Page 7 of Behind the Scenes
I removed the binoculars and looked back at my assistant, Penelope, who was asleep, sitting with her back against the door.
She knew me well, including that she was not to disturb me during these moments. After all, she had seen just about every sick and twisted part of me and still stayed.
Probably because of the mountains of blackmail I have on her.
But at least I made sure she was fairly compensated.
I reached down and grabbed my broken phone before strolling to her. Her eyes fluttered open when I was just a couple of feet away.
“You stay here,” I ordered. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“To-tomorrow night?” She pushed herself up, her eyes wide with panic. “But that means you’ll only be at the set for?—”
“A few hours. Yes.”
I rolled my shoulders and sent a text to my pilot letting him know I’d be on my way in thirty.
“I have no issue getting the job done,” I said, sending her a look. “If other people can’t get it done in the allotted time, that’s their problem.Youneed to meet with Laura tomorrow and convince her to take me on as a client.”
Fear crossed her face.
“But she’s already rejected us.” Her voice was shaky. “Andblocked my number.”
“Get a new one,” I said. “And go in person. Put a bouquet of fifty roses on my card. Make sure they match whatever shoes she wears tomorrow.”
Penelope blinked, and suddenly, like a switch, her work hat was on.
“It’s usually yellow if she has to go to the courthouse,” she murmured, her fingers picking at her clothes as she tried to remember. “No, that was rescheduled. So she’ll be wearing the blue suede ones she recently got. Okay. I can do that.”
I let an easy smile cross my face.
“I knew I could count on you,” I said as I slapped my hand on her shoulder. “Remember the updates.”
I hated leaving Laura so easily, but she hadn’t wanted anything to do with me so far, and unfortunately, I had to keep up appearances.
So off to the set I went.
But I’ll be back, Laura. And if you still refuse me next time…
I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.
laura
. . .
The small girl with mousy brown hair and bags under her eyes squirmed as she sat in the seat across from me with a large bouquet of blue flowers placed in a yellow vase. The flowers were too extravagant and covered half her body as she held onto them.
She came in confident, almost enough to fool me.
Her head was held high, her shoulders squared. First impressions were important, and she just about nailed hers. But when she told me who she worked for and was met with silence, panic sank in.
Because it wasn’t a first impression at all. I had been hounded by her and herbossfor far too long and for no apparent reason. I was expensive, and each minute they were eating up of my time with their nonsense was a notch taken out of my billable hours that was reserved foractualclients.
“I’m a criminal defense lawyer,” I reminded her, frustration filling my voice. “InNew York.It’s not in my portfolio to take on spoiled Hollywood starlets.”
The most spoiled at that.
The actor in question was America’s most lovablegay woman. Posters of her were found all the way from California to New York. I passed by at least one almost every day.
