Page 9 of Big Boss
“No takebacks on the job offer.” I snort. “And as for the other thing, don’t worry about it, sweet talker. The absolute last thing that’s going to happen here is that we end up sleeping together and everyone hears about it.”
4
Tate
“It was amazing,Jackson. I think she’s going to be absolutely perfect for the job.”
My best friend and publicist makes a rude noise. “Oh? What was her most recent modeling gig? Victoria’s Secret or is she runway only?”
I heave out a breath. Okay, I probably deserved that. I’ve always figured if I have to have someone taking up my time and my space, the least they can do is look extremely hot.
But you know what that got me? Crystal, the assistant from hell, who is currently dragging my name through the mud fornotsleeping with her by telling everyone I did.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I think you might really like her. She’s very no-nonsense. I mean, she has an itemized plan for every fifteen minutes of her next decade or so. She’s just your type.”
Jackson cackles. “No really. Runway or catalog model? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Why? Do you and the boys have some sort of betting pool going?”
The heavy weight of silence stretches out way too long, and I finally plop my head onto my hand. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I never joke about money, Tate. You know me.” Jackson barks out another laugh. “Is this one a blonde or did you go brunette this round?”
I sigh. “She’s the girl in those pictures. The one in the ugly dress.”
“You don’t mean Miss Twenty Dollars Down the Dress?” Jackson’s voice kicks up to officially shrill.
“Yep. She’s going to be my new assistant. And it turns out that she has absolutely zero clue who I am, so I think this is going to be great for everyone.”
Jackson’s laugh sounds a little too close to panic, so I try to shut that down as best as I can.
“Really, I promise. This is going to be perfect because this girl couldn’t care less. She is definitely not trying to bang me or pretend to bang me in order to get her name on Page Six and honestly”—I kick my feet up onto my desk— “she is absolutely the last woman I’d ever sleep with. There’s something so innocent about her. I just couldn’t live with myself afterward.”
I can hear the low whoosh of Jackson’s exhale. “Thank fuck. We cannot have another disaster right now, and you need to follow the program that we have ready for rehabilitating your image to the letter. If you don’t, the financial backing for First Notes is going to evaporate.”
A trickle of fear slicks along the back of my throat. I can’t risk the failure of my project before it even gets a chance to get started. This is my chance to do something really good with my life, help kids who need it the most, and show my garbage bag of a father that he didn’t really hurt me after all.
I can follow the steps laid out for me just as well as anybody else. I’ve been doing what I’m told my entire life, so this isn’t really any different. Just a different person pulling my strings this time.
And unlike dear old dad, I can trust Jackson. He’s not going to steer me wrong.
“Quit worrying. When I hired her, it gave us a good reason for us to be in the elevator alone together. You know, in case those damn pictures leak.” I stretch again, trying in vain to release the tension that’s knotting up my neck and back.
“If those pictures leak, I’m going to bury whoever published them in so many lawsuits they’re going to drown in a flood of their own tears.”
“Why do you sound so happy when you’re threatening litigation? I think there’s something really wrong with you. Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with Sebastian lately.”
I focus on the wall, littered with the gold and platinum records I’ve produced and been a part of. Because that’s going to be my real legacy, not my reputation as some sort of has-been bad boy rocker who sang the absolute cringiest song of 1993, if not the entire nineties.
“Tate, I’ve got this. I promise the situation with Crystal will be under control as soon as possible. Within a few days, the press will be digging through someone else’s dirty laundry. Just try to stay out of trouble until the air clears.”
I snort. “And elevators.”
“Those too. Okay, I’ll send you an email about our next moves tomorrow. You should take today off and try to be seen doing something nice. You know, visiting the children’s hospital or something.”
I sigh. I know he means well, but I am not that guy. Nobody wants me around their kids, that’s for sure. Following the path that dear old dad carved out for me at the beginning of my career basically assured that I’m nothing but a walking punch line to a dirty joke now.
What do you get when a guy famous for singing about eating pussy puts on a suit and acts like he has some ambition? Donovan Tate, of course.
