by M. S. Parker
Part of me, no matter how much I tried to hide it, was still the scared teenager who’d watched his mother waste away for nearly two years before she’d finally passed. I’d had to be strong then, for my father, for my little brother. I’d been eleven when she’d first gotten sick. Franco had only been five. After more than twenty years, I still missed her, but enough time had passed that the memories were more wistful and pleasant than sad. Still, when Krissy got sick, I couldn’t stop myself from remembering the falsely bright smile on my mother’s face when she’d told me she was ill, but that she’d get better soon. That had been the first time I’d realized that parents lied.
The logical part of me said that I was over-reacting, so I listened to it and reminded myself of it repeatedly as I headed into the agency. Usually, when I came into Mirage after some time away, I felt a surge of pride when I saw the steel and glass building that housed the talent agency I’d spent the last five years building. Today, however, I was too distracted to do anything more than greet my employees as I passed.
I’d gotten there early enough that my agents weren’t there yet, but Melissa was. Sometimes, I wondered if she ever actually went home. She frowned as she saw me, but didn’t ask what was wrong. Other than Krissy, Melissa was probably the person who knew me best. Considering she’d actually been my assistant since before I’d started Mirage, that wasn’t really a surprise. She’d been the only one who’d come with me when I’d gone out on my own.
I gave her a tight smile. “Krissy might not be in today. She’s not feeling well.”
Melissa nodded. “Do you want me to cancel any appointments later today so you can leave early?”
“Not yet,” I said. “She thinks it was just jet lag.”
“Your first appointment is right after lunch,” she continued as she followed me into my office. “Steven Morrison wants to talk about re-casting a role for a series that was just green-lit.”
“Thanks, Melissa.” I sighed as I saw the stack of papers on my desk. I knew I’d have at least twice as many emails. Krissy and I had promised each other that we wouldn’t even check our email while on vacation. I was beginning to regret that decision.
At least I could look forward to meeting with Steven. He was one of the few directors I actually liked. Plus, this project could be huge. Landon’s movie was doing well enough that he was becoming a household name. I had half a dozen movie offers for him, but I was leaning towards Steven’s re-casting. This series promised to be the next big thing and Steven’s lead was proving to be a real pain in the ass. The plan was to kill off his character in the second episode and introduce another character who would be taking over. I was going to pitch Landon for the role.
I frowned as I sat down. After this whole paparazzi thing, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. I knew Steven wouldn’t care that Landon was gay, but if this hit the fan when Steven was trying to convince the studio to go along with the casting, it might complicate things. Hollywood tried to project a tolerant, accepting community, but some of the big-wigs were still bigoted assholes when it came to homosexuality. Then again, Krissy said she was going to handle things so there was a good possibility that nothing would come of it anyway. At least, that’s what I was hoping.
I turned on my computer and started on the paperwork while I waited for things to boot up. I put the whole Landon thing out of my head and focused on the work. Most of it was routine and I found myself falling back into the rhythm of the work. A lot of people in Hollywood thought all I did was play, but I actually did as much work as the rest of my staff. Some of that work included going to parties and premieres, but it was still work.
I’d been at it for more than two hours when Melissa buzzed me.
“Yes?” I glanced at the phone, wondering if Krissy had an issue calling my personal line. We’d been having some problems with our phones. We were scheduled for a repair in two days.
“You have a visitor.”
I waited for some sort of explanation or a name, but nothing came. That was strange. I’d never known Melissa to be so abrupt, but I supposed she had a good reason.
“All right,” I replied. “Send them in.”
A dozen possibilities ran through my mind. Some reporter who didn’t want me to know who he was. Some high-up executive who had an issue with something I’d done. Maybe it was Mayflower and Melissa was so annoyed by him that she’d gotten distracted. Or, better yet, maybe it was Krissy coming in to surprise me. We generally tried to keep our physical relationship out of the office, but every so often, we gave in to the temptation and had a little fling.
When the door opened, a woman walked in. She had wavy black hair that fell just past her shoulders. Hazel eyes that were fixed on me from the moment she entered the office. She was about average height, a little too curvy to be slender. In some ways, she actually resembled Krissy.
But she was definitely not Krissy.
It had been almost seven years since I’d last seen Sasha Richmond, but I recognized her immediately. Now I knew why Melissa hadn’t said anything. She’d been my assistant back when Sasha and I had been ‘dating’ and knew things hadn’t ended well. Sasha had been in her early twenties when we’d met and she’d been exactly my type. An insatiable sexual appetite and a willingness to submit had been the most important qualities I’d looked for at the time. I’d thought I’d made things clear to her when I’d first approached her, that this wouldn’t be a relationship, she wouldn’t be my girlfriend. I’d told her that it was fucking, pure and simple, a pursuit of physical pleasure. She’d agreed, but I hadn’t realized until a couple days into it that she hadn’t truly accepted what I’d said.
When I’d first broken things off with her, she’d cried and begged, which weren’t things I hadn’t seen before. Once those things had failed to move me, she’d moved on to threats and insults. Again, not uncommon. A week after I’d dumped her, however, she’d progressed to following me around, showing up at work and home. I’d tried ignoring her. I’d tried politely explaining things again. Finally, after more than a month, I’d been forced to take out a restraining order. I’d called the police on her twice for violating it, and she’d disappeared.
Until now.
“Sasha.” I kept my voice even. I didn’t think the restraining order was still effective since I hadn’t bothered to check into it once she’d stopped bothering me. I had security guards who’d escort her out if I needed it, but I decided to wait and see what she wanted. The last thing I wanted was her to make a scene.
“Hi, DeVon.” The smile she gave me was surprisingly sane.
“It’s been a while.” I gestured for her to sit.
She nodded and took a seat. “Thank you for seeing me.”
I didn’t say anything, waiting for her to share why she’d come. I didn’t have to wait long.
“First, I wanted to say that I’m sorry about how things turned out.”
That was progress, but I was still wary. “Thank you,” I said. “Apology accepted.”
She looked down, picking at her dress slacks. With a start, I realized that she was nervous.
I sighed. I appreciated that she came to apologize, but I really didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with Sasha’s drama right now. “What’s going on, Sasha?”
She gave a little laugh and raised her head. “I see the years haven’t taught you to soften your tongue.” Her eyes gleamed. “Which isn’t a bad thing if that tongue’s buried in my cunt.”
I resisted the urge to tell her to get out and instead just asked, “Why are you here?”
She smiled a devious smile. “I’m here to tell you about your son.”
Chapter 7
Krissy
I felt like shit.
I groaned as I rolled onto my back, the motion making my stomach roil. I’d woken up early, knowing I was going to throw up, and I’d run into the bathroom. At the time, I’d been sure that it had been a combination of airplane food and jet lag. It didn’t usually bother me,
but since DeVon wasn’t sick and we’d eaten the same thing, I’d known it hadn’t been food poisoning. I supposed I could be coming down with the flu, but I didn’t want to consider that. With this whole Landon thing going on, I couldn’t afford to get sick, even with a twenty-four hour bug.
I’d told DeVon that I’d just needed some sleep, but when I woke up in the middle of the morning and still had a pounding headache and a queasy stomach, I wasn’t so sure. I laid there for a few minutes, waiting to see if things would settle down, but every little movement I made just made matters worse.
I swore, but quietly because even my own voice would be too loud for the pain in my head. If it had just been the headache or a cold, I would’ve drugged myself up and gone in anyway. I’d done it before, despite DeVon’s protests. A stomach flu, however, was a different story. If I couldn’t even get out of bed without throwing up, how was I supposed to get dressed, survive the entire ride to the office and then take an elevator to get to my office? And that was only getting to work. After that, I’d actually have to do stuff. I was exhausted just thinking about it.
I groaned and closed my eyes. I hated to do it, but I was going to have to call off. I reached over to the end table for my phone. I needed to let DeVon know, both so he didn’t worry, but also because he needed to decide if the whole Landon thing could wait until tomorrow or if he wanted to take care of it himself. I wasn’t sure it’d be such a good idea for him to do that, but better him than Mirage’s legal counsel. Leon Duncan was a great lawyer, but he was better at making things go away by smoothing things over. I didn’t want things smoothed over with Mayflower. The reporter was a bastard and I wanted to tear him a new one.
I called DeVon’s personal work line first, but there was no answer. I glanced at the time. He shouldn’t have been out to lunch, but I supposed he could’ve been on another call. We had been gone for several days. I had no doubt that there were massive amounts of work to do.
I felt a stab of guilt. I was supposed to be DeVon’s assistant, training to be a full partner. Essentially, I was his partner, not just in our personal lives. I should be there working with him.
I knew what he’d say, though. He’d tell me to take care of myself. Actually, he’d probably tell me to go to the hospital, have dozens of tests run to find out exactly what was wrong with me. Now I was thinking it might have been a good thing that I hadn’t gotten ahold of DeVon. He did tend to over-react when it came to my health. I understood, though. I hadn’t gotten the whole story because I hadn’t wanted to pry, but I knew that his mother died when he’d been a kid and it had been some sort of long-term illness.
I called his cell, knowing he kept it on vibrate but checked every hour or so in case any important calls came in. His dad’s health was better than it had been a year ago, but he was still fairly weak. DeVon always made himself reachable.
My call did go to voicemail, but that wasn’t unusual. “Hey, babe, it’s me. I’m still feeling pretty bad and I’m not going to come in today. I’m going to call Mayflower and set up a meet for tomorrow, so that should keep things calm today. I’m going to try to sleep this thing away, so don’t worry about trying to call me back. Have a good day and I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.”
I ended the call and then went into my contacts folder. I didn’t put Mayflower on the same level of the other reporters I usually interacted with, but I had his contact number anyway. Mirage had unfortunately dealt with him in the past, so his had been a number given to me when I’d started at the agency.
I dialed the number and then breathed a sigh of relief when Mayflower didn’t answer. I might’ve wanted to make sure this thing was done right, but I wasn’t sure I could handle a phone confrontation with him right now. I’d rather leave a message and let that be the communication until we met face-to-face.
“Mr. Mayflower, this is Krissy Jensen from Mirage. I’d like to meet with you tomorrow to discuss the issue with Landon Sully.” I gave him a time and the name of my favorite little restaurant. If I was going to have to meet with a jackass, I might as well have good food while I was doing it.
My stomach flipped.
If I could eat tomorrow, that was.
I ended the call, put the phone back on the table and then snuggled back down into my bed and hoped I’d fall asleep before I felt the need to vomit again. Fortunately, I did just that.
I woke once, mid-afternoon, and felt a bit better, though still not one hundred percent. The nausea had gone away, thankfully, but I still felt dizzy and weak. I managed to hold down some water and then went back to sleep.
When I woke up the next time, it was dark and I heard DeVon moving around in the room. I rolled over, blinking at the light coming from the bathroom.
“Sorry, Babe,” DeVon said quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay,” I said sleepily. “What time is it?”
He looked at the bedside clock. “Almost six. How are you feeling?”
I paused a moment to consider the question. “Better,” I said. “But still not great.”
He nodded and it was then that I noticed the absent look on his face.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine.” He un-tucked his shirt. “You want me to make you something to eat? Soup?”
“I don’t think we have any,” I said as I pushed myself up into a sitting position.
“I’ll order some,” he said.
I watched him walk out without another word. I frowned. I didn’t expect him to fawn all over me when I was sick. In fact, I preferred that he didn’t, but DeVon was always attentive when I was sick. And as affectionate as I’d let him be. Even when it was just cramps, he would always ask what I needed and then kiss my forehead before going to get it.
I sighed and closed my eyes. Soup sounded good, but sleep sounded even better. Maybe I’d take a little nap while I waited for it to be delivered. If I got enough sleep tonight, I’d be up to working tomorrow and maybe even remember to ask DeVon why he’d acted so strange tonight. If I didn’t, it wasn’t that important. He was here and that was what mattered.
Chapter 8
Krissy
I woke up when my alarm went off, but DeVon was already gone. That wasn’t unusual. There were often times when he would get up early or not be able to sleep and would head into the office without waking me up.
My stomach was a bit sensitive, but I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up if I stood, so that was better. I showered and dressed, feeling much more like myself by the time I headed into the kitchen to get myself something bland to eat and drink.
There was a note on the table. I read it quickly.
If you’re in the kitchen, I’m hoping that means you’re feeling better. If you’re up to coming to work today, please contact Mayflower and deal with the Landon issue. If you don’t think you can, call Melissa and she’ll field it out. Don’t push yourself. I don’t want you getting sicker. I shouldn’t be working late today. Love you. D
I frowned. There wasn’t anything specifically wrong with the note, but something about it just seemed...absent, like he was writing it while his thoughts were elsewhere. That wasn’t like him. He was usually hyper-focused. I shook my head. He was probably just distracted by all of the work we’d gotten behind on.
While I rummaged through the cabinets to find something to eat, I called DeVon’s direct line. No answer. Again. I tried his cell and it went straight to voicemail. I frowned. Either he’d just rejected my call or his phone was off, neither of which was normal. I didn’t dwell on it, though. My queasy stomach was demanding something.
“Got your note,” I said as I pulled some crackers out. “I’m going to meet Mayflower this morning and then I’ll be coming in. Talk to you then.”
I nibbled on the crackers while I finished getting ready and then headed out to meet Mayflower. It was already hot when I stepped outside even though it wasn’t even noon yet. I grimaced. I loved the LA sunshine, but I wasn’t too
fond of city heat.
Fortunately, Garrison Mayflower was early so we arrived within a few minutes of each other. He was a short, squat man with a pot belly and thinning, mousey brown hair. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in two days and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in longer than that. I wasn’t a superficial person when it came to respecting or liking someone, but people who didn’t bother with basic hygiene or even try with their appearance made it difficult for me to take them seriously. For Mayflower, the last straw was the trail of food stains down the front of his sweat-stained Hawaiian shirt.
“Let’s not waste each other’s time,” I said as we sat in a shaded portion of the patio. “We both know why we’re here. You’re trying to blackmail my client and I’m here to tell you to go to hell.”
He grinned, revealing teeth that looked like they hadn’t seen the business end of a toothbrush since Clinton was president. “Blackmail is such an ugly word.”
“But accurate.” I folded my arms. “And illegal.”
His smile widened.
“I’m going to keep this simple,” I said. “If you try to pursue this matter, Mirage will be taking legal action against both you and whatever paper you try to sell those pictures to. We’ll also be putting out the word that Mirage will cut all ties without anyone who publishes anything you write.”
He rolled his eyes and my temper flared. I barely kept myself in check.
“You think if it were that simple, every agency or celebrity wouldn’t try the same thing?” He picked something out of his teeth and flicked it away. “LA cops got a lot better things to do than worry about some pretty-boy fag getting outed.”
It was all I could do not to reach across the table and knock out a couple of those rotting teeth. “If you think we’re paying you, you’re more of an idiot than you are a bigot.”
