“Sorry, but is that all?” Garret started. “I have to run a couple of things down to the studio.”
My eyes widened. “The what?”
“The news studio.”
“It’s in this building?”
Garrett nodded. “Yeah. The Foxxes want it close.” He read my piqued interest and smiled. “Do you wanna come with?”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “Did Huxley put you up to this?” I asked.
Garrett cocked his head to the side. “What? No. You just seem interested.” I hadn’t ever worked in a studio before. All of my stories had either been self-filmed or filmed by some media intern that I paid $50 to do camera work for me. I wrote all of my own notes and stories and owned all of my own equipment. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to work in an actual studio. “Going once,” Garrett said.
“Okay,” I responded. “For a few minutes.”
Garrett winked at me, grabbed a couple of manila folders from the desk, and started off towards the elevator. I fell in line behind him, still not entirely sure Garrett wasn’t coaxed into showing me the studio, but not really caring because of my curiosity. We took the elevator down to the bottom floor of the tower, which was only allowed with the use of Garrett’s key card, and the doors opened up into a huge, beautiful television studio.
Dead center in the room was a stage on which the news anchor desk sat, with three television screens behind the desk, which wrapped around three chairs in a rectangular shape. A host of cameras and lights pointed at the stage, and there was a handful of stage hands running around and chattering, all seemingly centered around a few huge pieces of equipment that were still covered in seran wrap.
I followed Garrett off of the elevator and through the studio to a small workshop off to one side. There was a man standing inside with his back to the doorway. Garrett knocked on the door frame.
“Got your files, Jett.”
“Thanks,” the man replied. “When will the new model be here?”
“Any minute,” Garrett responded.
“And Maverick?”
“He’ll be here at 10.” He slid the folders into a hanging file system on the wall and then crossed his arms. “Hey, can you turn around for a second, I wanna introduce you to someone.”
“I don’t have time.”
“It’s Alexa Storm.”
The man whipped around instantly. “Oh.”
He was beautiful. He was very tall and had a light, tan skin. His oval face shone in the overhead lights and he had picturesque, crystal blue eyes and brown hair that hung down around his face in waves. He had a well groomed goatee that was already following his lips into a smile.
“Hello Miss Storm. I’ve heard a lot about you. Can I take this to mean you’ve accepted our job offer?” He crossed his arm and his full biceps threatened to burst the seams of his shirt.
“Not yet,” I responded and then caught what I said immediately. “I mean, no. I have not accepted the job offer.”
Garrett chuckled. “She’s thinking it over.”
“I’m not thinking it over. I said no.”
“Right.” He extended an arm. “Well, I’m Jett Foxx. Nice to meet you.”
He had that same Foxx energy, the energy I was used to, not the one Garrett seemed to be confused about. He was one of Richard Foxx’s six adopted sons. They all lived at the same orphanage and when they were in their youth, Richard adopted them and gave them the life they deserved, or so he said on all the numerous clickbait interviews he did after it happened. He claimed he loved his children, but I wasn’t convinced he didn’t do it just for the media attention.
I extended a hand and took Jett’s weakly. “Nice to meet you.”
“So tell me, Miss Storm. Why don’t you want to work for us?” he asked.
“I know your brothers very well, and I’m not interested in working so closely with them,” I responded. “And, no offense, but you remind me of them, so my fear is that arrogance is a familial trait.”
Garrett side-eyed me nervously. “Well, we’ll go then.”
“Judging someone you just met about being arrogant? You should probably look up the definition of hypocritical.” Jett smirked at me and I could feel my blood start to boil.
Garrett glanced over his shoulder and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god.” He moved a little further into the room and then another woman came and stood at my side. “Jett, this is the new model, Sadie Hartville.”
She was a stunner too. She had a few feet on me, even in the roman sandals she was wearing. She had silky, cocoa skin, and medium-length, golden brown hair that rested gently on her shoulders. Yeah she was a model; she made it look easy.
Her chocolate eyes landed in mine and she threw me a blinding smile. “Looks like you already have a model.”