My confusion at his questions quickly shifted to an uncomfortable amount of dread at the topic of my unknown future. I suppressed it and evaded his question by reminding, “Tony is waiting.”
“And he’ll keep waiting.” But when I just blinked up at him, he gestured toward an elevator with a muttered, “Fine.”
Contrary to my insistence we get to the meeting, nerves suddenly rocked through me. Doubt reminded me that I was woefully unqualified and entirely out of my element. Fear crept in as images of his agent demanding he fire me in a very public way flitted through my head.
That last part was unlikely if Alex had survived as long as he had, but still.
I thought I was doing a good job hiding my emotions, but I’d barely taken two steps before large hands gripped my upper arms.
It wasn’t the first time Tripp had touched me. He’d held my waist on the roof top while I’d tried my best to ensure he didn’t stumble over the ledge. Him touching my arms was nothing compared to that more intimate hold. But something about the feel of his hands wrapped so firmly around me tightened my chest—and areas farther south—in a way I didn’t expect.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Before I could sort through the unexpected rush of heat, Tripp spun me to face him and quickly removed his hold. “There’s no reason to be freaked.”
Yeah, there is. My body just lit up like the Fourth of July from your hands on my arms, of all places.
But, of course, that wasn’t what he was talking about. “This is a check-in so you can meet Tony. No pressure. You’ll be great.”
My anxiety wanted to dismiss his words as empty platitudes from someone with low expectations of assistants, but I couldn’t. The genuine reassurance in his voice lit me up almost as much as his hands on me had.
Not taking my silence as an answer, he dipped his head to meet my gaze. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Getting annoyed.
Being a nervous little baby.
I amnotnailing this first job thing.
Reaching out to give my arms one last comforting squeeze, he dropped his hold and led me to the elevator.
When I’d done my research on Hullywod—named after the rundown Hollywood Sign in the seventies—it was labeled as a boutique talent agency. I’d anticipated a small but well-run place.
I’d been wrong.
According to Tripp, Hullywod occupied all twenty stories of the tall building. If the theory that the higher the office, the more important the person was rang true, then his agent must’ve been one of the top dogs since his office was on the nineteenth floor.
Or should I say, his officewasthe nineteenth floor.
Because when the elevator doors slid open, it was into another waiting room lined with a handful of chairs. A desk was positioned opposite us in front of open double doors.
Tripp lifted his chin at the pretty woman at the desk but otherwise ignored her as he walked through the doors behind her.
The man I’d briefly seen at his party stood from behind a massive wooden desk. The sheer size of it—along with theplethora of framed photos of him with celebrities, politicians, and influencers—made me wonder if he was overcompensating for something.
And then I felt like a giant bitch for being judgy.
I need to let my hostility toward the famous go if I’m going to make this work.
I felt even guiltier when he approached with a wide grin he aimed at Trippandme. “My favorite client. And you must be Greer. I’m Tony.”
I accepted his outstretched hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”
He moved his focus from me to Tripp. “She didn’t call medudeorbruh. Already an improvement.” He gestured to where two plush couches faced each other at the side of the room. “Sit. Would you like anything? Coffee, tea, water, whiskey?” He added that last one like it was a joke.
But also not really one.
