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The truth is, if my only client walks, I won't have any other choice but to grovel where I don't want to.
This is my last shot, and if I lose, he's right. This job will be temporary.
Scouring my brain, I try to think of a rebuttal, and then it hits me.
“Your client has had some serious complaints spewed about him in the past. His behavior toward leading actresses . . . It's one reason the producers wanted a ‘no name’, as you said, to play his counterpart.”
His gaze narrows.
“Wouldn't this be the perfect spin? A great way to bridge the gap on the allegations that he treats his costars like they are his subordinates.”
Paxton's jaw locks. “Comes as no surprise that you play dirty.” His lips smash into a thin line. “Very well. I'll pitch the idea to my client. No promises.”
Paxton doesn't wait for me to respond. He turns on his heel and strides out of the room, just as pissed off as when he arrived. Maybe even more so. I can't help but feel a little satisfied that this dispute is finally over. The contract hasn't been signed, but I know it will be. My job here is done.
Despite the complete torture I had to endure to get to this point.
2
Paxton
Three months later . . .
@Stargossip: I have it on good authority that the set of Twisted Lily is bananas. Diva actors and a flighty director lead to tension and tears. What do you make of this?
@twistedtealover: Sounds typical for Hollywood!
@loveandmovies: How are we surprised by this?
@teagonstewardfanclub: Teagan is no diva!!
@Deathtothesystem: The whole thing needs to be canceled . . .
Something is to be said about Monday mornings.
Most hate them. It's often a dreaded word that is synonymous with a funny GIF of a man crying at his desk.
But I am not like most men. To me, it's the beginning of a new week. The potential is endless, leaving all the shit from last week behind.
A distant memory.
Usually hidden under new scandals thrust upon the public over the weekend when most of the debauchery happens.
Where most see a crisis, I see opportunity.
There’s no such thing as bad publicity, after all, and with a short call to a publicist, I can leverage any scandal to get my clients more work.
So, yeah, to me . . . Mondays are fucking amazing.
Looking around the space, I take a deep breath. My favorite time of the day is now, when the office is quiet, and no one is around to disturb me.
I'm here before anyone else. Story of my life. I play hard. Work harder.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the phone rings on my desk, breaking the peaceful moment. Leaning forward in my chair, I reach for it and hit the speaker button.
“Paxton Ramsey.”
“Thank fuck.” Brad Wright's all too-familiar whine grates on my nerves.
It's way too early to speak to this man, but he makes me enough money that I have no choice but to humor him. Much to my displeasure.
“Brad. My man. Everything okay?” I don't care, but I can't let him on to that fact. Again, time is money, so he gets my time.
“No, everything isn't okay.” My shoulders stiffen at his sharp tone. “I have been trying to call you for an hour. Yet despite how much money I make you . . .” His implication isn't lost on me.
But his accusation makes no sense. I didn't get a call from him.
“Hold one second.” I place the call on hold and reach into my pocket to grab my phone.
Fuck.
He did try to call, and not just one time. He called five times. “Brad, I'm back. What's going on?”
“You need to get your ass here right this fucking second.”
“Here? As in, fly to an island for something other than a vacation?”
“Yes. Here. Filming. I need you.”
I take him off speaker and bring the phone to my ear. I must be hearing him wrong. In all the years I've worked for this man, he's never demanded I be on set. That's not how our relationship works. Sure, he's a needy bastard, but this is next level. I'm not a babysitter.
“The shoot is going to shit. You set this disaster up, and if you know what's good for your career, you'll get here.”
“Brad, take a deep breath. You know I'm here to help, but threatening me isn't going to have the outcome either of us wants. I've got you.”
“That's not a threat, Paxton. That's a promise. It's your fault this unprofessional teen is my costar. You made the mess, so you clean the mess up.”
Fuck. I knew giving in to Mallory would bite me in the ass.
The day she demanded a meeting, my anger clouded my judgment. Despite my feelings about her, I felt like an ass and subsequently made a stupid-as-fuck decision.
