by Tracy Ewens
Her eyes moved past a stunning woman. Dark hair slicked back, red lipstick smeared as if she’d just been kissed, and thigh-high boots. She must be six feet easy, Meg determined as her gaze fell on a black-and-white photo of the man who introduced her at the convention center. There was barely light the first time she met him, but that face was memorable all the same. Staring at his picture now, it was hard to believe she didn’t know who he was until Amy told her over lunch yesterday.
“Westin Drake is big-time, Meg. Full Throttle. Please tell me you’ve seen at least one of them?”
Meg had shaken her head, all the while wondering why Amy was surprised Meg would have no interest in a movie titled Full Throttle. True, she was a new client, but an agent should have a basic understanding of the people she was representing, right? Did Meg seem like a Full Throttle kind of person?
“Well, he’s a massive deal, hot as all hell, and he’s into the environment too.”
“What does that mean?”
“He speaks at functions, owns an electric car, you know. He cares.”
Meg hoped her face didn’t disclose how absurd she thought Amy’s comment was, but it must have. Her expression grew impatient.
“Fine. He’s not you, but he has made millions and has millions of social media followers. He’s a bright light to shine on your message.”
“I’m not ready to share a message. Honestly, I’m hoping my first gallery show pays for itself. I don’t even own a toaster yet. I’m not looking to get on someone’s bandwagon, especially not a celebrity. And I’m an awful candidate for preaching. That never works.”
“Well, the press loved you guys at the symposium, and his agent called me this morning. They would like to meet and discuss co-branding for a few of Next Generation’s community events. He’s been their face for a couple of years.”
“English please, Amy.”
“Sorry. Westin Drake is their spokesperson. They are pushing their latest project, which is a smart house. The thinking is that since the public went a little nuts for the two of you on social media, as a couple, you would bring even more attention to their causes and products. In fact, Next Generation contacted his agency, Regis, and asked for you. Can you believe that?”
“No, I can’t. What does any of this have to do with my photographs? And why would I put my name behind a big corporation? Is that wise?”
“They are a well-respected green company and would like to use some of your images for promotion. There are worse things than hanging out with Westin Drake, and you don’t have anything more… lucrative at the moment.”
“I thought I was ‘hot, hot, hot.’ Did I cool off already?”
“You’re still hot, but the foundations and functions requesting you as a speaker don’t pay all that well. When we first talked, you needed to make a living, correct?”
Meg nodded.
“Good. Seeing as I make my living off a percentage of yours, I think this is an excellent opportunity.”
“I have the gallery show. And, I need to put some time into my sister’s wedding, or I’ll go down in history as the worst maid of honor. I was hoping for some freelance work or speaking engagements for conservation groups like the one at the convention center. As you said, Westin Drake is huge, and I’m not sure I’m equipped to run around with the Hollywood set.”
“It’s a lot of money, Meg.”
“I don’t need a lot of money, Amy.”
“And, we have to iron out all the details, but they’d like to sponsor your gallery show, as well as make a sizable contribution to a wildlife initiative of your choosing.”
“They said that? How sizable?”
“They want this, so I’m guessing it’s a lot. Let’s meet with them and listen to the plan. Then you can decide. Okey?”
Meg had acquiesced after the “okey,” which she assumed was some urban or corporate version of “okay,” and that’s why she was now standing in an empty conference room considering a close-up image of a man she hardly knew. One thing was clear: the camera liked his face and his eyes were exceptional; they reached out and strangely put her at ease. Meg rarely photographed humans because it was difficult to find the truth, but in a room full of faces, his had her reconsidering that stance. He was wilder than the rest of the gloss, and she wondered if that was a character or the camera capturing his essence through all the bullshit.
Pictures, good pictures, rarely lied. She was drawn to the disarray of him and at the same time understood why he was successful. Meg was certain Amy would call it star power. Whatever the catchphrase, the photograph drew Meg in as if the man in the picture somehow understood. Well done, photographer, she thought, turning back to the window as she heard an approaching rumble of people outside the conference room.
She gazed out past the foreground of man-made and steel to the vital green of the rolling hills she’d grown up exploring. Both coexisting in the same space. One making way for the other. When Meg was out on assignment, it was easy to pretend that money didn’t matter. But she’d been capturing animals and living among the community of people that protected them for a long time now. It would be juvenile to say that money didn’t matter. It did, and teaming up with Westin Drake might put some of that star-power cash to good use.
But oh, the irony of meeting about green initiatives over tiny disposable water bottles.
West had five minutes to spare as he squeezed into the closing elevator at Regis. He was hoping to get up to Petaluma by sunset. It was his dad’s birthday and West had been put in charge of the cake. He knew it was his oldest brother’s way of busting his ass. West had missed their dad’s last three birthdays, but asking him to find a cake their mother wouldn’t roll her eyes at was a setup. Boyd was no doubt waiting to watch West fall flat on his face, but that wasn’t going to happen. He had Towner, and it was becoming clear to him that the woman knew everything.
“Nothing too fancy, but fresh and incredible,” that’s what he’d said, and that was exactly what she’d delivered. A triple chocolate cake from some neighborhood bakery on Twenty-Fourth Street at Castro. Towner had brought him a sample and when he told her he’d never tasted a cake like it, she ordered one for him. The damn thing was better than homemade and his brothers, all of them, were going to line up to kiss his youngest brother ass.
But now, he thought, stepping from the elevator, he needed to survive this meeting so he could get on the road. He’d opted for his own clothes and drove himself so he could leave once everything wrapped. Like a big boy, he could hear his brothers mocking already.
“Okay, well let’s take our seats…” Hannah’s practiced words brought the conference room to order as she noticed West enter through the glass doors. She surveyed him from head to toe and was inches from his face before West had a chance to take a seat.
“What’s with the beard?” she quietly asked, tugging his barely-longer-than-stubble facial hair.
“Ow! It’s Friday, who the hell calls a meeting on Friday?” he asked, attempting to duck past her.
“You realize these people pay you to represent their products, right?” she added under her breath as the men West recognized from Next Generation began jockeying for one of the incredibly uncomfortable seats around the massive conference room table.
“I do, and they should appreciate the natural look.”
“What’s going on, West? Is this another ‘poor you’ party? I’m all out of small bottles of vodka, and I need to catch a flight back to my beautiful city of angels by three,” she said between her teeth so she could keep smiling as attention began to shift toward them.
West kept his voice low. “I didn’t shave. I’m here. Deep breath, Hannah. The suits are waiting for you.”
“Okay. You want to play? I’ve mastered this game.”
“I do not want to play. I simply want to get this over with so I can start the weekend.” West took a seat and as he began to wonder how much they paid for these pretentious chairs, he saw her. Eyes darting, taking in
everything as if her mind had been left on since the last time he saw her backstage a few days ago. The woman sitting next to her whispered something in Meg’s ear and when she looked up, their eyes met. Hers were blue now that she was bathed in the filtered light of the conference room windows. West nodded a greeting and she did the same. He liked Meg Jeffries even more with the lights on. She was a refreshing contrast to the moneymakers—or, he should say, money collectors—who filled the other seats around the table.
When West decided to move to San Francisco, Hannah had used everything in her bag of tricks to get him to stay, but he was, fortunately, able to pull his I’m-the-star card. It wasn’t something he did often, but he wanted to live somewhere other than LA, and pushing around his weight had worked. As part of the deal, he agreed to Skype meetings and Hannah, in turn, flew up to the Regis Agency’s San Francisco offices twice a month. West swore the inconvenience made her less tolerant and pricklier if that was possible. It was never wise to poke at her, but sometimes, he couldn’t help it.
Rubbing her lips together, most likely making sure her lipstick was firmly in place, Hannah swirled away from him and back to her audience, but not before flashing him a sadistic grin that let him know she was going to win. This power play shit was getting old.
“Okay, so thank you all for making it here on a Friday. As West pointed out, Fridays are not easy. So, I wholeheartedly appreciate the effort and that most of you managed to shave.”
She glanced at him and the table laughed. West ran a hand over his growth and laughed along with them. No way that’s her best move.
“Before we get started discussing the sensational project Next Generation has put forth, I wanted to give a quick mention and congratulations. This morning I was informed that West will be in People’s Sexiest Men Alive issue. He wasn’t named the sexiest man alive. Not this year anyway. But he will be in the issue.”
There was the ruthless warrior he paid to torture him. Well played, Hannah. West kept his expression neutral. Lately he used all those acting classes he took when he first moved to LA more off set than in front of the camera. Hannah was good, there was no question. Those around the table nodded and clapped, including a few hoots from the suits, which was plain odd. The entire scene was reminiscent of the time his mother told his homecoming date that he’d wet the bed until he was six.
West shook his head as the cheering continued. The receptionists were into it now. Every person in the room was clapping. Except for her. He was drawn to Meg Jeffries like a school kid hoping to be teacher’s pet. The woman he now assumed was her agent looked at her, bumped her gently, and raised her clapping hands. West recognized the gesture and had had enough.
“Thank you for that, Hannah. Now, can we please get down to why we’re all here? I’m sure no one drove in here on a Friday to hear about my prestigious accomplishments.”
“This is tremendous exposure, West,” she said, walking behind the conference room chairs until she was two down from Meg.
West felt a sudden need to protect Meg, which was ridiculous. He barely knew her.
“I’m sorry your new friend here doesn’t see that this is exciting news, but—”
“Meg. My name is Meg.” She craned her head to meet Hannah’s eyes.
West settled in. Meg Jeffries could obviously take care of herself.
“And while I am incredibly grateful to Mr. Drake for keeping me upright during my first presentation, it’s a bit of a stretch to call us friends.” She looked at him, expression solid and fearless. “I’m sorry for not clapping. You are, in fact, sexy.”
West raised his eyebrows and realized he was searching her expression for genuine interest, which was again ridiculous. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who ranked sexy as an accomplishment.
“But honestly, Sexiest Man Alive is absurd. Does this magazine know every man alive? There are some incredible faces in South America and Kenya for that matter. It should be Sexiest Man in California, if they’re going to do it at all.” She looked around as a few jaws opened and the rest of the conference room sat poised for a train wreck. To everyone’s surprise, Hannah ignored Meg’s comment and walked to the other side of the table.
“Sorry. I’m working on the selective speaking thing, but you don’t look too thrilled, so I simply abstained. Should I clap?” she asked West as if they were sitting at a table for two.
He tried not to laugh, but it was no use. He shook his head, held her eyes for a few beats more because he wanted to, and then the meeting was underway.
Everything went as expected with both Meg’s agent and his crew as they sorted through the details of three events he and Meg would attend together for Next Generation. The CEO, always the one in the most expensive suit, seemed particularly motivated. He asked about press coverage and if West and Meg were truly dating. Meg almost toppled her tiny water bottle at the question, so West fielded the personal inquiries and assured the table full of agents, executives, and marketing staff that he and Meg barely knew one another.
“We met for the first time backstage at the convention center. It was an interesting first meet.” West smiled and Meg’s expression wasn’t one of embarrassment; it was more like a challenge. Yeah, he liked her.
“I am looking forward to working with Meg again, but my kiss to her cheek was a gesture put forth to calm her nerves and nothing more. If the ‘buzz’ can bring attention to something worthwhile, then that’s productive. But let’s try to return Ms. Jeffries back to her normal life as unscathed as possible.”
Hannah seemed pleased with his response and the others that followed as the discussions continued with a mixture of business and gossip. It was decided West and Meg would begin by introducing Next Generation’s new smart house, visit and bring attention to their state-of-the-art composting facility, and finish up at Meg’s gallery show in early August. Meg’s agent thanked Next Generation for their added sponsorship of the exhibit and firmed up their $10,000 donation to Bear With Us, “a small wildlife relief agency close to Meg’s heart,” as the CEO announced.
Close to her heart. The words swam in West’s head as he zoned out a bit during the details and instead wondered what else was close to her heart. He glanced across the table and found Meg looking out the window. The longing in her eyes was apparent to anyone who bothered to notice, not that anyone, other than him, was looking. She’d become a product to them, an opportunity to push their agenda. West knew the drill all too well and felt a bit of guilt that he’d kissed her cheek at all. That was nuts. He had no way of knowing something as simple as being kind would propel her onto a treadmill that was often cruel.
He should have known better, but at the time he wasn’t thinking about himself or his celebrity. He’d wanted to put her at ease. It was simple, yet thanks to social media and some other crap, it wasn’t.
“Fantastic. Well, I think that covers it. Our people will draft up the agreement and get that sent out to everyone by the end of the day,” Hannah said, shaking hands around the table.
West broke free of his thoughts, of her face, and stood to shake the hands he knew Hannah expected. All three events would be wrapped up before he started shooting mid-September.
The world was such that any cause in want of a spotlight needed a celebrity. There were scientists, activists, and photographers like the one sitting across from him who did the work, but the public wasn’t interested unless something pretty and shiny was attached. Meg probably wouldn’t be at this table if he had not kissed her on the cheek. The thought sounded arrogant even in his head, but it was true. She had been places and seen things he’d only dreamed about, and she was better than this. And for reasons he would not bother analyzing, he didn’t want what he knew was pure and real to be ruined by all the ugly expensive shoes in the room.
But hell, he was in the Sexiest Man Alive issue, so he’d probably ruin her all by himself. West snickered at his thoughts and left the conference room the same way he’d arrived. Under the glaring eyes of h
is perpetually dissatisfied agent.
Chapter Six
The San Francisco General Hospital Foundation’s offices were green glass and brick, representing the innovation the foundation strove to represent while remaining vastly different from the much older buildings surrounding it. After her morning meeting, Meg walked out into the unseasonably cool June morning and was reminded of the last time she was at SF General, which was less than a half mile from the foundation.
Her middle sister Sage had her tonsils removed when she was eleven, which meant Meg must have been seven. All she remembered was that Sage had to stay overnight in the hospital for observation. Tons of flowers were delivered and the six of them all sat around eating ice cream until the nurse kicked them out. A few years later, Meg was devastated to learn her own tonsils were fine and could stay put.
“Why is Sage so lucky?” she had exclaimed, stomping toward the car ahead of her mother’s laughter.
Meg looked out over the park across the street as the memory faded and she pulled her jacket closed. She’d been reminiscing a lot lately. So few of those memories were filled with the angst and frustration she felt so prevalently when she left home for college. Funny how time dulled the drama and things had changed on so many levels, she thought, or maybe she was the one who had changed.
Glancing both ways, Meg crossed the street and checked her phone for the directions to the café West had texted her last night. He’d asked if they could meet to discuss the details of their first appearance together. When she told him she was busy, he said they could get together somewhere close to her meeting. Meg was taken aback that he would accommodate her schedule. She wasn’t sure why his seemed more important, but everything surrounding him screamed priority. And yet, the man himself appeared to defy the stereotypical celebrity, at least so far. He was straightforward, which Meg appreciated.
