Page 2 of Exit Strategy

I stood, shaken to the core, unable to think a single coherent thought, my synapses misfiring.

The next thing I knew, my mother was helping me back into my robe. All of us girls were standing, weeping silently, some sniffling. All of us were silent as we were led out of August Emerson’s office and back out into the hallway. My mother hugged me around the shoulders and rubbed me up and down the arm.

“Oh, I’m soproud of you, honey.”

Proud of me? For what?

“Mom?” I asked, and I sounded far away, even to myself.

We girls were whisked to separate rooms of the New Eden Centre and were left to meditate. I showered, scrubbed between my legs, and cried.

When my mother returned to get me ready for the ball, I asked her, “Mama, how could you let him do that to me?”

She lowered my dress and gave me a reproachful look.

“Honestly, Calanthe! You’ve been bestowed a great honor. Are you really going to stand there andcomplainabout it? He named you First Among First Daughters. There is literally nothing higher than that. You will wear the Emerald Dress, the Vestments of New Eve.”

I stood in open mouthed horror… I couldn’t fathom…

I don’t remember being zipped into the green dress, or who put the crown of laurels on my head. I don’t remember being led back downstairs into the ballroom. I don’t remember being introduced. I don’t remember anything except his smiling eyes and rich melodic voice as he said, “Well, hello, Calanthe. It’s so very nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Arik Rex, yes, I know.”

I thought he was my salvation. That he could and would be my way out of the New Eden Centre.

Boy, was I wrong…

1

Kurt…

It seemed, as of late, that my life had been a series of bad choices.

The most recent of those choices was to enter the arena of personal protection, becoming the organizational manager of a certain celebrity’s bodyguard and entourage. He was well known, immensely popular, and his action-oriented, politically savvy, and environment/socially messaged movies were guaranteed moneymakers at the box office.

Arik Rex was the new ideal in Hollywood movie stars – strong jaw, sparkling eyes, perfect gelled hair, the best one-liners – and his movies appealed to the explosion and stunt crowd, the action series crowd, and women in the fourteen to fifty-five demographics loved him for his simmering charisma, cool awareness of social trends, and being a woke actor, without being awokeactor.

I only knew this because there were plenty of times where nothing went on requiring my attention, and the only thing to pass said time was flipping through pages of celebrity tabloids, waiting and watching. The content was shallow, the interest was transparent, and it was frankly deeply and fuckingboring.

But it was a job. Importantly, it paid well. My last job had left me floating on three months of back payroll that wasn’t going to be made good on, mostly since it had been a mistake working for a heroin cartel. Like I said, a series of bad choices.

Arik Rex was an actor of no small skill. His real acting wasn’t for the Hollywood cameras, it was for the journalists and tabloid cameras. I knew a few things about him. He had no problem spendingspecial timewith his fans, despite being married to a beautiful, younger woman. He also had something of a cocaine habit, but I had certainly seen worse – both in terms of worse drugs, and worse drug usage. He was somewhere between a method actor and a character actor, and when something or someone forced him to break character, the man fucking lost it. The“no phones on set”rule wasn’t to prevent leaks from filming, or of the set itself, it was to make sure that no one caught one of his tirades and shared it.

Audio of one of them had leaked before my time and it had beenweeksof scandal on the celebrity gossip shows and in the gossip rags. It was also one of the things that had ushered my predecessor out of my current position and provided the opportunity for me to step into the role in his stead.

It was impressive, really – one of Arik’s tantrums. He would be completely in character, whatever would happen, and then next thing you knew, he had broken out in a sweat, eyes bulging like he’s choking or about to shit himself, and then it’s screaming and throwing things. Everyone else would roll over and show their bellies, not literally, but figuratively. There would be people scurrying away, hiding. Some would attempt apologies, sometimes things would be thrown attheminstead of just in general for their trying.

It might have been impressive even to me if I hadn’t been through boot camp for Her Majesty’s Royal Marines and hadn’t spent years in Afghanistan and Iraq. Listening to some polished American dandy pop off was nothing particularly intimidating. When it came to people screaming in my face, he wasn’t even on the top ten list for anything other than maybe being the wealthiest person to do so.

And that seemed to earn me some credit with him, gained his respect. Indifference about his sexual escapades and drug use cemented the deal.

The job was a paycheck and that was something I needed. My previous employers had certainly been worse people, less reliable on payday, and much more intimidating to deal with. The other nice part was that the people I did have asenemiesnow were paparazzi, and fans, and sometimes people who were part of production. Again, Arik was prone to throw things; anything he could lay hands on could become a projectile. He was a terrible shot, but that meant that when he did decide to play human catapult, it was bluster and show, but the people who had a hammer thrown at them didn’t know or assume that.

“There’s a woman in my trailer, Worthy. She needs to be expedited,” Arik said. I nodded and gave my cigarette butt a flick away.

“Consider it handled,” I said.

“You know, it takes a decade for a single one of those to decompose,” he said, eyeing where I had tossed the butt.

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