Page 16 of Handsome Devil
Really, not worth my time.
But then Ms. Gorman was late to the meeting. And ten minutes into waiting for her at a busy restaurant in Yaletown, I was ready for that bullet to the head. And silently cursing my mother. Bad enough I had to waste my time with this shit in the first place. Now I was literally wasting my time.
Then Janelle Gorman breezed in, flustered and making excuses about traffic at minute thirteen. I rose, slowly, fucking annoyed. But I just pictured my grandmother’s face in that last meeting I’d had with her, and I shook her hand. “Dane Davenport. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Yes,” she agreed, like itwasa pleasure meeting her. “Call me Janelle.” She made a show of tossing off her coat and smoothing her designer suit, still complaining about traffic, and insisted on ordering cocktails. She got an Amaretto Sour. I ordered a scotch.
Then she just kept talking.
I sat back. I took a long look at her as she rambled on about… something to do with her general amazingness? She was going on about New York Fashion Week, which she’d attended a few weeks ago, and where she’d debuted a new model she’d personally developed, to rave reviews. But make no mistake, she was talking about herself.
Everything about this woman was… Obnoxious. Self-indulgent.
Fucking annoying.
I wondered if she was drunk. Or medicated. Or just scattered and perpetually lacking in self-awareness. She exuded arrogance. I’d met some obnoxious personalities in her industry, but this woman was something else.
I hadn’t even asked her a single question, yet she assumed I wanted her sales pitch on how fabulous she was.
I did not.
“You’ve been running the agency for two years?” I finally asked her, when she took a break from rambling as our drinks arrived. She downed half of hers in the first gulp.
I let mine sit.
“Yes,” she said. “Two years.”
It was less than two years, technically, according to Velma’s facts, and I trusted Velma’s facts. But Janelle didn’t correct me.
Details. I was a stickler for details.
Despite the impeccable suit, the fine jewelry and the poise, this woman had sloppy written all over her.
I abhorred sloppy.
“And you were a model yourself?” I inquired, mentally running down my info sheet.
“Oh, yes. For many years. I can’t even tell you how many magazine covers I—”
“How many models have you signed this year?” I cut her off before she could lose herself in reminiscing over her own beauty.
And she couldnot even answerthe question.
She threw a couple of numbers at me, second guessing herself, then laughed it off and made a vague statement about being “so busy” and everything blurring together.
“I’ve got soooo many girls now. And guys. We started out with women only, then branched out into men. We were all fashion, then we expanded to actors. Our whole acting division went with my ex when we split—but I suppose you know that. It’s allowed us to focus on our niches again, go back to our roots. International fashion. Local clientele, especially in athletics. And under my guidance, we’ve really branched out in digital talent. Influencers, I mean. Do you have children, Mr. Davenport?”
“You can call me Dane. And no, I don’t.”
“Neither do I. But I feel like I’m Mother to dozens of models. Guiding their careers, providing a shoulder to cry on, holding hands. They all need me for something.”
“And how many new clients have you brought on this year?”
She physically brushed that one off with a wave of her hand, like numbers were unimportant. “Oh, so many. I’m a people person. Connections are my life and breath. I built this company on relationships.”
Right. From what I’d read, her predecessors had built the company. And according to the summarized numbers I’d seen, the business had shown no growth since she’d taken over.
I could feel myself shifting into fixer mode. Sniffing out problems lurking beneath her words like rotten floorboards, hinting at instability, weakness. She used a lot of weak, passive language, like “should” and “I think” and nowhere in anything she said was there even the whiff of a solid figure to back up her words.
