“No.” Becca stifled a laugh. “But he did have a nervous breakdown.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nervous breakdown.” Becca winced. “And not the typical I’m an artist, blah, blah, blah nervous breakdown where the actor just freaks out on the director and drops a lot of f-bombs.”
Dread pooled in my stomach. Yeah, I’d had a few of those actors, but Reid never fit that bill. Which made me wonder, what was his definition of a nervous breakdown?
“He, uh”—Becca leaned forward and whispered—“he’s saying he’s Batman. At least that’s what the Twitter hashtag is, though, honestly, I think you can spin it so he can audition once Ben Affleck’s time is up, you know?”
“Batman.” I repeated. “As in the caped crusader?”
“The very one.” She grinned. “So suit up, Jordan. You’ve got an actor to save.”
“And if I don’t?” I argued, already getting out of bed.
“Who knows, maybe you’ll lose your job?” Becca offered. “I’m not really sure how those things work.”
With a grumble, I forced my legs to walk over to the garment bag, which I unzipped, then grabbed the first and only dress available.
“Uh, what’s this?” I pulled out the white lingerie-looking spectacle. The lacy corset flowed down into a see-through skirt and was covered with a lacy wrap that looked like anything but normal daywear. More like I just woke up in a historical novel and the only thing I have to wear is a night rail.
“That”—Becca pointed—“is Max. Believe me, it’s best to just wear what he has for you and ask questions later.”
“Screw that.” I went to the duffel bag.
It was filled with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fruit snacks.
Cursing Max, I stomped over to the next duffel bag. That one was filled with poker chips. Great.
One duffel bag left. “Do I even want to know?” I asked aloud.
“Probably not.” Becca burst out laughing.
The bag wasn’t very heavy. I unzipped it and sighed. See-through glass shoes sparkled from the middle of the bag. “My shoes, I take it?”
“For the outfit.” She nodded.
“You’re in on this.” I sat down on the floor and sighed. “Whatever this is.”
“Yup.” She winked. “It’s always best to just do as he says. I stopped fighting long ago. Now put on the silly outfit, go out in public, and you just may be surprised what happens.”
“Is Reid really having a breakdown?”
Becca pulled out her phone and tossed it to me. It was open on her Twitter page. With a groan I scrolled through all the hashtags: #ReidisBatman #gothamissaved #capedcrusaderreal #batmanandtheshrew.
Several pictures of Reid were tagged.
And in all of them he was wearing a black cape.
And a white mask.
Batman didn’t have a white mask, but whatever. I groaned and shoved the phone back into Becca’s hand. “I guess I have work to do. And why can’t I just wear normal clothes?”
“Max’s idea of PR genius.” Becca shrugged. “You show up like you’re in costume while Reid is already in costume and it looks planned and not like he’s actually off his rocker and about five seconds away from talking to himself and feeding a dead pet bird.”
“Great,” I croaked. “I guess it semi works since we’re in this together, until I publicly shame him and then eat a pint of ice cream in my new apartment he found for me without telling!” I yelled the last part.
Becca winced. “Trust me, it will be fine. Just get through today.”
“That”—I pushed to my feet—“is going to be my mantra for the day.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
REID
Ren, Jordan’s boss, was ecstatic when I called him first thing in the morning, although he said Jordan wasn’t a fan of surprises or public displays of affection.
I told him it was all I had.
After a lot of silence and then a healthy amount of cursing, he’d told me it better go over well with the media or he was going to hang me by the balls and sprinkle me with birdseed.
And watch.
I was trying to figure out why he was so upset, but then he explained that if things went wrong it wouldn’t just be Jordan’s job but his firm’s reputation at stake.
I shivered and checked my watch. Becca texted that Jordan was on her way. The crew had torn down most of the set, but I didn’t need anything other than the park and my girl.
Well, that and a stage, props, and a few friends from Broadway.
Hell, I’d said good PR so much that day I was pretty sure it was going to become my new catchphrase: As long as it’s good PR.
“Well.” Max crossed his arms. “Our work here is done. It’s all you, kid.” He slapped me on the back. “Don’t screw up.”
“Already did.” I put the mask back on. “And thanks for trending the whole Batman thing on Twitter.”
“Dude, what else are brothers for? All I needed to do was put it on my blog. Seriously, you guys need to read my blog. I have millions of followers.”
“You have a picture of a goat, a gecko, and a snake as your background. I still don’t understand how people even take you seriously.”