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"I'm sorry this upset you. It's my job, Savannah," Siobhan said. She patted my arm softly. "I'll try to be nice when I write up the story."
Opening the car door, I swung my legs out and stood. I stuck my head back inside the car. "Von, do what you need to do. It just hit close to home. End of story. Be careful."
Closing the door, I tapped the roof lightly. She pealed away, her taillights disappearing down my street. Tossing my keys in the air, I made my way up the sidewalk to my house.
I had quite the surprise waiting for me inside.
***
I hadn't expected to have a voice mail like this one waiting for me. I was exhausted, kicking off my heels as soon as I'd locked the door behind me. The light flashing on my phone alerted me to a message. I pressed the button for my voicemail and let the message play through the speaker.
"Savannah, this is Elliott Winters. I'd like you to stop by my office tomorrow around 11. I have a job opportunity I'd like you to interview for...one of my clients is in need of a personal assistant. This interview will be a two step process."
The message droned on to give me other basic information about the meeting. The client’s name was never revealed.
And that is how I came to be standing in the bathroom of Elliott Winters office building, adjusting my blouse in the mirror and leaning in closer to apply a thin coat of nude lipstick. Rubbing my lips together, I smiled widely at my own reflection. My blond hair was expertly tousled and my make-up was impeccable. It was important...no, it was a must that I looked perfect for this interview. I knew I wasn't taken seriously in this business for quite a few reasons. My blond hair, blue-eyed good looks and plentiful curves made me seem like every other bubble headed actress wannabe. God knows I'd been approached more than I could count on both of my hands twice. The casting couch didn't just apply to actresses. It also applied to washed up teenage models who wanted a career instead of being a mindless, needy fool.
I'd been the personal assistant to up and coming singer, Sam Stricker for nearly three years. After his fourth failed, highly publicized stint in rehab had crushed his fledgling career, I'd had no choice but to walk away before he managed to drag me down with him. He was a nice guy, but he'd let his addiction to alcohol, cocaine and hookers demolish the good-guy image he'd tried so desperately to construct. It crumbled around him faster than a house of cards in an earthquake.
That was Hollywood for you. Being famous was a smoke and mirrors game. It was fickle, fleeting and if you weren't careful, you'd be yesterday's news in the blink of an eye. Personal assistants were on first name basis with the paparazzi. We knew when we needed to call to arrange a ‘surprise’ photo op to help bolster your employer's image. I was lucky to have a best friend in the business.
You either played the game or threw in the towel and went home.
When I called Elliott early this morning to confirm, he refused to tell me who his client was, only telling me they needed a new PA and he wanted to know if I was interested in finding out more.
Of course I was intrigued and Elliott was savvy enough to know I would be. I had to land this job for more reasons than one. My self-inflicted unemployment had me burning through my savings. And yes, I could live off my Daddy's money, but I'd never wanted a free ride. And this job could propel me career-wise. In five years, I wanted to be representing clients. This job was an all around win/win for me.
With a final sigh, I turned away from the mirror and glanced at my watch. I had five minutes to spare before my interview. Plastering on my emergency smile, I pushed the butterflies down and smiled a final time at my reflection.
I could do this.
Let's get this over with. I have to get this job, I thought to myself. Yanking the door open, I strode purposely down the hallway to Elliott Winters office. The initial interview would be between Elliott and myself. If I passed the crucial first phase, the next step was to meet with the mysterious client, hoping I'd be able to win their approval as well.
Drawing a deep breath, I entered the agent's office. A gaunt faced receptionist glanced up and did her best to arrange her mouth into something that resembled a smile but made her appear constipated. Another case of too much Botox and more than likely, too much Adderall.
"Can I help you?"
"Savannah Wood to see Elliott Winters." I replied confidently. I didn't let women like this intimidate me, even though they always tried. I'd played the game long enough to know everyone had a role to play. She was the going to be the self-important gatekeeper to her boss.
"Is Mr. Winters expecting you?" She sneered coolly. She made a production of scrolling through her computer, squinting at the screen absently.
I heard a door open and a loud voice ring out into the reception area. "Regina, I'm expecting Ms. Wood. Cut the shit."
I glanced up to see Elliott Winters approach me from his office. He was a 50-something man that was thin and wiry. His pale blond hair was thick and his hazel eyes were constantly roaming between two iPhones and his watch. Dressed in an expensive Italian suit, he was still an impressive, handsome figure.
He was also my godfather. In many ways, Elliott was more like a father to me than my real dad had ever been.
"Ms. Wood, let's get this show on the road, shall we? I have a tee time with another client in an hour and a half, " Elliott said sharply. He spun and headed back into his office, motioning for me to follow.
He held the door for me and leaned in to peck me on the cheek after he closed it behind us. His severe face softened into a fond smile. "How's my favorite goddaughter?"
I rolled my eyes and jabbed him in his side with my elbow at the use of his favorite joke. I played along to humor him. "I'm your only goddaughter, Elliott."
He snorted and adjusted his tie. He gestured to a chair across from him as he sat behind his desk. "You got me again, Savannah." Elliott smiled broadly, glancing at one of his phones that buzzed. He pushed it aside and fixed his gaze back on me. "This is simply a formality. My client only wants me to meet with who I deem are the best candidates. You're the best."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Elliott," I retorted, crossing my legs and sitting back in the leather chair. "Seriously, what's the story?"
"My client is looking for a personal assistant plus. You'll be his right hand man so to speak. You and I would work closely together with him," Elliott replied. He tented his hands on the desk. "Listen, he's an easy going guy, but he's very particular and private. If he hires you, you'll have to sign a NDA."
