ONE
ARE WE BEING PUNK’D?
ISABELLA
This is my worst nightmare.
I’m sure that sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s not. This is truly my worst nightmare.
“Ms. Rossi, are you listening?” A voice pulls me from my internal spiral.
“Um… yes?” I say, although it comes out as more of a question as I return my attention to Mr. Boseman.
My boss.
The head of Boseman Production Security.
The one who threw this meeting for a “quick chat” on my calendar first thing this morning with no context, throwing my brain into an immediate nosedive spiral.
The one who’s just told me they’re pulling me out of my comfort zone to head up a new team due to “staffing shortages.”
Sports security.
I clear my throat and refocus on the conversation at hand. “Sir, I completely understand the increased demand and lack of available staff to do this, but I have to ask… why me? I knownothingabout sports. Andeverythingabout film production.”It’s been my safe space for the entirety of my tenure with this company. The only thing I’ve ever known. And Iloveit. I don’t want to do anything else. This is what I was meant to do.
He nods along while I speak, as if acknowledging my concerns are valid. “Yes, yes Ms. Rossi, I get that. But you’re one of our most skilled department heads. I need someone I can trust to get the sports team back in line and ensure these productions are going according to the standards we have in place.You’rethe first person I could think of that I trust so inherently to get this done quickly and efficiently.”
I want to scream. While I appreciate he’s noticed the value I add to the company I’ve devoted nearly a decade of my life to, I still can’t believe he’s doing this.
As if he can see the war raging in my head, he tacks on, “It would only be a temporary transfer.”
Temporary? I could do temporary…
“There’s no set timeframe of course. It would all be dependent on how quickly you can get the team up to speed and appoint a suitable replacement. But once that’s all finished, you can move back to the television and film department.” He folds his hands together and leans forward, all indications he’s about to drop the bomb of all bombs on me. “If this all goes well Ms. Rossi, I’m sure we can sit down and have some discussions about your future with this company and a possible promotion.”
My pulse spikes at the words. A promotion? I haven’t had a promotion since I was bumped up to senior manager. The next step up from there would be… director. And would come with amajorpay increase. That would be… wow. I could really use that. I could get my car fixed, find a better apartment for Jordan and me, maybe even take a vacation. Ugh, I couldreallyuse a vacation.
Throwing back my shoulders in an attempt to convey a confidence I’m not entirely sure I feel, I give him my answer. “When do you want me to start?”
“Wait,I’m sorry. Say that again? I don’t think I heard you correctly the first time because surely you didn’t say you were transferring tosports.” The disgust drips from Jordan’s voice and her nose wrinkles when she says the word ‘sports.’ I mean, she’s not entirely wrong. I am not a sporty person. Plus, the athletes? They always look so sweaty and smelly and…no.
I drop my head into my hands and sigh. “I did say sports.”
Jordan’s hazel eyes are wide, light brown brows lifted to her hairline, mirroring my own horror at the announcement. “Isa. SPORTS? He’s gotta be kidding. Right? This is some sort of belated April Fool’s? You know nothing about sports!” God, I love Jordan. She gets me. My current roommate and best friend since college. We were in all the same gen-ed courses together, and we clicked. From then on, we made sure we were in every elective course together until graduation. We lived together for a good part of our college days and now that we’re both living in Los Angeles, it only made sense to live together again. She’s so strong-willed and opinionated that she sticks up for her friends at every turn. Hence her absolute outrage on my behalf about the transfer.
“I told him that,” I point out.
“And yet, he’sstilltransferring you to sports? Are you sure you’re not beingPunk’d? Liz, is Ashton Kutcher hiding around here somewhere?” Jordan looks to our other friend that finishes off this trio before looking around our living room as if Kutchermightactuallybe sequestered somewhere in our two-bedroom apartment.
Liz—better known by the rest of the world as Elizabeth Harding—is a child star turned big-name Hollywood actress. But to me, she’s one of my best friends. We met when she was cast on one of the productions I was assigned to early on in my career, and as one of only a few women on the set, we bonded. Until now, I was working on any production she was cast on, at her request—one of the few times she’s pulled out any kind of diva-like request.
But now, I guess I’ll be on sports. I mentally gag at the thought.
Liz laughs, shaking her head and sending the messy blonde bun on the top of her head flopping back and forth. “As far as I’m aware, he’s not around. But I wouldn’t be opposed.” She lifts one shoulder with a wink at Jordan, her dark blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Careful, Liz. Jackson doesn’t like to share.” I give her a playful smirk.
She rolls her eyes. “Please, he would be on his knees for Kutcher in a second.”
