Page 67 of Wicked Angel
“What?” I said. “That’s the last question. Oh, also, do you have any favorite snacks or drinks or anything? I like to bring clients coffee and feel-good gift baskets when we meet.”
He sighed inaudibly. “Dark roast coffee.”
“But no dark secrets?”
“No.”
“Wonderful. Cream and sugar?”
“Cream, no sugar. And I only drink organic.”
“Of course you do. Do you mind if I talk to Yash?”
He took a slow sip of his water, contemplating me—and maybe the pain in his ass I was rapidly becoming. “Go ahead.”
“We’d be talking about you. How do you feel about that?”
“What, are you my therapist now?”
“Do you have one?”
“Surely that’s personal, Angeline.”
I’ll take that as a yes.
“Your media coverage gets plenty personal. If you have any diagnosed personality disorders or anything, might be nice for me to know, since your public image is now my domain.”
“Any ‘diagnoses’ or whatever I discuss with my therapist is none of your business. Or anyone else’s.”
“Of course it isn’t. But what if it becomes public business? As it does for some celebrities?”
“And how would that happen?”
“Usually, because the celebrity in question overdoses on prescription pills.”
He stared at me. I stared back.
“Thanks for the warning,” he said, deadpan. “For the record, I don’t give a fuck if you and Yash talk about me.”
That was a lie, I was pretty sure.
“That’s good. Because I’d love to get his perspective on you, on where you’ve been and where you’re headed, career wise. But, for the record, I’m not going to ask Shayla a single thing about you, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
He frowned a little, like that took him by surprise. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because that might lead to tension between us, and there’s literally a zero—no, a sub-zero-times-infinity chance that I’d ever let the likes of you come between my girl and me.”
“Let me guess. That last part was my sister’s friend talking, not my publicist.”
“Correct. But I will be speaking to Yash as your publicist, and same goes for anyone else I speak to about you publicly, of course.”
“You have questions about me that you think I can’t answer myself?”
I considered how to put it, then went with honesty. “I’m trying to decide if you’re being honest with me or not. And if you’re giving me all the information I need to do my job to the best of my ability or not. The only way to know that is with time, and more information sources.”
“So basically, you’re going to dig around and fact check everything I say?”
“Yes. Pretty much.”
