Page 51 of Crossing the Line
“We’ve talked about this before,” Gwendolyn continued. “You can’t let her keep feeding them. Especially not without passing the stories through me first. She’s getting sloppy, and I’m not going to be happy about cleaning up another one of her messes.”
“Short of taking her phone away from her and locking her in Betty Ford, do you have any suggestions?”
Gwendolyn drummed her white nails on the mahogany. “Let me handle Sylvia this time. She needs to have the shit scared out of her again.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’m not sleeping with my security, by the way,” Waverly told her.
“It doesn’t really matter whether you are or aren’t,” Gwendolyn responded in her trademark tone of disinterest. “It’s the perception we need to weigh.”
Waverly bit back a retort and smiled politely instead. “Of course. The issue at hand is I have a stalker situation that’s begun to escalate. Xavier and my assistant spent the night last night after an incident here at the house. My concern is the premiere and what impact additional safety measures and media attention about the case will have.”
“Mmm,” she said noncommittally. “How serious a threat are we talking?” Gwendolyn asked, typing notes into her tablet. Waverly had the impression that literally everything had happened to Gwendolyn’s clients, and she already had a protocol ready to put into effect. Nothing phased the woman.
“I’m filing an official complaint with the police today.”
Gwendolyn nodded and continued to type. “All right. I’d like to speak to your head of security before I leave. I’ll have a statement drafted by noon, and we can at least refute the banging the bodyguard rumor. Is there anything else, or can we move on to the premiere?”
Gwendolyn’s concern for her welfare was underwhelming.
“By all means,” Waverly said, helping herself to a glass of water and envisioned herself throwing it in Media Barbie’s face.
“Now, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you thatThe Dedicationis the biggest film you’ve done to date and has the largest potential to influence your future career. If you handle the publicity for the film in the right way, and it does what’s expected at the box office, you could be naming your price for your next project and the next.”
Waverly let her prattle on about branding, staying on message, appearing friendlier in interviews. Gwendolyn had already drafted talking points about the movie, her co-star, the director, and run them by the studio for approval. She’d even included a few “amusing” stories that Waverly should feel free to share during interviews.
There was, of course, the list of things not to discuss, such as the fact that Waverly had made twenty percent less than her male co-star even while garnering more screen time.
By this point in the meeting, Waverly was digging her fingernails into her leg to give herself something to focus on besides Gwendolyn’s droning offense.
“I’d like to touch on this bodyguard issue briefly again as it ties into the premiere and tour,” Gwendolyn said. “This movie is a love story, and audiences need to believe that it could come true.”
“Liam is married,” Waverly reminded her.
Gwendolyn waved his marital status away. “You two wrapped filming before they were married so I don’t see any issue in hinting at a past relationship and making sure the audience can still sense a chemistry.”
“We didn’t have a past relationship.” Annoyance was charging into pissed off territory.
“What they want to see is that you two have a connection. The film will sell better and you will sell better if you give everyone what they want. And they’re going to want you and Liam, not you and some nameless security guard.”
“Xavier isn’t a security guard,” Waverly snapped. “He owns Invictus Security.”
For the first time, Gwendolyn looked interested in the conversation. “Well, well. Maybe Sylvia didn’t get everything wrong this time.” She arched an exquisite eyebrow.
“I think we’re done here,” Waverly said. She’d been bumped over her tolerance level about ten minutes ago.
“Nice seeing you again,” Gwendolyn said without looking up from the screen of her tablet. “Don’t forget to send in your security.”
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Waverly paced off her mad in the kitchen while Louie dodged her.
“Why don’t you sit and pout,” Louie grumbled, smacking his stainless mallet against a sliver of pork with more force than necessary.
“I’mnotpouting,” Waverly shot back.
“Well, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
What was wrong? Oh, just the usual. Her stalker was on the loose, but he wasn’t dangerous enough to warrant police intervention. Her mother had once again sold her out to the tabloids showing an outrageous apathy toward her reputation in favor of garnering attention. And then there was that hot, liquid pooling she felt between her legs every single time she looked at the untouchable Xavier Saint.
