I don’t really fucking care, but I don’t say this to Dick. Instead, I wait, my patience wearing thin.
“So after some digging around, I discovered someone is funding him. Someone is giving him money.”
I wonder where this is going and glance at my watch. Ten minutes of my life wasted sitting in this dump. I take a deep breath in and exhale slowly. Stay calm.
“It wasn’t too hard to work out who was giving Ed money. Ed has a sister—a sister who seems very attached to her brother, or so at least it seems on the surface. Sibling or not, it seems strange to keep giving him money.”
“Is there a fucking point to all this, Dick?” I’m getting pissed off with this long-winded story of the PI.
“Sorry, Scotty. Of course there’s a point. Ed’s sister has a son. A son called Ian. A rather useless, unemployable son called Ian.”
Finally, the light globe turns on.
I get it.
“Papers?”
Dick hands me a surprisingly clean-looking envelope.
“All in here, my friend.”
Before he hands it over, he holds out his other hand.
“For a reward, it’s yours.”
I pull out my wallet and throw five thousand bucks onto the desk. With greedy fingers, Dick grabs the money and shoves it in his top draw.
With the evidence in hand, I leave.
“Pleasure doing business,” Dick calls to me just before I close the door.
I hope I won’t have to come back to this dump ever again.
The fucking roach is still sitting where it was when I walked in. I stop and glare at it, and I swear it glares back.
I’m tempted to take a photo and show it to Brad and Kayla. But then again, I don’t want them to think me a fool.
Outside, I mull over the information Dick gave me. Only now I realize how bad the gambling habit and being broke really is if one is a producer.
I don’t know many networks who want to employ a producer who cannot manage their own finances and are reliant on someone else’s money. When this gets out, no one will hire Ed ever again as a producer.
I can’t wait to tell Kayla and Brad what I’ve found out.
42
Brad
Sitting at home, I’m feeling pretty darn good. I’ve spent the afternoon with Scott and Kayla. We wrote and distributed fifty-five fake gossip items about the three of us.
I’m sure that will be enough—no matter what the gossip is about, the blogger releasing all these stories will just be washed away in the flood we created.
Fuck you, whoever you are. You and the asshole leaking information. Fuck you both.
Shauna’s coming over for dinner. Actually, she’s bringing dinner. Chinese food from my favorite restaurant.
I’m really looking forward to some egg rolls and some pork low mien tonight.
I’m flipping channels on my big screen plasma TV, looking for a something with a sci-fi flare that I can watch until she gets back.
I’m kinda hoping this one movie, the space movie with the giant bugs, is on. Every time I flip by it, I end up watching it. It gets me. Every damn time, it gets me.
Unfortunately, I’m not finding it. Lots of teen drama movies are on. Not even the good kinds with a touch of horror, just the sappy, whiny kinds.
When I was that age, I was busy playing video games and hitting on the hottest girls in class, not crying and moping about. Times sure have changed.
I can hear Shauna’s car pull in the driveway. My stomach growls. Just in time.
“Hey, Shauna. Your timing is absolutely perfect. I’m just—”
Shauna runs into the living room. I’ve never seen her so happy or excited before. You’d think she won the lottery.
“You were just getting ready to give me an all-expense paid vacation to the Caribbean. Don’t protest—I’m right.”
“Wait? Was I?” I say, smiling.
“And you are gonna rent me one of those luxury jets so me and my family can fly in style.”
“Whoa. Really?”
She places the food down on my kitchen table, and while retrieving her phone from her oversized purse, she nods. “Yeah, really.”
Sitting at the table, I’m both intrigued and hungry, so I unpack the food while asking, “What did you do to deserve all this? Did you get me extra egg rolls?”
“I did better. So much better,” she says, pointing to her phone. “I got answers.”
“Answers?” It suddenly occurs to me what she’s speaking about and why she’s so happy. “Answer-answers? You found out who?”
“I did.”
“Holy shit, Shauna.” I stand up so quickly, I spend everything on the table into motion, nearly spilling my food and drink. “Who? Spill it! The info, I mean.”
“Ian and Ed are the blind item sources. The blogs have been paying them for dirt.”
“Ian and Ed. Those motherfuckers!” I slam my open hand down on the table, shaking everything there again. “I can’t fucking believe it.” Well, fuck, it makes sense, doesn’t it?
Shauna paces back and forth as she continues, clearly trying to expel all the energy inside her. “And you’ll never guess how I found out, Brad.”
“How?”
“I found out from talking to Shelby.”
“Shelby?” I wrinkle my brow. “My Shelby? I mean my X-Shelby. My ex-girlfriend, Shelby?”
“Yes.”
“How the hell?”
Shauna stops; gathering herself a moment. “Shelby is dating a friend of mine. I never told you that?”
“Um…no.”
“Well, she is. She’s very happy. I mean, they are very happy.”
I shrug at her comment. “Great… So….”
“So, Ian and Ed told Shelby, thinking she would love hearing how they are destroying your career. But Shelby isn’t bitter because she is happy in her new relationship. Happier than she’s ever been.”
Her words both irk and excite me. Mostly irk.
Ed and Ian. Shelby happier than ever.
What the fuck. I need to call Scott. He’s gonna love this.
“So what do you think?” Shauna says. “Did I earn my vacation?”
She did. She earned it and more.
“Shauna, you earned a month’s worth of time off. Contact my assistant”—I’m teasing now, but it’s the honest truth—“have her set you up. All expenses paid for!”
“You think your assistant will be jealous?” she says, laughing.
“Nah.”
Shauna looka at me funny; I’m forgetting something. Oh, right.
“And I’ll rent you a luxury jet too.”
She cheers and gives a loud “Woot!”
“One month. What will you do for a whole month?”
“Two weeks is fine, Brad. You wouldn’t be able to survive without me for more than that. A month? I’d come back and you’d be jobless, broke, starving, and—”
“Naked.”
“Exactly.”
Walking around the table, I put my hand up for a high-five. “You’re the best, Shauna.”
SLAP!
“We’re the best, Brad. We make an excellent team. Like Batman and Robin.”
I smirk, and she smirks back. I know what that means. “That makes me Robin, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does, Brad.”
43
Kayla
I check my reflection. Looks good. Tight black skirt, white blouse, black jacket, and matching shoes give me the serious writer look I want to portray.
Today’s a special day, and I have to look my best.
Ian and Ed wanted a war…and they’re about to get one.
“You look hot,” Scott whispers in my ear as he walks past. I quash the flicker of desire with thoughts of ice water.
A quick check of my wristwatch confirms that the head of the network should be walking through the door to our set any second. And right on queue, he comes in.
I nod in his direction and am pleased to
see Derrick intercept him before Ed gets to him.
With a deep breath, I walk to the set.
Brad and Scott both smile at me in an encouraging sort of way. They know what’s about to happen. Scott gives me the thumbs up.
I catch a glimpse of Ian and Ed in an intense discussion. This is going to be so good.
A feeling of schadenfreude overcomes me already. Pricks, both of them. They deserve what’s about to happen.
“What’s going on, Kayla?” Ed stops me midstep.
Is that fear I hear in his voice?
“Baby cakes, tell me what you’re up to.”
“I told you not to call me that,” I say coolly and push past him.
Ian is now by Ed’s side.
“What did she tell you?” I hear Ian ask Ed, but I just ignore the two of them.
I push past them. When I’m on the set, I take a bundle of papers from one of the prop boys.
“First of all, let me welcome Mr. Prong, head of the network, to the set today.” I pause to applaud. The others join me. “I have invited the honorable Mr. Prong to watch our filming today.”
I pause to relish in the electric atmosphere and then add, “There’s been a rewrite.”
Ian snorts, and Ed visibly tenses.
“Here’s the amended script.”
I walk over to Ian and Ed to give them the paper.
Frantically, Ian flicks through the pages. His face visibly whitens to the color of a ghost.
“She can’t do this, Ed.” Ian’s voice is near hysterical.
“Oh, yes I can,” I reply for Ed.
Ed glares at me.
“Really, Kayla. I thought we talked about this.” He holds the typed pages toward me.
I nod. “We did, and you did not want to listen to my ideas. You dictated what should happen, and your ideas were not in the best interest of the show but in the best interest of yourself.”
I hear Ian gasp in disbelief. I chuckle inwardly. He must have read about his own death.
When I had made up my mind to kill Ian off, I had to work out how.
“You can’t kill me off.” Ian is almost hyperventilating. “Did you see this?”
He is waving the pages in front of Ed’s face.
“She has written total nonsense. It says here I’m walking along drunk on the main road when I stop to stare at oncoming lights. Since I think the lights belong to two bike riders, I do not move. And I don’t realize the oncoming lights are from a tram until it is almost too late. But before the tram can kill me, a crane lifting heavy metal poles onto a building site looses a pole, which lands on top of me.”
With an expressionless face, I look from Ed to Ian.
“What’s the problem? You’d rather be killed by the tram? There are no lines for you to remember, so it shouldn’t take too long to film this scene.”
Ed takes a step toward me.
“You know Ian is off-limits.”
I flinch, but only because Ed has an unpleasant mouth odor.
“You cannot threaten me anymore,” I say and take a step back. “I know your little secret, and in a minute, so will everyone else.”
A mixture of shock, disbelief, and horror reflects in Ed’s face. He looks at his phone.
“As much as I want to hear more of your little make-believe stories, I’ve got to take this.”
Not this time, sunshine. I reach for the stupid device and pull it out of his hand. The element of surprise is on my side.
“Not this time, Ed.”
I throw the phone in a wide arc across the room.
“Now that I have your full attention, let me tell you what I know. I know about your gambling debts. I know your sister is helping you out financially. If it weren’t for her, you’d be broke already. A gambling habit is rather expensive, isn’t it?” I pause, not because I want an answer, but more for dramatic effect.
“Now one wonders why your sister would help you out like that. What’s in it for her? She’s not doing it for fame. What is she doing it for?” I add.
I love this. It’s finally payback time. That little shit will be unlikely to get another acting job around here any time soon.
“But if one knows the family tree, it is not really hard to know why she’s doing it. She’s a mother, doing what any mother would do if her son had no talent. She’s giving you, her brother, money, and in return, you make sure Ian baby here works as an a actor at all costs.”
I glance at Ian. He seems to be fighting back the tears.
“And then, to make a little on the side, you sold information about me, Brad, and Scott to some bloggers so they could write trash about us.”
To my surprise, Ed does not try and refute what I’ve said. Instead, he goes over to where his phone landed, picks it up, and then leaves the set without another word.
Ian hovers on the same spot for a few more seconds before he, too, leaves.
Brad and Scott are still smiling. Brad is applauding.
Pride swells in me. I wish Angela could see me. Finally, I have stood up for what I believe in.
“Shouldn’t be too hard to film the killing scene, even if Ian does not come back,” announces Derrick, and I laugh.
Mr. Prong waves me over to him.
“Looks like the two of us need to meet and discuss the future of the show and you.”
44
Kayla
I smell the roses on my desk and buzz Lydia, the office junior, to bring a jug of water and glasses to my office.
As I wait, I admire the new painting hanging on the wall directly opposite my workspace. It arrived a few days ago.
Attached to it was a little note: From your greatest admirers.
Every time I look at it, I’m overcome with gratitude. How lucky am I to have such supportive people in my life?
The painting is of a boat tied to a pier. I love the blue of the ocean and the story the boat tells. Every time I’m stuck for ideas, I stare at the painting, and words start to flow again.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts.
“Come in,” I call.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Brad pokes his head through the door, closely followed by Scott.
“He’s not here yet?”
I shake my head.
“But he’s not due for another five minutes or so.”
Brad checks his watch.
“Told you there’s no need to rush.” He turns to Scott.
“But if we hadn’t rushed, we’d be late.”
I look from one to the other and back again, following their friendly banter, much like following a tennis match.
A polite cough from the door stops the conversation.
“I hope I’m not interrupting something?”
I leave my desk and walk to the door to greet Mr. Prong.
“On the contrary, Mr. Prong, we were just talking about you coming to the meeting.”
We all take a seat.
“I have to say, Kayla, I have been very impressed with your work.”
Straight to the point and no pleasantries—time’s money for this man as it is for me. Since Ed’s walkout and my explosive speech—that’s what Brad calls it—I’ve been bursting with creativity. The ideas and words pour onto the page.
“She’s an excellent writer,” adds Brad as if he needs to convince the head of the network to keep me on.
Butterflies multiply in the pit of my stomach, and a feeling of warmth hugs me. Power, control, love—they are awesome feelings.
“She’s that and other things,” Mr. Prong agrees.
I clear my throat. It is time to stay cool, calm, and collected, I remind myself.
“As I was saying, you’ve impressed me and the other members on the board. We’ve noticed a significant increase in ratings since you took control of the writing and got rid of that useless actor.”
Mr. Prong pauses. I notice his fingers twirl a pen through his hands.
“Thank you.” I bow my head a little, more to break the silence than anythi
ng else. I don’t have much experience in the world of business and negotiations, so I’m a little nervous.
True to my ballet teacher’s words, I involuntarily straighten up and instantly feel taller and calmer. Dance with confidence and no one will know if you are dancing the wrong moves.
“I have had our legal department draw up some paperwork,” Mr. Prong continues and puts a thick bundle of papers in front of me.”
He reaches into his briefcase a second time to pull out more papers. It looks intimidating.
“And these are for you.” He smiles at Brad and Scott as he hands them a slightly thinner bundle of papers. On second thought, it might not be thinner at all.
I randomly flick through the pages, and the words blur in front of my eyes.
“I don’t expect you to read through all of it now,” Mr. Prong says, and I look at him. “Today I want to focus on the key points of the contract, like the length of time. You will get plenty of opportunity to read though it and ask any questions later.”
“I see you have the length of the contract blank,” Brad says, and I find it is the same on mine.
“I thought we should do two years,” Mr. Prong says and leans back in his chair.
It’s my turn to play with my pen. Instead of engaging in acrobats with it, I unscrew its back and put it back on.
“Two years in this industry isn’t very long.” I glance at Scott and Brad.
Scott is holding up five fingers. My thoughts exactly.
“What did you have in mind?” Mr. Prong is polite in his question.
“I think it should be at least five years. This show isn’t one of those fly-by-night, five-minutes ones. It is here for the long haul.”
I hold my breath as I watch Mr. Prong scribble something on his contract.
“Done. Anything else?”
That was easy. Was it too easy? Do I need to be on guard?
I clear my throat.
“There’s a couple of other matters I would like to address now before we are too far down the track and it becomes too difficult to raise again.”
The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance Page 65
