“But I am a lesbian!”
“Oh, I know. I wrote that press release, but this character is actually going to sleep with women, plural, on screen, and you’re just not that kind of lesbian.”
“The kind of lesbian who actually sleeps with a lot of women?”
“Exactly,” he said, almost triumphantly.
“Excuse me?” she spluttered. “I have slept with women. I mean not in the last few months, but it has happened.”
“Good for you. I have a lesbian niece, and I am a sponsor of the big parade in the Village, but— and I mean no offense— to the rest of the world you’re still sixteen. And they love that about you. You’re a safety gay.”
“A safety gay?”
“Like Ellen Degeneres or Ellen Page. Really, it’s a shame you’re not named Ellen. Hey, that reminds me, how do you feel about a sitcom? We need someone to read for the role of Jane Fonda’s granddaughter on that Netflix thing. She’s a lesbian, right?”
“No. Lily Tomlin is.”
“Really? Since when? Never mind, she’s funny! You could be funnier, you know.
“Thanks. And I don’t want to play Jane Fonda’s granddaughter. Is there an audition for the role of her lover?”
Stanley about choked. “Was that a joke? If so, it was a funny one. If not, then it wasn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.” She practically exploded. “I want to be challenged. I want a grown-up career. I want a manager who wants to make me happy.”
“How about a manager who makes you boatloads of money? Then you can buy whatever makes you happy.”
He didn’t get it. At least not the way she wanted him to. She would have really liked for him to jump on board with her. His enthusiastic support would have been a boon to her confidence, but ultimately, she didn’t need him to share her vision of herself. She did, however, need him to go to bat for her, so she twisted a silver, three-string ring on her right ring finger and played the biggest card left in her hand. “Is your wife in the office today?”
Stanley practically jumped out of his Italian loafers at the comment. “What?”
“Mimi. Is she working today? I haven’t seen her in a long time, and I was wondering what she’s up to.”
“She’s very busy. Big meeting on the music side today.”
“Do you think she’d make time for me?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, suggesting he knew she would. They might love each other dearly, but they also loved the job. They were as competitive with each other as they were with outside agents, maybe more so. She’d long wondered how that kind of competition could work in a marriage, but she understood that’s what made them work as business partners. If it also made Stanley work a little harder for her, great. If not, Mimi certainly would.
“Can I see that script for a second?” Stan came around the front of his desk. “I promise I’ll give it back.”
The change in his tone, from polite to purposeful, told her everything she needed in order to hand the document over.
He scanned the first page, the line of his eyes indicating he’d stopped on the short background sketch of the lead character.
“Dark, tall, brooding, magnetic, sexual, powerful, edgy.” He read the adjectives aloud. Then he looked up to study her. “Your hair’s too long.”
“I can cut it. Dye it, too, if need be.”
“Your eyes could be right, especially if you wore some eyeliner.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve been working with a trainer?”
“Weights and cardio.”
“Double your routine,” he said flatly, “like yesterday.”
She nodded. She’d gladly push harder for a shot at the role.
He handed her the script and walked around the desk, falling into his chair and leaning back so far he stared at the ceiling. “How bad do you want this, Cobie?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Even something you can’t undo?”
She paused, wanting to clarify a little bit, but worried he’d see it as a sign of weakness if she did. “Yes.”
“There will be no more teen movies, no more sappy cowgirls or cheerleader roles.”
“Good.”
“You’ll need a complete image overhaul. Six months minimum of your working the press and photo shoots and being seen playing with the big kids.”
Her stomach turned. “I can’t just go up for the part?”
He frowned. “I can’t pitch this with you as you are. Not if you want a major studio and the budget needed to do this right.”
“I do. I want everything about this project done to perfection.”
“Then you need to make a long-term investment.”
She nodded. She wanted long-term. She needed it. “Tell me what to do.”
He pushed his palm down his forehead as if trying to smooth out the wrinkles forming there. “Give me twenty-four hours to see what I can come up with. Show up tomorrow, same time, same place, ready to take big steps.”
“I will, Stan. I promise I won’t let you down.”
His smile was faint, showing none of his shark teeth now. “I’ll see you then.”
Sensing the need to get out while she was ahead, she backed toward the door.
“Tomorrow, eleven-thirty,” she repeated, but he’d already picked up the phone. She kept backing away down the hall as she heard him telling someone to clear his schedule. She couldn’t believe this was happening, even though the details of what this was were kind of shady, very shady actually. Still, it felt big, and she didn’t want to do anything to mess up.
She took another step backward and stepped on something hard.
“Ouch,” someone said, causing her to jump and bump into a wall, then trip and stumble again.
She might have flailed all the way to the floor if not for two strong hands catching her roughly under her arm and hauling her up.
“What’s the matter with you?” a different voice snapped.
She teetered a bit, trying simultaneously to right herself and see the people around her. As she planted her feet firmly back on the ground, she realized she was staring at a massive chest topped off with big shoulders and a sequoia-sized neck. Only when she tilted back farther did she see a strong jaw and deep-set, dark eyes. The African American man was good-looking enough to be an action star, but the set of his features and his crossed arms and his bulging biceps screamed bodyguard.
“Sorry,” Cobie said, flustered. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Do you know who you just walked into?” someone behind her asked.
She turned to see a much smaller Latino man in maroon skinny jeans and a paisley shirt purse his lips at her.
“You?”
He started to roll his eyes, then stopped abruptly and narrowed them. “Hey, are you the girl from that one movie, with the guy, the one who’s got those pecs?”
“Yeah.” Cobie didn’t need any more description. She was always that girl in that movie.
“Ooh, girl, you look better with the make-up on,” he said dramatically.
“Thanks,” she muttered and tried to edge past him, but the bodyguard shot out his arm.
“It’s fine, Malik,” a female voice said from behind him. “I don’t think she’s a threat to anyone.”
He didn’t argue, either out of actual agreement or knowing better than to disagree. He simply lowered his arm and stepped to the side.
Cobie’s breath caught at the sight of the woman he’d shielded. Honey blonde hair fell to slender shoulders, framing a pale face. Startling blue eyes flashed amusement from under thick lashes, and painted red lips sparked a heated contrast to the otherwise pastel pallet. Cobie actually took a step back at the sight of her. Not that she hadn’t seen the face a million times, including the billboard towering several stories high just outside, but she’d never stopped to really notice the perfection of its symmetry and precision. It was almost too flawless to be real, and only aft
er too many seconds of being stupefied did she manage to look away.
Not that lowering her eyes actually did anything to improve her brain function, because that only left her staring at a low-cut, white blouse and a long, flowing black skirt with a slit so far up the side even a gentle breeze would reveal anything underneath. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant prospect. Finally, though, when her eyes reached floor level, she noticed a glaring scuff where the heel of her Doc Martens had clearly tread across the toe of patent leather Manolos.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, snapping her head up, “about your toes.”
The woman’s smile was slow. “They’re fine.”
“Well, your shoes are scuffed. And probably expensive, so if, um, you want to bill me, you can send an invoice to Stan’s office. They can get it to me.”
“You’re going to buy me new shoes?” she asked, clearly amused by the offer.
“I would,” Cobie said earnestly.
“That’s adorable,” the woman said with the faintest hint of a Southern drawl. Then with a minimal wave of her hand, she turned and walked away.
Cobie stood, bewildered, watching her go, skirt blowing in the breeze she created, entourage trailing dutifully in her wake. She may have even craned her neck a bit as they turned a corner, but when finally left alone in the hallway, all she could manage to think was, “So, that’s Lila Wilder.”
• • •
“Who caused the headache?” Stan asked, tossing back the satin sheets of his king-size bed. Another fourteen-hour day in the books for each of the Levys left them both back where they’d started.
His wife sat on the other side of the mattress, feet dangling daintily off the edge as she plucked three ibuprofen from the nightstand and washed them down with a swig of single-malt scotch. “Take a guess.”
He chuckled and adjusted the waistband of his navy blue, silk pajamas. “How long is Lila in town?”
“Forever.” Mimi groaned, lying back onto the bed so the dent in her feather pillow created a halo around her perfectly coiffed hair.
Stan climbed in beside her, taking a moment to enjoy the little luxury of silk sliding against silk, but before he got close enough to kiss her, a muscle caught painfully in his shoulder, and he grimaced.
“Oh no, did you tweak it again?” Mimi asked without glancing his way.
“Just a little tense today,” he said.
“Who do we have to thank this time?”
He sighed and stared at the ornate crown molding around the room, visually tracing its lines and curves. “Cobie.”
Mimi turned to face him. “Not Cobie Galloway?”
“Surprising, right?”
“There really is a first time for everything,” Mimi said wistfully. “What does she want? A record deal?”
“I only wish. She wants the lead in Vigilant.”
Mimi made a strangled noise and reached for her phone.
“Don’t bother,” Stan said dryly. “They aren’t casting. She got her hands on an early draft of the script, and no, she didn’t let me see it.”
“Cobie hid a script from you?” The shock in her voice mirrored his own sense of bewilderment. He hadn’t shaken the unease he’d felt during the meeting, even nearly twelve hours later.
“She didn’t hide it so much as refuse to share it, and if you could’ve seen her, you wouldn’t have pushed.” He closed his eyes and pictured her as the child she’d been. “God, wasn’t she just a little kid yesterday?”
“Weren’t we all,” Mimi murmured. “You really are lucky it hasn’t happened before now.”
“Probably,” Stan admitted. “I’ve never known a kid who came up through the business without having a meltdown or a sex tape or a rehab stint or a parental lawsuit. Maybe that’s what makes it so shocking. She’s always been perfect.”
“Does she have the talent for the part?”
“The thing is she’s always been more talented than her roles allowed, but Vigilant isn’t a Disney cruise. It would feel like throwing her to the sharks when I’m not even sure she can swim. She’s always been so self-contained, which saved her from the drama and the pain and the backbiting. I thought she wanted to keep her life quiet. I don’t want to expose her to something she can’t handle. It would reflect badly on me if I staked my reputation on someone who wilted under the bright lights.”
“Reflect badly on you?” Mimi laughed lightly. “She’s your baby, you big softy.”
“Don’t act like you don’t have your favorites.”
She scoffed. “I remain completely neutral in business situations.”
“Sure you do. That’s why Lila’s been in three times in two weeks.”
Mimi smiled. “Neither of them are kids anymore, are they?”
“Lila’s been working for a long time to prove otherwise,” he said wearily.
“And she’s done so successfully.”
“Successfully, yes. Gracefully, no.”
She rolled her eyes. “Cobie will go too far in the other direction.”
“Well she’s not going to sleep with every eligible bachelor in Hollywood and a handful of the taken ones.”
“Oh, Lila hasn’t been that bad.” Mimi’s voice grew a touch defensive, once again reminding him there was a soft spot there. “Though that’s actually part of the headache.”
“A married man?”
“No. Not enough unmarried ones to keep the news cycle churning between album drops.”
“I’m not sure there is a man in the country she could use to shock the paparazzi anymore,” he said with a yawn. Even he’d grown bored with the topic of Lila Wilder’s love life. “It’s all gotten a little dog-bites-man these days, when what she really needs is man-bites-dog.”
“Or woman,” Mimi said slowly.
“Dog bites woman?” he asked sleepily. “Right. Gender-inclusive language. Woman bites dog.”
“Stan,” Mimi said, her voice suddenly full of excitement.
“What?” he asked as she threw off the covers and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “What is it?”
“We’re going back to work.”
He stared at her for a second before sitting up. After forty years of marriage, he’d come to recognize the wild spark of inspiration in her eyes. The fact that she was willing to share it with the likes of him gave him the same thrill he’d experienced when he kissed her the first time all those years ago.
• • •
“Ms. Wilder, it’s so nice to see you again.”
Lila noted that sometime in the last two years her formal title had changed from Miss to Ms. An acknowledgement of her feminism, prestige, or age? She nodded at the receptionist, who rose and led her down a series of hallways she knew quite well, but this time instead of taking a right out of the central humming hub of the building, they turned left.
Felipe raised an already perfectly arched eyebrow at her. She merely lifted one shoulder in response. He’d get her drift. He always had. Malik, on the other hand, straightened both his shoulders, and the large muscles in his neck tightened. He didn’t find change as exciting as she did, or perhaps he did but in a different way, which of course was one of many reasons why she kept him on the payroll.
The receptionist led them into a conference room that, while not as lushly appointed as Mimi’s office, still had plenty to gawk at, from the nickel and leather furnishings to the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a magnificent view of snow falling softly over the length of Broadway.
“The Levys will be with you shortly,” the receptionist said. “In the meantime, can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Mineral water?”
“Water, cold, no ice, please,” Lila said from habit. “Latte, Felipe?”
“Sí, mami,” he said.
“And coffee, black, Malik?”
He nodded, his eyes still surveying the view as if assessing threats that may lurk forty-two stories above the Great White Way.
“Thank you,” Lila said.
As soon as
the door closed, Felipe flopped into one of the high-back leather conference chairs and twirled it around a few times before stopping himself abruptly. “Girl, what’s happening here?”
Lila shook her head slowly. She didn’t like not knowing, but she wouldn’t let it show. “I told you, Mimi called me.”
“Like she should,” Felipe said. “Maybe she’s got the goods on a new man for you.”
“I don’t need a manager to get me a man,” Lila said dryly. “I pay her to get me publicity.”
“You haven’t needed her to do that for a while either,” Felipe said, only a hint of cattiness in his voice.
She opened her mouth to snap back at him, but the door opened again, and they all stayed stock-still like posed statues.
A young man dressed entirely in black wheeled in a tray with their beverages and asked if he could get them anything else. Felipe smiled as if he’d just thought of a dirty response, but some side-eye from Malik inspired a little restraint. “We’re good . . . for now.”
The young man ducked out silently.
“They do have all the help trained very well around here,” Felipe said, rising and passing Lila her water. He then quickly mixed the coffee and latte before handing one of the now indistinguishable drinks to Malik.
“There are three more glasses,” Lila said quietly.
Both men glanced at the tray. Malik frowned, but Felipe’s brown eyes sparkled.
“Mimi is one,” Lila said, “and the receptionist said the Levys would be in, so another is for Stan.”
“Oh, and the third is a mystery.” Felipe squirmed in his chair. “A mystery man.”
“Maybe, though Mimi didn’t seem to have anyone in mind yesterday.”
“I know, but maybe it’s one of Stan’s clients.”
A logical conclusion, but if Mimi had found someone overnight, why hadn’t she just said so over the phone? Calling another meeting with both agents felt like overkill, and that said a lot coming from her.
Felipe whipped out his cell and said, “Siri, Google Stan Levy’s client list.”
Not a bad idea. She didn’t like surprises, at least not when they concerned her career. Staying one step ahead of the game allowed her to remain cool, detached, independent, and those things combined to keep her safe.
In Development Page 2
