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As she put it back to her ear, the tension rose along her back as her hand dropped back to her side and folded into a fist. “So that’s it, I’m stuck? You let him use me, and then, when he’s done, I’m left with nothing, just like he’s done to everyone else. He’s never going to change if you don’t get rid of him.”
My heart sank, another unfamiliar sensation. It was a ruse by my agent then. He sent her to clean up my act, and what? Get in my bed so she had me by the cock and could control me? Christ, that was the most fucked up thing I’d ever heard.
Shaking my head, I turned and walked away from her—the last piece of her conversation following me. “I never liked him! I was putting up with him because you made me a promise, and now he’s going to get all the credit for what I did!”
Oh, trust me, Girl Scout. There won’t be any credit handed out when I’m done.
I pushed the lot door open and stepped inside, snapping my fingers at the nearest set PA. “Get me a vodka, neat. I want it in a water bottle, and if you keep your mouth shut about it, I’ve got a Christmas bonus that will keep all the lights on your tree.” I pulled out my wallet and lifted a couple of hundred bills, holding it out to him. “First installment.”
The PA stood there, gaping at me for a moment before he nodded. “Sure thing, Mr. Clarke.” He took the cash, tucking it away before he ran off to get my drink.
Two more scenes … Two more scenes, and then I could get the fuck out of here and drink until Scout was just a verb to describe what I planned to do to find a new agency.
Fuck them. Fuck her. Fuck this fucking Christmas movie.
Nine
SCOUT
Abel didn’t come back to the hotel last night, and every time I tried to call him, it went straight to voicemail. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but considering I was now fired and my name had been taken off the approved crew list for the movie set, I couldn’t even get onto the lot to see him. After sixteen hours of sitting in the hotel room, I finally accepted he wasn’t coming back.
Leave it to me to fall for some arrogant movie star who only wanted to get in my pants. Like the fool I was, I’d walked right into that dressing room with a bow on top, giving it to him. It didn’t matter that it was the best sex of my life. Obviously, it didn’t mean shit to him if he couldn’t even be bothered to call or text me that he was changing hotels.
Nope.
Instead, like every other asshole in LA, he ghosted me. I couldn’t even hold the job thing over him anymore since his fucking agent had taken all the credit for my hard work. As far as they were concerned, Abel was back on the straight and narrow, thanks to that prick, Darren. Who’d let me know my services were no longer needed via text message because he didn’t even have the balls to say it to my face.
Not that I’m surprised. He struck me as a weaselly kind of turd.
First, I was too angry to do or say anything. I tried texting him, but my messages came back undeliverable. He wasn’t answering my calls, and I couldn’t get to his voicemail which all left me guessing he had blocked my number.
I considered leaving a note in the hotel room for about half a second, but he was avoiding me, so he would likely send somebody to collect his things and never bother coming back. An assistant wasn’t going to notice a note on the bedside table, or at least if they did, they’d assume it was from somebody he didn’t want to see again.
That’s what I’d do.
So, with three days left until Christmas, I called the airline and moved my ticket. It cost me way more than I should’ve spent, but frankly, I didn’t want to stay in LA a minute longer. I wanted to get home, see my family, hang out with Naya and forget about Abel Clarke, which was a pretty tall order.
I slowed my speed walk to stare at the nine-foot cologne ad with his gigantic head staring at me. His eyes moved, always watching me no matter which way went.
“You want me to leave? I’m leaving!” I shouted at it like a crazy person. “So, why are you haunting me? The Vatican’s in Chicago, trying to do some exorcism. Maybe I’ll have to contact them to get you out of me!”
A woman grabbed a little girl’s arm and gave me a wide berth, glancing back every so often to ensure I wasn’t following them.
“Fucking Abel Clarke, am I right?” I muttered under my breath, readjusting my grip on my rolling suitcase before resuming my way to departures.
Dropping myself into the first seat I found, I pulled up my phone. Like an addict, I obsessively checked our message string, disappointing myself when there was still nothing new. Therewas, however, an email from the agency thanking me again for my services, with a second email from the owner introducing Darren as the next senior partner.
“Twat waffle,” I cursed, crushing the power button with my thumb before leaning back in my seat with a slow groan.
I was excited when I started my talent management and acquisitions degree. I loved the film industry but didn’t have a creative bone in my body. I was a people person, and after the career counselor urged me out of my film major and into talent management, it was like a lightbulb going off inside me.
I finally found the thing that excited me to get out of bed. And for the first time in the two years I’ve been doing this, this morning was the first time I’d woken up wondering if maybe I should go home and find a career back in Chicago.
“Attention passengers of flight 742 to Chicago. Your flight is currently delayed due to a snowstorm over the Midwest. For more information, please see a flight attendant.”
I groaned again, lifting my head only to drop it on the edge of the seat, hammering the back of my head in annoyance.
“It’s Christmas. I’m supposed to receive Christmas miracles, not getting shit on everywhere I turn. I was a good girl this year, Santa. Why are you giving me a huge sack full of—”
