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“I’m happy to hear that.” Did her voice just become a little more artificial, or was the mask over my wounded ego projecting? “Ms. G is so sorry she couldn’t speak with you herself, but she’d like me to introduce you to a course we offer. It’s an intimate, online setting. Rarely more than thirty people.”
I— What? Maybe this was how they trained new hires? “Tell me more. Is this like some sort of remote internship?”
“In a way, yes. Your final design, the one you create for your grade, will be considered by Ms. G. If she feels you’ve done exceptional work, we consider offering you an internship. That will be local to L.A., and we provide a small stipend once you arrive.”
None of this sounded like what I expected, or even legit. “And then you hire those interns?”
“If they work out, absolutely”
“I see. And this course is free?” Of course it was. She was about to laugh at me for even asking.
Kayla chuckled. “Ms. G’s time is valuable. The course is five thousand dollars, but we do offer installment plans. If you’re hired, the remainder of your balance is waived.”
Anger was flooding in to mingle with my hurt and disbelief. “So basically these interviews are your way of fleecing potential designers looking for an in.”
“They’re an excellent opportunity for people serious about their craft.” Kayla’s sunny mask cracked. “This is a chance to work with the best and get a foot up in an industry that touches every genre of film. Open slots in this program are rare, and you’re fortunate to be offered one.”
“Wow. I bet the internet would love to hear about this.” Fuck pretenses and false smiles. This was some serious bullshit.
Kayla glowered. “You signed a non-disclosure agreement as part of agreeing to this interview. I assure you, our lawyers do not take slander lightly. If you pass up this chance, if you leave a bad taste in our mouths, you willneverwork in Hollywood.”
The idea of losing access to my dream curdled in my gut. She had to be making an empty threat. “I’ll take that chance. Thank you for your time.” I disconnected before she could reply.
I made sure all connections were closed, and resisted the urge to slam my laptop shot as I shut the lid. Tears pricked the inside of my eyelids as I sank back in my chair. Were they sadness? Fury? A heavy dose of both?
Was Kayla right that I wasn’t as good as I thought? Was that why I couldn’t get anyone else to talk to me? Or was this one designer taking advantage of people? How many costumers had they fleeced? And what was it about me that saidI’m so desperate you can scam me out of 5 grand?
I sat there as minutes ticked away, letting my rage simmer into a thick, gooey mess in my thoughts. They weren’t getting away with this. I’d write a scathing email. Would I be the first? Would it be used against me with other people? Did I care?
I opened my laptop again. A barking laugh choked from my throat when I saw an email waiting for me from Kayla. She was definitely getting a piece of my mind.
The body of the message wasn’t a nice, personalized little note. It looked more like a newsletter. It thanked me for my time, and offered a link to more information about the course. And at the bottom of it all, it reminded meThis email was sent from an unmonitored box. Do not reply.
Fucking bitch. Curiosity and anger had me clicking the link. It took me to a pretty page with pictures of lots of smiling people near ornate costumes, and brief, content-less blurbs about how amazing this course was.
I was more interested in theTerms and Conditions. One lesson I was grateful I’d learned early on in my career—always know what they’re doing with my intellectual property. This company was keeping it. Any designs submitted, proposed, or posted in the discussion room during the course were property of Ms. G.
Apparently I could be more furious. I took screenshots of everything, and captured a PDF of the email as proof. I needed to call Anne, and go downstairs and let Lyn know how things went. But I needed to type first, while the rage and thoughts were still fresh.
The world was going to know about this bullshit. I’d do a live feed. I’d link to evidence. As the list ticked off in my head, my fingers were already flying over the keyboard, composing a list of talking points for me to cover when I addressed my followers. In the next few hours, millions of people would know what was happening in one corner of Hollywood.
My anger didn’t diminish as I re-read, revised, and relentlessly polished. A little voice I didn’t care for joined the chorus telling me this was a mistake. They’d threatened me.
It didn’t matter. They were scamming people, and the world needed to know before they took advantage of anyone else.
A knock on my door made me jump. Shit, it was almost two. I’d been at this for hours. I was sufficiently collected to talk to Lyn. “Come in.”
Jax poked his head into my room. Lust bounded in and muddled my fury at the softness around his eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“No, I’m not. What are you doing here?” I made sure to ask calmly. I wasn’t angry at him.
He stepped inside and mostly closed the door behind him. Jax dressed for work was as delicious as Jax in jeans and a T-shirt. He embodied everything about the phraseSuit Porn. “We all got worried when you didn’t message anyone back. I had a client lunch down the street, and it gave me an excuse to check on you. Did they tell you that you have to wait to start? Or are they making you pack up and leave us right away?”
My brain stalled on the words. He was assuming I got the job. There was no doubt in his questions, only concern. “I didn’t get it.”
“What? But you’re the best.”
“Not according to them.” I couldn’t hold back any longer. I had spent hours writing out my thoughts and now I had an audience. I let the entire story spill out.
