I stride into the Burbank office with an espresso in one hand, two bottles of liquid energy shots in my purse, and thoughts of how quickly this day can pass so I can catch up on my sleep.
Because the little sleep I finally got wasn’t enough. Dreams plagued my sleep. Ones that rewound time and reminded me of things I’d long forgotten.
But I’m on more sure footing today. I took the extra time I didn’t have to do my hair and makeup when normally it’s a topknot and a brush or two of mascara. I think that’s maybe why I felt off-kilter last night when it came to seeing Vince—well, besides the obvious reasons. So today, I figured I’d fix what I could on my end to make sure I didn’t feel that way again.
As I make my way through the cubical maze of junior associates’ desks, heads pop up like whack-a-moles, glancing toward the conference room, before sitting back down just as quickly. There’s more of a low buzz of conversation than normal.
The last time the office was this distracted was when senior associate, Lilah Glasnow was fired for sleeping with her client. The last thing McMann wants is for his firm to appear unprofessional, and when those rumors started flying, her walking papers were typed up. She didn’t go without a fight. There was a shouting match with insults hurled and threats made while we all sat with our heads down, listening to every single, deliciously scandalous word of it.
I look for Simone in her cubicle, knowing she’ll give me the scoop, but she’s not there. However, I find her sitting in my chair, at my desk, with her arms crossed, her eyebrows raised, and her feet propped up on my desk.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I say, noticing she’s pushed aside my frame so that my collage of Jagger is facing the wall of the cube.
“I have. Thanks.” She places one of the peanut butter cups I leave in a dish on my desk in her mouth and smiles while chewing it, her eyes never breaking from mine.
“What?” I ask, already on the defensive because I know that look.
“I didn’t even garner a phone call?” she says.
“For what?” But I already know.
It’s why necks are craning toward the conference room. Why the chatter is muted but still excited. We’re used to celebrity sightings around here. It’s what our company does, but not every celebrity holds the same mystique as the man I’m more than certain is sitting in said conference room.
“Vincent freaking Jennings?” Simone says, confirming my hunch. “First, you find out who the hush-hush client is, and you don’t say a word.” She points to one finger. “Second, you’ve been assigned as his handler—a freaking promotion—and you neglect to call.” She points to another. “And lastly, let me reiterate, Vincent freaking Jennings.” She throws her hands up. “I thought you were my girl, but nope, you leave my ass out in the cold and don’t say a damn word.”
“I didn’t get home till after three in the morning, and I was under the impression that your ass was otherwise occupied.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against one of the gray fabric, portable walls.
“I was, oh was I,” she murmurs, her eyes alive with suggestion, “but that doesn’t mean a girl isn’t going to check her texts during that post-coital glow period.”
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes.
“I mean, I hand you this gift, and I don’t even get a smoke signal to tell me what’s going on. I had to show up today and be knocked on my ass when that . . .”—she mock shivers— “gorgeous beauty of a man stepped into the elevator right before the doors closed. I mean he was close enough for me to touch. To stealthily stare at the very intricate designs of his tattoos. To smell his cologne.”
“Simone—”
“There needed to be a ‘clean-up on aisle five’ from the puddle of . . . me, that was all over that elevator floor.”
“Whatever.”
“But you already knew how good all of those things were because you spent the whole night with him. Beside him. Listening to him.” She puts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends as if she’s fainted. Dramatics are definitely her strong suit. “Lusting after him.”
“Refilling his drink and getting him whatever he asked for.”
“Please say he asked for me.” She holds out her hands as if they are handcuffed together. “You can serve me up on a platter to him.”
“Says the girl who was otherwise busy getting laid.”
She bursts out laughing and puts her feet soundly on the floor. “You know I’m just fucking with you.” She sighs loudly. “But hell if I’m not mad at myself for picking sex over work and jealous of you in all the best ways.”
“I know. For what it’s worth, Xavier made it sound like the promotion was temporary and only because we’re short-staffed at the moment. And Vince? Vince is . . .” A prick? Demanding? A diva? I think of the dozens of things I could say to make her feel better about missing the opportunity she gave me, but I can’t find it in me to lie.
“He’s what? Gorgeous? Mysterious? Sexy? I mean—”
“Matthews.” We both jump at the sound of Kevin’s voice from across the room.
I glance at her with wide eyes before grabbing a pad of paper I don’t know if I’ll need or not. This whole beck-and-call thing for a client instead of my immediate boss is all new to me. “Coming.”
I can feel the stares from the other junior associates as I make my way across the office floor. I’ve been where they are—watching someone get the opportunity they so desperately want—and am under no pretenses that that won’t be me again in a heartbeat if I don’t impress Xavier with whatever I’m supposed to be doing for Vince.
I enter the conference room, empty save for the man across from me. Xavier stands with his ass against the glass wall of windows, his arms folded over his chest, and his head angled to the side as he studies me.
I’ve squirmed under less scrutiny, but I actually have his attention now, so I meet him stare for stare.
“What can I do for you?”
“We’re brainstorming today. Marketing is meeting with us on the tenth floor shortly.”
“Okay.” I glance toward Kevin and then back. “Do you need paper or coffee or me to set things up—”
“We need you.”
Both Kevin’s and my head whip up in unison. “Me?”
Junior associates are typically on the outside of these glass walls looking in. Unless of course, they’re asked to fetch something trivial to which they’re invited in and then promptly ushered out.
“Yes,” he says but for some reason doesn’t seem too happy about it. “Sit.”
“Okay. Why—”
“I told them you had some great ideas last night and that I wanted you in on this.” The punch Vince’s voice packs didn’t lessen overnight. Not that I thought it would.
I turn to look at where he’s just walked into the room. He has a pair of dark sunglasses on even though we’re inside, his hair looks like his hands have been running through it nonstop, and his lips are pursed in that way of his that tells me he’s studying every single thing about me.
Not to mention the fact that he just lied through his teeth about me having good ideas last night. About what? About how I don’t want him here? About how I told him his last single wasn’t great?
“Yes,” Xavier says before I can speak. And I know exactly why he looks miffed. Xavier McMann doesn’t like having his hand forced when it comes to anything. And it’s clear that he’s appeasing Vince’s request to have me here.
Sure he’s keeping his newest client happy, but it’s also putting me in a very precarious position.
“Do you mind sharing some of those ideas?” Kevin asks.
I look from him to Vince and then back again. “I—”
“She let me know why my last single flopped. Explained the reasons for her opinion.”
“Now you’re a music critic?” Xavier asks, the tendons in his neck taut as he reins in his temper.
Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of a fight for control that one has a hard time ceding and the other’s having fun testing?
“That’s not what I meant. I was simply telling Vince that this new song he was singing—”
“Heart of Mine.”
“Yes, is more in line with what his audience expects. And if he’s breaking away from Bent and trying to establish himself then—”
“He’s already established himself just fine.” That fleeting, tight smile is flashed my way. The one that says clearly, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. “I assigned you someone. It’s your job to know this information.”
Talk about unrealistic expectations considering he paired me with Vince on the fly yesterday. There’s a reason people say if you can survive McMann, you can survive the industry.
“Because this is a career for you, right? Not just some job to fill the time as you figure out what to do with your life while gaining bragging rights that you have access to the famous? Like it is for most of the associates out there? If it were, you would have found the time to know everything about our newest client so you could anticipate outcomes, mitigate expectations, and assist in planning for his future.”
He has a birthmark on his inner thigh. How’s that for knowing your newest client inside out? Choke on that, you asshole.
“Only then do any of us want to hear your opinions on Mr. Jennings’s career. And if you’re not willing to put in the time and effort, there are a dozen more in the room behind you waiting to take your place.”
Embarrassment heats my cheeks over letting him berate me like this in general, but also in front of Vince. I know I’m better than this, but I also know I have to pay my dues to move forward. Unfortunately, sucking it up and swallowing my pride is what’s needed for the time being.
Apparently, each step up the rung comes with a little more respect. Or at least, so I’m told. Right now, the rung I’m on isn’t exactly feeling that way.
My smile is placating despite the stiffening of my spine. “I assure you that—”
“She was just giving me the honest feedback I asked for.” Vince steps farther into the room, his shoulders squared as he shrugs and his tone impenitent. “Truth be told, she was right on the money.”
“It wasn’t her place to opine,” Xavier says.
“Well, I prefer it actually. Most people tell me what I want to hear, kiss my ass because of who I am. I respect that she had the balls to say the truth versus sugarcoat it.” He looks from Xavier to Kevin and then back. “That’s why I asked that she be a part of my brainstorming sessions.”
Vince looks my way, his expression impassive, but his eyes ask questions I don’t want to answer. Why do you put up with this shit? Why do you let him treat you like this? What happened to that headstrong girl I used to know?
She’s still here. She just got sidetracked for a while, made some sacrifices, and needs this job to get where she wants to be.
“Understood,” Xavier says with a curt nod. “Kevin will make sure that she’s kept in the loop on all of those types of meetings.”
“Preferably all meetings,” Vince says in this unspoken tug of war.
“That’s not exactly the hierarchy we have set up here,” Xavier says.
“Then make the adjustment,” Vince says, clearly aware he has the power in this relationship.
“Of course. I’ll make an exception for the next couple of weeks while you’re in town and we’re sorting through our plans for you.”
“Great. Make sure you do.” Vince takes a seat and unceremoniously props his combat boots on the conference room table as if discussing my fate and my job duties are something he has a right to do. My hands fist over this sudden helplessness I feel. “Now that that’s settled, let’s get this boring shit over with. I have studio time we’re cutting into, and my muse is speaking to me.”
“Of course.” Xavier’s mouth pulls tight momentarily. “Bristol? Why don’t you give us about thirty minutes to go over some things, and then you can show Mr. Jennings down to the meeting with the documentary team.” He looks to Vince, clearly unhappy to be asking his next question. “If that’s okay with you, of course?”
Vince nods. “It’s fine.”
“We’ll let you know when you’re needed again.”
“Sounds great.” My smile is quick but relief even quicker as I swiftly exit the conference room.
I’m beginning to think I’m going to need something stronger than coffee to get through today.
