Page 11 of Out of the Shadow

I tune back in when Blaine asks, “Any questions so far?”

Since it would be downright rude to ask for my bonus check, I shake my head. Angie, on the other hand, peppers him with questions about the disruption to her business and what accommodations need to be made for the taping. She prefaced her questions with “My cousin’s married to a lawyer who looked over the paperwork…”

Not interested, I survey the room. I’m mentally redecorating the paintings hanging on the walls, which look like they belong in some mom and pop store, when Blaine taps Kaitlyn to talk about the various locations where we’re going to be shooting out here in the Hamptons.

Question and answer session over, Blaine hands out the contracts. He emailed this to me yesterday, but I still pay attention when he goes over the salient points. Especially about the money. When he hands us both our signing bonus checks, I double-check the zeros.

Blaine asks, “Angie, do you have any other requests for us before we sign these?”

She draws my attention to her thick mane by playing with the ends. “I do, actually.” She looks at me with something approaching disgust, and I sit up straighter. What on earth does this woman have against me?

“Because we’re going to be filming out of this office, I think it’s important to remain professional at all times. To that end, since he’s”—she points at me—“going to be portraying my colleague and people are going to see that on TV, King needs to show up to work every day.” She gives me the stink-eye. “I’m sure I do things differently from theagencyyou work at in LA.”

I shift in my seat. Her words hang in the air. Blaine knows I don’t have a license. Does she? In any event, I have no desire to spend time in this place unless we’re filming. “Angela—”

“Angie.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

I wave my hand. “Angie,” I bite out, “I think all the cameras have gone to your head. This is arealitytelevisionshow we’re filming, not some documentary. There’s no reason for me to show up here unless we’re shooting.”

She leans forward, her hands now on the table. “Actually, King”—I’ve never heard my name spat out like a curse word before—“you must be here daily. Believe me, I have no interest in seeing you in my office, but the show is going to advertise you as my co-worker. So, yes, you have to show up here and work. See how I do things. That way, when wearefilming, it won’t appear fake.” She sits back in her chair.

It’s my turn to put my knuckles on the miserable excuse for a table. Where did she pick this up, anyway? A flea market? “Angie, I am not your employee, partner, or colleague. I am your co-star. I was hired to play a role, nothing more. There’s nothing in the contract that says I have to work here when we’re not shooting. And. I’m. Not.”

Blaine clears his throat. “Well, actually—”

I study the set of my childhood friend’s jaw.Crap. I run my hand across my stubbly cheek.

He licks his lips and continues, “If you flip to paragraph thirteen, it does explicitly state that since we are filming at Russo Real Estate, Angela, Angie, has final say over how business is to be conducted during off-hours.”

Shit. I flip to the paragraph and read the lawyer-speak. Sure enough, it does say that. I glance over at Angie, who wears a smug look. I’m fucking trapped. I’ve never truly worked a day in my life and this gig is starting to look much more demanding than I anticipated. I’m about to walk out on the whole mess when the compensation paragraph leaps off the page at me—the signing bonus, which I already have, one-hundred-K salary, plus an extra fifty grand to whoever wins the show’s competition. Fuck. I need the money.

Damn my father.Damn Trevor.

I swallow, and inhale the stale air in here. Time to negotiate. “Fine. I’ll show up here every day at two. Stay ’til four. That’s more than enough facetime.”

“Our hours are noon until eight.”

Kaitlyn says, “Unless we’re filming.”

Angie nods at the director. “Right.” She focuses her gaze on me. “Two until eight.”

Oh, hell no. “Four ’til seven.”

“Okay. More if we have a client.” She slides a key across the table to me.

Wait. Was I just played? Is that what she wanted from me all along? Well, I’m not going to deal with any of her clients. I’ll just sit at my desk and get caught up with my social media accounts for those three hours. If she thinks I’m actually going toworkfor her, she has another think coming.

Her hand flips over and she makes a come-hither motion. What on earth? My silent question is answered when she asks, “I need a copy of your real estate license. New York doesn’t have reciprocity with California, so you’re going to have to take our state test anyway. But having your paperwork on file should help us along during the waiting period.”

Well, if this doesn’t suck.Think quickly. “I don’t have it with me.”

“That’s okay. Email it.” She fishes into her pocket and produces a business card. When she hands it to me, her engagement ring captures my attention. What dude would marry this shrew? Well, the rock’s more like a chip, so that has to say something. “My email’s on there.”

I take the card, appreciating the heavy feel of the cardstock. At least she did this one thing right.

Blaine says, “King doesn’t have one.”

I shoot daggers at my friend. Why did he out me like that? I could’ve played it off for the three months I’m stuck here. “Blaine!”

---