“He’ll be staying with Noah. I prefer him having muscle behind him.”
“Right,” I replied, relaxing into the backseat, and then remembering … “Wait. I thought we were going to—”
“This morning, you will be having brunch with the young sponsors of the W.E.W.A. that you honored last night. Beautiful speech, by the way. However, in the future, take a second to call me and let me know before you randomly go to awards ceremonies. I hate finding out things after the fact.”
“Austin?” I sat up straighter, looking at him. My question was serious. “Do you ever sleep?”
He snickered and didn’t answer, which had to mean ‘no,’ or at least not an amount that was healthy. Somehow he had managed to set up an interview for Noah, get me into brunch, and think over the other issue I had brought up to him all in one morning.
“Are you sure Noah is okay?” I asked. Dalila Alexandra wasn’t just any reporter. She had made a name for herself by questioning and pushing celebrities, politicians, even princes, with her questions. She pulled no punches, and there was no line she wouldn’t cross. In some ways, it was an honor to be on her radar, but in most ways, it was an annoyance. I had met more than a handful of actors and actresses who just walked out on their interviews with her.
“He’ll be fine. Contrary to popular belief, Noah is actually very good with interviews, especially if they’re important ones. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was trending once it airs.”
“Yeah, but he’s your client. You should be—”
“You are also my client, and I also flew out my assistant last night. I usually keep him in the office, but with the promotions coming up, I’m going to need backup.”
“You, backup? You’re like a one-man army. I don’t understand how or why you are so … so dedicated. Not that it’s a bad thing. But I’ve never met a manager like you, who has no boundaries.”
“That’s because Oliver was your manager while you were a child as well. Everything is simple when you are a child. You might not have felt that way, but it’s the truth. The problem is that most managers can’t transition with their clients when they become adults. They still see you as a child who needs to be micro-managed. And too many actors are so loyal that they allow it. The truth of
the matter is that having a good, even a great, manager is important. But that doesn’t change the fact that there will always be another manager worth having. However, there will not always be an actor worth working for. ”
I knew he wasn’t talking about me, per se, but it was still me. I remembered how badly I wanted to hold onto Oliver months ago, and not because I needed him for my career, but because I was comfortable with him.
“And Noah is the actor worth working for? That’s why you left your old job to become his manager?”
He didn’t reply, and I didn’t push, though I really wanted to.
All too soon, we were in front of the very same hotel I had been to the night before. Austin stepped out, opening the door for me.
“Amelia,” he said softly before I could even move from the door, his face stern, “the moment we are done here, we’ll move to what you asked for last night.”
For some reason, it felt like my heart sank to my stomach. I’m not sure why, because I wanted this. I couldn’t stop thinking about it getting it done and over with. However, when I looked into his eyes, I realized what we were going to do was horrible. It wasn’t something I should want to do or even something I looked forward to. It was a terrible means to an end, and I was an awful person—but that didn’t change the fact that it needed to be done.
“Got it.”
Noah
Earlier, when I was thinking of the things I hated about Chicago, I had forgotten to add Dalila Amen-Alexandra to that list. Born of Egyptian immigrants, graduated from Loyola University with honors, worked her way from radio to daytime news announcer to her own nighttime show, all before the age of thirty. There was no denying that she was a hardworking person. I did not know her personally, nor was I fortunate enough to ever have an interview with her, but she made my list based solely on the way she treated those across from her … like we weren’t human. Like her questions didn’t hurt or affect us, like we were just a spectacle and she had the right to expose anything and everything to the public because they were interested.
“We’ll be starting in just a minute,” the sound manager said, adjusting the microphone on the insider collar of the navy button-down shirt I was wearing. “There. Does it feel right?”
“It’s fine,” I replied. Nodding, he moved from my path, exposing her. She sat across the table from me wearing a white cocktail dress and blazer, her black hair tucked behind her ear as her makeup artist finished dabbing powder on her face.
“That’s enough,” she snapped, and they went running. “We need water or something on this table!” Her hazel eyes focused on me. “Sorry, it’s quite hectic. Today was supposed to be our day off.”
I shook my head, leaning back comfortably. “Take your time.”
“You aren’t nervous about having your first sit-down interview with the Wicked Witch?”
I snickered, “Not all. It never turns out well for the Wicked Witch at the end of the movie, anyway.”
She opened her mouth to speak. However, the camera cut in, cueing her in with a thumbs up and a five-second countdown.
Five.
Four.