by Suzie Nelson
“Here we go,” she said, taking a deep breath.
The conference room at the Kimpton Monaco, one of Portland’s most luxurious hotels, was stilling filling up when Claire and Odette dropped Angie off. They went off to grab a coffee at the hotel’s upscale restaurant and she slipped to the front of the room, right by the velvet cordon. She wasn’t going to risk getting shunted to the back by her overeager colleagues.
By the time Sasha was due to arrive, however, the place was packed. People were shouting at friends and elbowing each other for a better position. But Angie held onto the cordon and kept her place, lightly treading on the toes of anyone who tried to push her away. Her red leather heels might be killing her after all this standing around, but at least they were making themselves useful.
Angie rolled her shoulders, keeping hold of her notepad in one hand, while the other held the cordon. She could feel sweat snaking down her spine. The room was sweltering with all these jostling, shouting people crammed into it. She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of something cold.
And then, suddenly, there he was. He was as beautiful as he had been that night in the restaurant. His slightly feral good looks were only emphasized by the well-cut clothes he was wearing. Angie had only ever seen him in a few movies and she’d always thought he was sexy, but she had to admit that, in the flesh, he really was overpowering. She felt something twinge deep inside of her and told herself to get a grip. It didn’t matter how wet he made her, she was here on business and business only.
Sasha looked around the room, his dark eyes scanning above her head. But Angie kept her eyes locked on him. She was not about to get distracted, not now. Then, suddenly, his eyes met hers and his look of shock made her smile. He remembered her. He smiled back and crooked his finger at her.
“You,” she saw him say, although she couldn’t hear him over the shouting.
Before he had a chance to change his mind, she slipped under the cordon and trotted to his side, following him out of the crowded conference room and into the quiet hallway. There they were met with the same dour bodyguard Sasha had had with him in the restaurant and an elegant redhead holding a clipboard.
“Just one, Sasha?” the redhead asked, looking unimpressed.
“Yep,” he said. “But what a dress, don’t you agree?”
The woman, whom Angie could only assume was the assistant who had helped get her in, gave Angie a once over and smiled. “It’s a great dress,” she agreed. “I’m Tansy,” she said, shaking Angie’s hand. “The interview will be conducted just here, in this room,” she explained, leading them a few steps down the hall to an empty lounge. “You’ll have no more than an hour, I’m afraid. If you need anything, Bruce will be right outside.”
“Thank you,” said Angie, and she meant it.
The redhead smiled and closed the door behind them.
Angie took a deep breath and sat down on the sofa across from Sasha, switching on her voice recorder and placing it on the table between them. “Well, here we are,” she said.
Sasha smiled. “You wore that dress on purpose,” he said.
Angie nodded. “Can you blame me?”
“I didn’t realize that you were a journalist,” he replied, ignoring her question.
“Do you still like the dress?” Angie asked, joking.
Sasha chuckled. “Yes, though I’m not so sure about what’s inside it anymore.”
“Ouch,” said Angie. “Though, if the rumors are true, you’ve never been very interested in women’s inner selves.”
“Ouch,” Sasha echoed. “Do you think the rumors are true?”
“The jury’s still out on that one,” Angie replied. “Why do you hate journalists so much, Mr. Pollock?”
He ignored her question again, shifting his long legs. “I know you from somewhere,” he said, frowning.
“Yes,” Angie replied, “the restaurant from the other night.”
Sasha clicked his tongue at her in a way that reminded her strongly of Odette, “No, somewhere else.”
He frowned a moment longer and then snapped his fingers. “You’re the one that broke down crying in an interview a few years ago. You are, aren’t you? What happened?”
Angie sighed. She’d hoped that he wouldn’t have seen that. “Why don’t you answer one of my questions and I’ll answer one of yours.”
Sasha gave her a smug grin, “Seems fair. All right, I hate journalists because they twist your words. You say one thing and they make it seem like you said another. Also, they’re usually pretty boring. Your turn.”
“Not one to mince your words, are you?” Angie replied. She took a deep breath. “I cried in that interview because I’d been having a really shitty six months that culminated in my mother dying. She was my best friend and I had just buried her the day before.” She’d never admitted that out loud to anyone before. Her friends had all known why so they hadn’t asked. And no one else had bothered to find out. She stared at Sasha, daring him to make fun of her.
But he didn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, and he looked as though he meant it. “What did she die of?”
“She…cancer,” Angie replied. “Lung cancer. Her dad was a smoker, my dad was a smoker. She never smoked a goddamn day in her life, but there you go.” She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry. “Look, Mr. Pollock, I’ll be honest with you. I lost my job after that and now no one will touch me. I’m running out of money and running out of options. I came here today because I thought that, maybe, if I could get a real interview with you – not just a few questions about the upcoming film, but about you as a person - then I could get my old job back. I know you hate journalists, but I love my job and I’m good at it. I don’t want to give up and be someone’s secretary. No offense to yours, who seems great.”
“She is great, thank you,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers and looking at her intently. The scrutiny made Angie want to squirm, but she didn’t. She just looked back at him. “A real interview, huh?” he said at last.
Angie nodded.
“How about this, uh – what is your name, actually? I got distracted by your dress.”
Angie smiled. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she quipped. To her surprise, he laughed. “My name is Angie. Angie Wilde.”
Sasha nodded. “Okay, Angie Wilde, how’s this: you want the inside scoop on Sasha Pollock? The real guy? Well, why don’t you come live with me for a while? I’m heading to my ranch in Arizona after this and it would be nice to have some company. Come live with me for a few weeks and I’ll answer a question for every question you answer. A question for a question. Do we have a deal?”
Angie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Live with him for a few weeks? His ranch? Then she paused. “I want to make one thing very clear, Mr. Pollock. I want my job back, but I’m not going to sleep with you to get it. You may be beautiful, but I don’t do that kind of thing. So if that’s what you’re after then I’ll go now and we can both stop wasting our time.”
Sasha shook his head. “That’s not what I’m after,” he told her, his voice low and earnest. Then he paused and, with a twinkle in his dark eyes, said: “But I’m flattered that you think I’m beautiful.”
Angie blushed. “A question for a question?” she repeated, trying to change the subject.
He nodded.
“We have ourselves a deal,” she said, reaching across the table. They shook hands and his fingers were strong and warm around hers.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, the mischievous twinkle still in his eye.
Angie wondered what on earth she’d gotten herself into.
“I’ll have my assistant organize travel plans with you,” said Sasha. “But, roughly, we’re filming here until next weekend. After that I’m heading to Arizona for a week and then we’re back to L.A. for some auditions, I think. Tansy will fill you in on the details. I’ll expect you here at the hotel on Monday morning at 6
a.m. to come with us to the shoot.”
“You want me to come to the shoot?” Angie squeaked.
Sasha raised his eyebrows. “You wanted a real interview, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Angie quickly. “Six a.m. I’ll be there.”
“Good,” said Sasha. “I’ll have my question ready for you.”
Angie chuckled, “Ditto.”
“Well, Ms. Wilde, it’s been a pleasure, surprisingly,” said Sasha as he stood up.
“Ditto again,” said Angie, turning off her recorder and putting it away in her purse. “I thought you’d be way more of a stuck up dick, to be honest.”
Sasha laughed, “You’re very blunt for a journalist.”
Angie shrugged. “At least you’ll always know I’m being honest,” she said.
“True,” he replied. “It’s a refreshing change.” He opened the door for her and smiled, his eyes lingering on her face.
Angie nodded. “You better not leave me at the altar, so to speak. If you do, I’ll publish your little rant about journalists.”
“I won’t leave you hanging,” Sasha promised. “You have my word.”
Angie nodded as Tansy came up to them. “Done already?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not at all,” said Sasha. “Tansy, Ms. Wilde will be joining us for the next few weeks. Please make all the necessary arrangements with her. I’m going upstairs to work on my lines.” He looked back at Angie one last time and smiled, “I’ll see you Monday, Wilde.”
Angie nodded. Tansy’s other eyebrow rose to meet its neighbor. “Well, that’s a first,” she said.
Angie nodded again. “Thank you so much for getting me in there to see him. I’m Odette’s friend. You are a total lifesaver,” she gushed, smiling at the beautiful redhead. “Can I buy you a drink? Odette and another friend are waiting in the restaurant.”
Tansy nodded. “That would be great. Then we can go over the details. He seriously wants you with him for the next few weeks?” she gave Angie a once over. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not really his type. He’s usually more of a blondes kind of guy.”
“Oh no,” Angie shook her head. “It’s not…I’ve already told him I’m not sleeping with him. I dunno…maybe he’s bored or something and wanted someone to argue with.”
Tansy nodded as they entered the bar. “Possibly. He does get bored, that is true. Well, whatever’s going on in his brain, I’m just glad you’re getting what you need.”
Odette waved to them from a table by the windows and Angie led Tansy over to her friends.
“Tansy, so good to see you again!” said Odette, rising so that she and Tansy could give each other air kisses on each cheek. “This is our friend Claire.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Claire, smiling as she gave Tansy an appreciative once over. Odette kicked her under the table.
Tansy smiled back and slipped into the booth next to Claire. “You too,” she said, giving Claire a once over of her own. Odette rolled her eyes.
“How did it go?” she asked Angie.
Claire tore her eyes off Tansy and turned to her friends. “Did you get to speak with him? Did he remember the dress? What am I saying? Of course, he remembered the dress.”
Angie grinned. “He did. I was the only one he talked to. And…” her smile grew wider, “he agreed to give me a longer interview. In fact, he’s letting me tag along with him over the next few weeks to get a glimpse into his life. Apparently, we’re going to his ranch in Arizona or something after they finish shooting.”
“That’s amazing!!” said Claire, grabbing Angie’s hand in hers.
But Odette shook her head. “Honey, he’s just trying to sleep with you. Do not go to that ranch alone.”
Angie shook her head. “I told him if that’s what he wants he can forget about it. I told him I won’t sleep with him for an interview no matter how in-depth.”
“Yeah, but…”
“No,” said Tansy, shaking her head, “he’s not the kind of guy to take advantage like that. He likes the thrill of the hunt too much. He’s got an ego on him like you wouldn’t believe. But either he convinces you that you want him or it doesn’t happen. Coercion means you don’t have a choice. He wants you to choose him. Plus she won’t be alone at the ranch. I’ll be there too. Though to be honest, he’s probably going to try to charm you into bed with him. The more I think about it, the more I think that he must like you. He hates journalists. There’s no way he’d ask one to tag along with him unless he had ulterior motives.”
“Who called it?” asked Claire rhetorically. “That’s right, I did.”
Angie shushed her friend, “Well, he can try to get me into bed with him all he likes, I’m not going to. It’s totally unprofessional.”
“Oh, come on,” said Odette. “You would pass up the chance to sleep with Sasha Pollock because it’s unprofessional?”
“Look, this is all hypothetical,” said Angie defensively. “We don’t actually know that he likes me at all.”
The other women shared a look that spoke volumes and Angie rolled her eyes. “Look, let’s just be happy I’m getting an interview. This is my big break. If this goes to plan, I’m going to be back in the saddle in no time.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Claire and raised her latte in a toast. “What do you say we go for a celebratory dinner tonight? Tansy, you want to join us?”
Tansy smiled at Claire. “I’d love to,” she said.
Chapter 6
Monday morning rolled around and Angie was back waiting in the lobby of the Kimpton Monaco just as Sasha had told her to. She was wearing jeans, hiking boots and a zip-up black hoody that accentuated her slim waist. Sasha had to admit that she looked good in just about anything. She hadn’t noticed him yet and yawned, making a small squeak like a puppy as she did so. He smiled. She was cute.
“You’re very smiley for this early in the morning,” Bruce commented, his voice very neutral. “Especially considering you’re meeting with a journalist.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sasha asked defensively.
“Nothing,” said Bruce. “I was merely stating a fact, sir.”
“Hmph,” said Sasha and immediately frowned, doing his best to look disgruntled. But then Angie looked up and smiled and he couldn’t help but smile back. She looked so happy to be there. Tired, but happy.
“You came,” said Sasha, coming up to stand with her.
“Of course,” she said.
“Do you have a question?” he asked.
“Do you?” she replied, bringing out her recorder.
“Why did you become a celebrity journalist?” Sasha promptly asked.
She smiled. “Straight to the heart of things, I see. Because I like talking to people and I’m interested in why people do things. And I want the people watching my interviews to see that celebrities are just people doing their best and that, with a bit of luck and a lot of work, maybe my viewers could get there too.”
“Ah, the American dream,” said Sasha with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “How quaint.”
“Maybe,” Angie shrugged. “But I’d rather encourage people than grind them down. Life in general does a good enough job at that.”
“Ah, then you’re not such an optimist,” Sasha said.
“I’m a realist,” said Angie, “but a hopeful one.”
Sasha nodded, “And your question?”
“Do you actually speak Russian?” Angie asked. “And, if so, which do you prefer: English or Russian?”
“Technically that’s two questions,” Sasha pointed out.
Angie shrugged and waited.
“I do,” said Sasha, giving in to her silence. To be honest, it was actually kind of nice to talk about his mother tongue. “And it depends on the situation. I learned Russian first, from my mother, so it’s a very private, intimate language for me. But English is the language of my work and my country. I don’t know. I don’t think I could choose. It’s like your child
ren. You don’t love one more than the other except when one is misbehaving.”
Angie smiled. “And does one language ever misbehave?”
Sasha laughed, “I guess so, kind of. Sometimes when I’m speaking English, Russian will get in the way, or vice versa. You know, like I can only think of the word in the other language and then I get confused. And it’s, like, I just want the other language to get out of the way and let me talk. But I guess these days I don’t really get to speak Russian so it’s nice when I do. It’s almost a relief, you know? Like sinking into a favorite chair.” He paused, suddenly worried that he’d said too much and that she’d want to know why he no longer needed to speak Russian. She might be cute when she yawned, but he didn’t want to talk about his mother with her. That was private.
