Page 57 of Wicked Angel
“Elle’s sister is cleaning your house?” Lex said.
“I’m not—” she protested, but I cut her off.
“You interned with Danielle Duke. You worked with her clients. You know a lot of people. If you pick up the phone, the media will take your call.”
She was growing redder by the minute. I was either embarrassing her or pissing her off. Who could say? Not me. “Because they want a story on my sister.”
“So? The point is, they take your call. You tell them you have a better story than Elle Delacroix, they’ll be listening.”
“And what story is that?” she said. “The story of disgraced rock star Johnny O’Reilly, shaking off the ashes and rising again from the flames of his dumpster fire career?”
I stared at her, unvexed. “I’m sure you can finesse it a little better than that.”
“I’m not that experienced,” she protested.
I took a slug of my drink, mildly annoyed with her disbelief in herself. No wonder she’d never held down a job, or even gotten one. “Who’s Brody Mason?”
“Uh… my sister’s manager?”
“He’s Dirty’s manager and he’s the biggest band manager in town. One of the best in the business.”
“So?”
“So, you show up at Brody Mason’s door, what happens?”
“Um… he invites me in?”
“That’s right. You get a seat at his table with his family. Can Danielle Duke do that?” Before she could respond, I went on. “No. She’s a legendary publicist, I know. She can probably get into any industry event in this town. But you can get inside people’s homes. You have their ear and their advice.”
“It’s not really that easy.”
Fuck, her self-doubt was pissing me off.
“You’re not cleaning my goddamn toilets.”
We stared at each other.
Shane got up. “Well, that’s my cue to get more drinks.”
“Not for me.” Lex stood and tapped my shoulder. “I’m heading out.” He nodded at Angeline. “Angie. Have a nice night. Lamar will put you in a cab when you’re ready.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.”
He gave me a look, which I ignored. Lex worked security on Dirty’s crew. He worked with Angeline’s fucking ex-boyfriend, Flynn, actually. It irritated me, that he seemed to think he needed to make sure she was secure when she had me, right here.
Maybe that’s the problem.
I said nothing, my eyes on her. Then Lex was gone, we were alone, and I was still staring at her.
“What’s your problem?” I demanded.
“What’s your problem?” she shot back, like a juvenile.
“You. I’m offering you a job. Take it.”
“I don’t like handouts,” she said stubbornly. Then she muttered, “Anymore.”
Okay, I actually respected that. “It’s not a handout.”
