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“Like royalty,” I said, repeating what I’d heard from him time and time again.
“Like Roman royalty. Luxury and decadence from a time gone by.” Then he tapped the book in front of him. “So, imagine my shock when Walsh Burrows, one of this city’s most respected talent agents, arrived for his appointment this morning only to be told that he didn’t have one.”
“What?”
“’What’,” he said, shaking his head. “Great answer. And one that makes sense considering that you took the appointment, wrote it down in the book, and failed to crosscheck whether or not that time was available in the computer before putting it into the scheduling system.”
I was stunned. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
“I never took an appointment for anyone with that name.”
“When you were working the front desk. When I called you in.”
“I took one appointment, and you bet I checked to make sure it was clear. I always do.”
A gross expression formed on his face. I could tell he was ready to drop the hammer. I was looking forward to it as much as dental work.
“Then you want to explain why your signature’s on the scheduling book?”
He placed his fingertips on the book and spun it around. I jumped out of my seat and checked it out, shocked as I realized that, sure enough, my signature was right by the client’s name.
“Right there.”
“I see it.” I stared hard at it, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Did I really take an appointment and make such a stupid mistake as not putting it in the damn computer? I did a quick mental inventory of the day, and there was no way. No freaking way.
Then I glanced down at the signature one more time and, sure enough, it really looked like mine. But then I noticed something really, really weird. Above the “I” in my name was a little heart. I could be spacey at times, sure, but I had my head on straight enough to know I never, ever signed my name with a freaking heart.
“That’s not me! Look.” I touched the heart. “Look at any signature I’ve ever given you. You won’t see a single heart.”
Stump looked confused. “What on earth are you suggesting? That someone forged your damn signature or something?”
Yeah, it sounded crazy. But what other explanation could there be? That I’d taken a reservation that I couldn’t remember and also drew a heart over the “I” like I was doodling on my notebook back in fifth grade?
Then it hit me—Jules. She’d worked that evening after she’d finished nursing her hangover. And that little look in the hallway, like she knew what I was in for.
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” I said, feeling pretty darn confident all of a sudden. “In fact, I’m more than suggesting it.”
But Stump silenced me with a hard look. “I’m not in the mood for some dumbass conspiracy theory. Because I can tell plain as day what went down.”
“Oh?”
“Mhmm. You’ve been acting like you own the place, thinking that you’re the most important, irreplaceable girl on the staff. And I’ve been willing to look past that, what with you being one of the, maybe the, best technicians I’ve got. But man, am I paying the price. You’ve got your head somewhere else, at some business that doesn’t even exist.” He tapped the book. “And this is proof that I made a big goddamn mistake in not getting rid of you the second I found out you were planning on being my competition.” He shook his head.
“I swear, you girls are all the same. You work for me, get a little praise, and all of a sudden you think you can be the next spa queen of LA. You think you’re the first chick to get good at this job and try to strike out on her own? I’ve seen it time and time again, and you know what happened to them?”
I had a feeling he was going to tell me.
“They all come crawling back,” he said, his face getting redder by the second. “Because none of them have what it takes. And you, missy, sure as shit don’t either. You rub people’s shoulders for a living, and you need to start acting like it. Got it?”
I was stunned. He’d been rude and condescending to me before, but this was something new. I had no idea what to say.
But a sharp, insistent rap on the door stopped the conversation.
“Who is it?” asked Stump. “I’m in the middle of a meeting?”
“It’s a client,” came a voice on the other side. A familiar voice.
“Oh!” said Stump. “Come on in, sir!”
The door opened, and it was Sean.
And he didn’t look happy.
Chapter Fifteen
SHANIA
In fact, he looked totally pissed.
I’d never seen him like that before. Even back in college, he’d always been a pretty mellow guy, a go-with-the-flow type who didn’t seem to get frazzled by anything…maybe even frustratingly so, especially when it came to other people’s feelings.
