Page 52 of Kind of Famous
I followed the developers into the meeting room, ready to answer any questions they might have about the changes I’d proposed, only then remembering I’d left my laptop at Jo’s.
Crap.
I could get through this meeting, but after that?
Byron broke in before we’d even started. “Layla, do you have Chatter turned on?”
The office used an internal chat program that I had, in fact, not opened up yet, seeing as how I was computerless. “No, sorry.”
“Lars is looking for you. Can you go see what he wants?”
My stomach flipped.
Lars Cambridge was summoningme?
I swallowed down the immediate panic that he’d figured out I was just masquerading as a competent addition to his magazine and had decided to let me go.
Maybe Shane had mentioned me to him. I gathered my things and left them at my desk before smoothing out my clothes and heading in to see the head honcho.
I’d seen pictures of Lars, but they must have been out of date. The man seated at his desk was weathered like the distressed shiplap I saw in hipster bars. As I entered his office, he gave off the impression he was watching me over a pair of aviator sunglasses, though he wore none. He waited, like he was curious to see what I might do, while I decided between standing or sitting. At last, I took a chair across from him, and he said in a gravelly voice, “Hey there.”
“Hi. I’m Layla Beckett. Byron said you sent for me? I’m the new social media admin.”
“Social media,” he said, though it hung in the air like a question, like he didn’t understand the term, or maybe like he could see straight through me to the social anxiety that made my role ironic.
“And web content?” I wasn’t sure why I answered him with another question. His narrow eye slits unnerved me. “I’ll be helping to configure the software to take advantage of auto tweeting and shares to Facebook, among other things.”
His sharp intake of breath seemed an acknowledgment of his sudden comprehension. “Right. Good. It’s incredible how much the world is changing.”
Lars could best be described as “one cool cat,” but he didn’t seem to want to chat about the philosophy of his magazine or impart any on-the-job wisdom to me. In fact, he seemed like he’d just smoked a giant bowl and wanted nothing more than to mellow out.
What I did learn from him was that there was no way I would ever be the most underdressed person at the office. If someone had told me he’d been transported directly from the late seventies, I would only wonder why his clothes appeared to have experienced every minute of the ensuing decades. Lars was worn in. I was beginning to think nobody was at all who I thought they would be. Crazy
He continued to watch me through his stoner lids, and it was like we were playing a game of chicken. Finally, I blinked. “Did you need something?”
“Got an interesting visit today.” He tore a rectangular piece of paper from a small pad and tapped it on the desk. “You know Shane Morgan, I think?”
“Indeed, I do.” So, Shane had gotten me noticed. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“He tells me you’re a big fan of the band. Said you’d probably get a kick out of hanging at rehearsal with them.”
I coughed. “Well, yes. Who wouldn’t?”
“You’d be surprised.” He glanced at the paper, one eye narrowed further if possible, as if making a decision. Then he turned those slits on me. “Can you write?”
“Write what?”
He leaned back, lifting the mysterious paper off the desk, where it hung between his thumb and forefinger midair. “Articles, blogs, that kind of thing.”
“I—” I took a deep breath “—actually yes. I’ve written my share of blog articles.”
His tongue darted out and took a slow tour of his upper lip before he sat back up. “Where exactly?”
“Fan sites?” I offered this information as if I expected it to be met with derision.
“Fan sites.” He sat there for a moment, considering. “Can you be more specific?”
And there it was. I knew I’d eventually have to come clean about my moonlighting, but I hadn’t expected it to go this way. “Lars, if I were to tell you I ran a fan site for a band, would that be a problem?”
