Page 5 of Mister Mom

She rolls her eyes and nods. As soon as Jagger finds another assistant she’ll go back to her usual job of running the office. Victoria is the only person Jagger trusts to fill in when he’s between assistants—which is often—but she refuses to work for him directly, knowing how demanding he can be. I can only assume he keeps her around because she’s good at what she does.

“Afternoon, Vance. Go on in. He’s probably just in there jerking off.”

I stop at the edge of her desk and cock an eyebrow, then laugh. “You should really think of staying put in that chair. I think he may have just met his match with you.”

She turns in her chair and stands, grabbing a stack of papers. “Not sure I’m ready to admit my fate just yet.” She touches my shoulder in a friendly way as she passes me by walking down the hall.

I push open the doors to Jagger’s office, thankful that Victoria’s assumption that his dick would be in his fisted hand isn’t true. He waves me in with one hand, his feet propped up on his desk as he leans back in his chair.

Grabbing a water from his cooler by the couch, I take a seat, twisting open the bottle. He continues to work a deal on the phone for some actress while I read through the latest edition of Hollywood Reporter that he has on the table.

Once he hangs up, he rounds his desk and sits in the chair across from me. “Actresses are so temperamental,” he laments.

“Tell me about it,” I say, still thumbing through the magazine. “One bonus of being unemployed.”

The corner of Jagger’s mouth tips down and he rests his ankle on his knee. “You might not be unemployed for long.”

I toss the magazine on the table and grab my bottle of water. “You got me down here. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

The entire ride here I’ve tried to keep my expectations low. I’m not a nobody in this town, but since I’ll be releasing my script under my real name, Vance Rose, and not under the name I used when I was a producer, there’s a chance Jagger couldn’t get my script into the right hands.

“I know you didn’t want people to know that you’re Ryder Stone, that you were the executive producer of a TV show that won six Emmys its first year…”

My face shows no emotion. I’ve dealt firsthand with political bullshit in this industry. No one is immune to it. Somehow getting fired took the gleam off the coveted awards that used to line the bookshelf in my condo. They’re currently shoved in a cardboard box at the bottom of my closet.

“But?”

All he does is nod. Slowly. No words.

“Continue.”

“I had to use your background to get your foot in the door. Besides, they promised to keep it under wraps.”

“Heard that before,” I sneer, downing another gulp of my water.

“Are you going to listen to me or sit there pissed off and wallowing? I mean, getting a script made into a movie is as difficult as finding the next wholesome actress from the Midwest with raw talent.”

“You seem to find them just fine,” I deadpan.

Jagger’s not at all into my humor and I should probably drop the attitude, but the bitterness of being fired for such a bullshit reason still eats away at my insides.

“Because I’m Jagger fucking Kale.” He stands. “Get your ass up. I’m not telling you shit until you eat something. You’re always an asshole on an empty stomach.” Snatching his phone from his desk, he tucks it into his suit jacket and holds his office door open for me.

“Just tell me.”

“Fuck you. Let’s go.”

I pass by him to find Victoria’s gaze on us.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Call me with anything important.” He doesn’t wait for her to answer and beelines it toward the elevators.

“See you, Victoria. Keep rocking the pant suits.” I wink and a smile tips the edges of her lips.

“I know better than to show any of the goods around here.” She winks back and then focuses her attention to her computer. “Keep him out as long as you can, please.”

“Let’s go, drama queen.” Jagger’s hand is on the doors of the elevator.

“I’ll do my best,” I say as I backstep to the elevator.

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