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Because Taylor is a badass like that.
“Of course,” Taylor smiles. “What’s going on?”
“Well… I wanted to ask what you thought about this.”
Christina yanks a crumpled contract of some kind out of her bag. When she drops it on the table in front of her, I spot the “NDA” at the top of it.
“I got this through my publicist over the weekend. And since you work with him…”
Christina turns the NDA around and shoves it across the table toward Taylor and me.
“Is this legit?”
I glance at the NDA. Taylor instantly scoops it up and brings it close to her face.
“Asshole…” she mutters under her breath as her eyes fly over the page. “You crazy, stupid?—”
“Ms. Crown?”
Taylor bites back something sour in her mouth. She lowers the NDA and levels a practiced smile at Christina.
“It’s legit.” She clears her throat and glances at me. “And for the record, this meeting falls strictly under attorney client privilege.”
I’m still not sure who and what we’re talking about.
“Gabriel is really running for public office?”
My head snaps around, my eyes widening.
“It would…appear so,” Taylor says cautiously.
“And this contract…I mean…”
“Yes,” Taylor hisses through her teeth, looking pissed. “Yeah, it’s real.”
Christina giggles. “He’s seriously going to pay some girl four million dollars to marry him?!”
It’s like a record scratch as the music stops. My jaw drops as my eyes dart to the NDA in front of us. Before Taylor can pick it up again, I grab it and let my eyes slide over the words.
Holy. Fuck.
“I mean, it’s not like I need his four million,” Christina laughs. “But I mean…it could be fun?”
“Christina…” Taylor’s mouth thins. “I need to advise you that I haven’t read Mr. Black’s proposed contract thoroughly, and I don’t know how legally binding it is, or what sort of precedent there is. Not to mention the legal, regulatory, and moral concerns given that you are a client of ours.”
“Fair. Still,” Christina shrugs, “I think I’ll go to these tryouts of his or whatever he’s calling them on Wednesday anyway.” She grins as she turns to me. “Fun, right?”
“Totally.”
What. The. Actual. Fucking. Fuck.
Gabriel, my robotic, gorgeous boss, is holding fucking auditions for a woman to marry him for some sort of political race? And he’s going to pay this woman four million fucking dollars?
Every voice in my head screams how insane this is. How wrong, and that even thinking about it is a great way to torch my career.
Every voice in my head but one, that is. And that one little voice, however quiet and alone, makes a very, very good point:
I don’t exactly have to worry about torching my career if a psycho with a samurai sword comes calling and slices off my head.
