another mister. I am your world. Stick with me, keep it in your pants, and make sure all big decisions happen before midnight and without the aid of alcohol, and I think we’ll do just fine!”
He took the card and gave me a blank stare. “Who are you?”
“Right now?” I stood on wobbly feet and inhaled sharply. “I’m your ticket to being the biggest A-list star Hollywood has ever seen.”
Clearly it was time to sell him, since his blank stare didn’t exactly exude confidence in my abilities.
“Tom Williams.” The name alone used to inflict fear in publicists around the world. He was a nightmare. A stuck-up man-child who was known more for his nightly conquests and arrests for drug possession than his acting chops.
Reid’s eyes narrowed. “He won an Academy Award last year.”
“He did.” I nodded smugly.
“Claimed his life was changed after seeing a bright white light after nearly getting hit by a car.”
“He was high.” I rolled my eyes. “And the car was electric. It ran over his toe and he collapsed, but I was sick of his crap, so I made up a story about how he should have died and was clearly spared so that the world would be a better place . . . gifted.” I rehearsed the speech all over again word for word as I locked eyes with Reid. “Gifted with the voice of angels and the heart of a saint, this is your wake-up call to be the best actor in the world. Are you going to take it?” I wiped a fake tear from my cheek and gave him a smug grin as I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms.
Reid stared at me, dumbfounded. “Clearly they gave the Academy Award to the wrong person.”
I examined my chipped fingernails. “Like I said, I’m the best.”
He grunted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“My track record is pristine,” I said in a clipped voice.
“Even if your appearance is—” He waved a hand in front of me.
“Awesome?” I added.
“I was going to say lacking.” He scrunched up his nose. “Seriously, though, what’s that smell?”
I rolled my eyes. “My mocha spilled and I may still have some shampoo in my hair because the electricity went out in my building.”
“No, no, that’s not it.” He leaned forward, his nose almost colliding with my neck as he inhaled deeply. “You smell like . . . cinnamon?”
I rejected my body’s natural reaction—the same reaction that had me wanting to lick the side of his neck to see if it tasted as good as it looked. Down, girl. “It, uh—I always put cinnamon on my whipped cream.”
He jerked back and grinned, his full mouth making me dizzy with desire. “Do you now?”
I stood on wobbly legs. “I’m off-limits, just so you know. Flirting with me will get you nowhere. In fact, I’ll probably just end up charging you more because you piss me off.”