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“Easier said than done, Harlow,” I muttered as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. “My usual, charming self doesn’t typically dress like a petrified Tootsie Roll that’s been under the car seat for the past year and a half.”
“You don’t look like a—you know what? I’m not even going to lie to you right now. You totally do. You look like shit… literally, and I mean that in the most loving, sincere way possible. Now, get your ass moving or you’re going to be late.”
“Best pep-talk ever, Harlow,” I deadpanned as she shoved me toward the front door.
“You know I’m always there for ya, babe. Now, go knock ‘em dead,” she said, giving me a hard slap on the ass. “I’ll have a pitcher of sangria ready for you when you get home.”
I turned to yell over my shoulder as I scurried down the hall. “And that, right there, is why I love you. If va-jay-jays didn’t scare the living hell outta me, I’d totally wife you.”
“And if I wasn’t terrified of suffocating to death in your cleavage, I’d totally wife you, too,” she called back down the hall just as our neighbor, Donald, opened his front door.
“You know what’s worse than living across the hall from two hot chicks?” he asked, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Harlow and me. “Living across the hall from two hot chicks who joke about having lesbian tendencies. It’s wrong to toy with a man’s emotions like that, ladies. Just plain wrong.”
With a loud laugh and a wave over my shoulder, I bolted down the hall, bypassing the elevator, which had been broken since we moved in four months ago, and pushed open the door to the stairwell. A sense of excitement began to build in my chest as I made my way down the five flights of stairs toward the street below. Despite the fashion mishap, I had a good feeling about my interview. Maybe things were finally starting to look up for me. The past four years had been eye opening for me. The culture shock of New York City after living in BFE, Texas, had been overwhelming, to say the least. It had taken some serious adjusting, but with Carson and Cassidy’s support, and the quick friendship I’d developed with Harlow, I’d managed to pave my way.
I’d changed since leaving Willow Ranch. I was a different person. The timid, frightened girl who used to be bullied and picked on in high school was gone. Cassidy had been instrumental in helping me find my self-confidence. Having someone so amazing at my back gave me strength. There was more steel in my spine than there had ever been before. Life had given me thick skin, but I’d managed to build up my self-confidence in a way that made me stronger than I’d ever been before. I was no longer afraid to stand up for myself and what I believed in. I’d grown up. I’d overcome all the bad in my past, and I was finally ready to take on the world.
And nothing was going to hold me back.
“This is bullshit,” I grumbled as I collapsed against the back of my chair.
“Well, too damn bad, Rowan,” Lauren said from across the wide expanse of her desk. If she hadn’t been the best goddamned publicist in New York, I swear to God, I’d fire her simply for being a raging pain in my ass. Lauren casually leaned back in her chair, twirling a pen back and forth through her fingers. She appeared almost bored as she looked over at me. “The last personal assistant you were in charge of hiring was gone within the first month. You’ve left me no choice. I can’t trust you with the hiring process, so now I get to take time out of my hectic schedule to babysit you through the interviews so I can guarantee we get a PA who's worth what they’re being paid. And this time, he or she will be employed by Enterprise, not you. So you can’t fire them for no good reason.”
“I didn’t fire Veronica for no good reason,” I argued. “My reason was totally valid.”
“First of all,” Lauren said, sitting tall in her chair. “Her name was Victoria. And second, you fired her because you slept with her—”
“And she got clingy!” I interrupted. “She turned into a grade-A psycho, Lauren. The woman should have been committed, for Christ’s sake.”
“If you wouldn’t go around New York sticking your dick in every willing female then maybe you wouldn’t have this problem, Rowan. Ever think of that?!”
“Aww, baby,” I crooned, knowing I was risking the well-being of my nuts, but I was unable to control my desire to push her buttons. I’d worked with Lauren for nearly a decade, and her bark was most certainly as bad as her bite. The woman was a shark, and although teetering in her mid-fifties, she still looked good for her age… damn good. I respected the hell out of her as a publicist, but that didn’t mean I didn’t get a kick out of pissing her off every now and then. “You feeling left out? Just say the word and I’ll bend you over that desk and fuck the tension right out of you.”
“Oh, for the love of God,” she huffed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “This isexactlywhat I’m talking about. You’re a goddamned PR nightmare, Rowan!”
“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” I muttered as I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling somewhat insulted.
“It’s not, Rowan, believe me. I wish I were exaggerating. You were photographed having sex in public with a married woman…”
“In my defense, I didn’t know she was married,” I responded.
“I saw the pictures, Rowan,” Lauran said dryly. “There isn’t enough brain bleach in the world to un-see what I saw. There was no missing the three-carat ring on her finger.”
“Hey, she came on to me. I was too distracted by her tongue down my throat to notice a wedding ring.”
Continuing on as though she hadn’t heard me, she said, “You got into a pissing match with one of your readers on Twitter that went viral!”
“Well, that reader was obviously a moron.”
“He gave you a bad review so you called him an 'inbred, uneducated, backwoods hillbilly'. Christ, Rowan, you hashtagged 'uncle fucker'. What were you thinking?”
I thought back to that particular incident and couldn’t help but cringe. “Okay, so that might not have been one of my finest moments…”
“You havenofine moments. You’ve shown a side of yourself on social media that your readers don’t like. And when your readers don’t like you as a person, they’re not going to buy your books.Broken Shadowswas your worst release to date, which is a damn shame because it’s the best book you’ve ever written, but you’ve turned people off, Rowan. They don’t like you. Trademark is talking about dropping you at the end of your contract. And there’s not a publishing house in this state who will pick you up if that happens. Your agent is scrambling to keep them calm, but your image is shot to shit. If there’s the slightest possibility I can pull you out of the cesspool you’ve created, I need to make sure you don’t ruin it.
“You’re a self-centered, narcissistic asshole who needs an assistant who can put up with your bullshit without running away screaming, or spreading her legs. That’s why I’m in charge of hiring. The only reason you’re here is because I decided to grant you the courtesy of meeting the person I decided to hire, which is more than you deserve. So, I suggest you sit back, shut the hell up, and let me do the job you pay me for, which, as of right now, is nowherenearenough money.”
I opened my mouth to throw back some smart-ass—undoubtedly witty—comeback, only to be interrupted by a faint knock on her office door.
