by Robin Leaf
She smiled. “I’m going to have to call bullshit on that statement, Mr. Pickney.” His surprised expression filled her with glee. To her, there was no feeling like turning the tables on some guy trying to exert power over her. “This goes a little deeper than protecting your client, at least a little bit.” She waited. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “So why would a big Hollywood agent feel the need to hire a psychologist for his client? I don’t know much about the world you live in, Mr. Pickney, but it seems a little beyond the range of duties for an agent to worry about the mental health of an actor. If more agents did, we’d probably have a lot fewer crazy actors in the world.”
After a long pause, his face frozen in what was probably a well-practiced blank expression, he leaned back in his chair. “Alright, Doctor. You got me. He is different than my other clients.” He shifted, seemingly trying to hide his nerves or discomfort. “Ever since he hired me eight years ago, I have liked him.” He paused, watching her reaction. “He is definitely not like the other idiots I represent. He is a genuinely good guy.” A slight unnamed expression crossed his features briefly, but it was too fast for Vanessa to tell what it was. All she knew is she suddenly felt uncomfortable. “I wanted to find jobs for him more than any other client. I have fought harder for him because I feel like he deserves it. I consider him a friend, too. We share season tickets to baseball games and go together when our schedules permit. Barbecues, fishing trips, things like that.
“But lately, I’ve noticed him change. He’s becoming a little hard around the edges – treating people differently. He’s the kind of guy who everyone liked – very charismatic. Lately, he’s been. . .” his words trailed off. He looked down at the same piece of paper on which he searched for words earlier. When he looked up at her, she found it odd that no emotions played on his features. “He’s been withdrawing. I want to help him, mainly because he has no one else. I didn’t lie.” His small smile did not go unnoticed. Then he added teasingly, “But I also need to protect my investment. He alone has paid for my winter cabin retreat in Colorado. I can’t afford to lose him as a client.” She could tell that was the most sincere thing he had said the entire day, but something unnerved her. She had to know what it was.
“There’s more to this story, isn’t there, Mr. Pickney. What aren’t you telling me?”
His brow furrowed and his already pudgy cheeks puffed out slightly. He glared at her across his desk. After an immeasurable moment, his face relaxed, and he blew a long, noisy breath through his puckered lips. “You know, Dr. Taylor, the more I am with you, the more I realize you are the perfect person for this task. Very perceptive you are.”
“I read body language fairly well, Mr. Pickney.”
“Yes, I’d say you do.” A resigned sigh escaped him. “Truth is I feel a little guilty for his current state.”
“Guilty? How?” she asked, leaning slightly forward in her chair and using her best you-can-tell-me-anything, soothing tone.
He looked away before he answered. “I have pushed him a lot, getting him a lot of jobs in a short amount of time.” Anger flashed briefly, but once he looked back at her, his emotionless mask had reemerged. “Now, he’s agreed to them,” he added quickly, as if defending his behavior. Then a hint of the defeated tone reappeared. “But... I… I may have pushed him too far. Like I said before, I want him to succeed more than any other client. He makes it easy to want that for him. Now, I fear I may have pushed him too far. This is an attempt to make it better for him.” He opened his hands, palms up, a sign of sincerity. “I want to right my wrong.”
“An agent with a conscious? I thought you guys were supposed to be all cut-throaty. Interesting.” Crap, that was out loud. Damn superego falling asleep on the job.
“Usually, I am, Dr. Taylor. It’s just this guy… once you meet him, you’ll understand. Please don’t let it get out that I’m a big softy, doctor-patient confidentiality and all. It will ruin my reputation.” He smiled sheepishly and did the classic one-shoulder shrug (which if she had been thinking clearly, she would have remembered was a “this-guy-is-lying” tell. In fact, she had ignored most of his lying tells.).
“You aren’t my client, but I think I can keep this to myself.” She knew for certain he was attempting to play her. This whole care-for-the-client, I’m-really-a-sheep-in-wolf’s-clothing sermon was carefully crafted, and although it may not be utter bullshit, she knew it was laid on too thick, especially when she paid attention to the other tells.
She had to know, though. The question was burning in her gut. Even though she had settled on her refusal to take the job, before she left that office, she had to find out the identity of this good-guy client, simply for curiosity’s sake. But she had to make it look like she was still interested in the job. Therefore, she steadied herself for her next question. It didn’t go unnoticed about how guarded Charles was about the identity of his client. Inwardly, she was about to jump out of her chair to know who it was. She knew he was male, big-enough of a star to have on-location shoots, and one who the media would follow around. One of the Hemsworth brothers? Sumerhalder? Pratt? Efron? Lutz? Excitement grew tenfold as she thought of each name. She really had to rein it in before she asked. Then she thought of the darker celebs, the ones with reputations for their downward spirals into ruin. That thought intimidated her. She really didn’t want to take on someone who was so far down the rabbit hole that she couldn’t help him. It wasn’t worth her career to bite off more than she could chew before she even had a chance to figure out what she wanted to do with her degree. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes just long enough not to raise suspicion, and went for it.
“Before we go any further, might I ask who you are asking me to treat?” She hoped her question sounded breezy, but she feared she sounded desperate.
“Not yet, Dr. Taylor.” Dammit. “I must insist on some non-negotiable details before we proceed. Then, only if you agree to the terms set forth on my end, you must be willing to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Then I will tell you who you will be treating.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pickney, but I think I have a right to know the name before we go any further.” She sped up her speech and gathered her jacket and purse. “A non-disclosure agreement is a moot point if I will be treating him in a professional capacity. As you said, doctor-patient confidentiality does cover that. I don’t want to waste either your time or mine. He’s obviously someone I have heard of, and there are some possible people floating around in my head right now that I would not be willing to treat. I won’t do in-house drug rehab, Mr. Pickney. Therefore, if this client of yours has a publicly-known drug problem, the answer is no.” She rose and stuck out her hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pickney, but I think I am not right for this.”
He stood automatically and stared down at her hand confused by what had just happened. He grabbed her hand and held it firmly, pulling her closer to him gently, yet boring his gaze down at her. Gone was the gentle-giant act, and back was the intimidating beast she first met. She swallowed her panic and concentrated on the freckle on the end of his nose as she breathed deeply, a tactic she learned in one of her undergraduate classes to maintain control. She noticed a trace of make-up lining his jaw right above a slight scar, possibly from some face-lift or chin implant he received in plastic surgery, and judging from the angry redness of the scar, it happened recently. Mystery of what was wrong with his face solved. Yes, even agents succumb to keeping up appearances in L.A. She couldn’t hide the amusement in her eyes as she bit back the laugh that threatened to escape her throat.
She let go of his hand and turned to leave. Whatever name he was going to throw at her, whoever it was, she would refuse. Treating a spoiled celebrity, one with a “boo-hoo, woe-is-me, I-live-the-life-about-which-others-can-only-dream, I’m-so-tortured, nobody-understands-me” attitude, was not how she envisioned using her shiny new doctorate. It felt wrong, and the added thrill of telling this man no and meaning it warmed her to her toes.
Charles
watched her step around the chair. “Well, Dr. Taylor. I really feel you are perfect for this.” The flattery is futile; the answer will still be no, jackass. “As long as you promise not to disclose this conversation to anyone, not even your priest…”
“I’m not Catholic, Mr. Pickney,” walking toward the door, she chuckled, hoping he would interpret it as the ridiculous idea that she was religious rather than her laughing at his expense and at her excitement of telling him no.
“Fine. Do I have your word that you will not reveal this meeting to anyone should you decide not to do this?”
But I’m not going to do this, no matter who it is. She paused with her hand on the door. Steadying her expression, she looked at him over her shoulder, letting go of the doorknob and slowly turning to face him. “Yes,” she nodded solemnly, “you have my word.”
He held her gaze with his steely one for a few moments, finally rolling his eyes and huffing a sigh. He took a deep breath, leaned forward on his desk and locked his eyes on hers once again. “Riley Tate.”
Holy shit, it’s Riley Tate!
Riled Up is available from Amazon and is free on KU
