Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
But nature is a beast and not a gentle one.
Just as time is a monster who doesn’t care if you need a moment to breathe.
***
Once I’m behind my desk, Jenna, my assistant, pops her head in the door, her red, bouncy curls springing about. “There’s a man up front who insists I give you this right now.” It’s a plain, white letter-sized envelope.
“Any idea what it’s about?”
She steps into the doorway and sashays toward me. She’s short and slender but curvy in all the rights places. The kind of bombshell that should be the face of Selling in the City, except she hates selling anything. I tried to make her once and she broke out in hives. She sets the envelope in front of me and says, “The phones are going nuts. Everyone wants to work with and be on TV.”
I sigh. “Of course, they do. Have them fill out the online form. Where are my mom and dad?”
“They left early for some meeting with a guy who looked important.” She crinkles her nose. “Everyone who comes in here looks important. Money does that to people.”
We cater to high-end buyers who mostly look at us as their servants. I don’t like it. It’s not what I wanted us to be, but my plans went right out the door.
“Expensive clothes make people feel and look important,” I say. “It doesn’t make them important.”
“Your parents were fawning over him,” she adds.
“That only means he has lots of money.”
“Open the card,” she orders, “because I can’t go back out there and face that man until you do. He’s big and cranky.”
I do as commanded, for the sake of Jenna, removing a piece of paper with an official studio letterhead.
Ms. Blue,
One of our largest investors requests a meeting this evening. We’ve provided a driver for your convenience who will transport you to and from your destination.
Allen A. Phelps
CEO/President
NYDD Studios
I sigh and drop the letter to my desk. “Of course.”
“What is it?” Jenna asks.
“The studio requests my presence.”
Her brow dips with my obvious exasperation. “But that’s good, right?” she asks. “You’re hot right now. Everyone is talking about you and your ratings.”
“Yes,” I say. “It is.” And it is, I think to myself. It is. This is a path out of a hole. I was forced into the show, and that’s the only reason it’s negative to me. Had this gone differently, I might be embracing this and I need to work on remembering that important point.
Too many times my family has backed me into the same corner. I’ve begun seeing my life as dictated by them to such an extreme that every moment I live is about them. Everything that happens to me is about them. Everything is simply a different shade of negative. I’m fairly certain that makes me more the girl on the bus than the one I see in the mirror.
I love my family. They love me. My father never meant to bury us all in a hole. He’s not a bad man. He’s just a flawed human and aren’t we all? Right now, I don’t like the girl on the bus or the girl in the mirror, I decide.
I grab my purse. “I’m off to see the studio.”
Jenna offers me a keen stare. “You want to talk? I can come over tonight and bring wine. Or vodka.”
“I film tomorrow, remember? No vodka for me.” I soften my voice. “But thank you. Love you, Jenna.” And I do. We aren’t supposed to be friends, per my father. She works for me, and all that stuff. But she’s amazing and she needs no supervision. The friendship happened naturally, and I don’t regret it.
Once I’m in the lobby, the tall, broody guy in a suit Jenna told me about, scowls at me and motions me to the door. “Who am I visiting?” I ask.
“I just take orders,” he replies, an irritated twang in his remark.
I don’t try again. One thing you learn quickly about Hollywood is that you’re not in charge. They are. At least until you reach a certain level of fame I don’t seek. I’ve always wondered why the bosses in charge don’t consider how the tables turn at later dates. Maybe it wouldn’t cost them so much to convince stars to do things if they did.
The limo waiting on me surprises me a bit. I’m not limo material by studio standards and my heart kicks up a beat. The meeting must be in the backseat of the car. Whoever wants to talk to me can’t be bothered with me in their office. The cranky man who greeted me and led me downstairs opens the rear door. I climb inside to find I’m alone. Maybe ratings really are good? I mean they’re good, I know, but maybe they’re good on a whole other level?