Page 70 of Wicked Angel
I was sitting at Johnny’s kitchen island again, while he made a stir fry, because apparently he couldn’t just sit down while we had a meeting. I had no idea he could cook, but then again I’d never really been over to his house much; at least not while he was here.
I looked up from my laptop, where I was making notes while I went over the press release with him. He was tossing things in his wok—looked and smelled pretty good—while the wok hissed, steam plumed in the air and the hood fan hummed.
But that question was not on the agenda.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Yup.”
“Then why did you just interrupt me with a personal question? Which is, by the way, not your business.”
“You asked all about my personal business.”
“I asked about things that could cause problems with your public image. Because it affects how I do my job.”
“Uh-huh. Well, your personal problems could become part of my public image, like everything else in my life. I should know the story there too.”
Hmm. Arguably a valid point. By a stretch.
“I do not have ‘problems.’” I did, but so what? “My personal life is not my clients’ business.”
He tossed me a glance. “Even if it’s scandalous?”
“There is no scandal in my life. Unless any paparazzi were stalking me at the mall today. ‘Sister of rock star Elle Delacroix buys a vibrator.’ Major headlines.”
I looked up again as the wok sizzled angrily. Johnny, who was staring at me, righted it just before it upended and all the vegetables slid off.
“Did you just almost drop your dinner because I said vibrator?”
“I thought your personal life was none of my business.”
“It was a joke.”
“So you did buy a vibrator, or you didn’t?”
“Really not answering that.” I fixed a typo on my document. “Yes, I bought a vibrator. Why is this newsworthy? No one saw me.”
“I didn’t say it was newsworthy.”
“Now you’re just creeping.”
He laughed shortly. “You offered up the information. I’m not supposed to get a mental image?”
“Of me taking a vibe to the cashier and pulling out my sad, low-limit credit card?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what a guy pictures when you say you bought a vibrator.” He eyed me briefly. “How naïve are you?”
“I was kidding and trying to deflect to a more savory conversation topic.”
“I can’t have a publicist that naïve working for me.”
“I am not naïve. Can we focus here? Maybe if you actually listened to what I had to say, you’d realize that I actually know what I’m talking about.” Yeah, my assertiveness on this was growing exponentially, like every time this guy made me push to prove why I should be doing this job for him.
He was a real jerk that way.
However, it was really spurring my conviction that I could do this.
At least, it was until my realization this afternoon…
