Page 2 of Hunter
“No idea,” I reply, turning on my Mac and looking over my desk to check everything is just as I left it. I don’t have many personal effects, but it’s functional and organized, the way I like things. Theo always tells me I should have gone into the military, but I’d be awful at taking orders. It’s therefore of no surprise that Theo and I built up our own business together. We both worked hard to learn the ropes, with each of us gaining experience at much bigger agencies, but this is much more my scene.
We’re relatively small, but some clients like this about us; we give them a personal touch. We’re not some big, faceless company that only sees them as walking dollar signs. We put in the extra time and effort to get to know them and understand where they’ll shine. This also attracts some of our more troubled clients like Trent Matthews.
“Hope she’s in before he is,” Theo tsks, “it doesn’t look so professional when our own PA isn’t here to sit in on the meeting.”
“I keep saying we need someone else,” I sigh, rolling my eyes over his inability to retain any information that isn’t something to do with Izzy. “You can’t begrudge Louisa for needing to visit the doctor when she needs to, and you can’t expect her to cover the whole office twenty-four-seven.”
“Yeah, you’re right, we need to get an ad out there, but…I get Louisa,” he says, turning his back on me to head toward his own office.
“No way!” I shout as he walks away. “Besides, I already voted, and you lost.”
Unfortunately, Louisa was not back in time to meet and greet Trent Matthews, who was twenty minutes late himself. He had walked in with a bodyguard next to him, a hulk of a man, named ‘RIP’. I have to admit, it was hard not to show any signs of amusement when Theo and I were formally introduced to him. I swear we were both singing the mantra, ‘Don’t look at him, don’t look at him!’, when we both shook hands with the guy. Trent’s father walked in last, even though he was the one who arranged this meeting. The poor guy looks as though he’s working with his last nerve already.
Now for the man himself, Trent Matthews, an aspiring superstar who is beginning to get noticed by a number of directors. Unfortunately, the pretty boy in front of me has already let the limelight get to both his head and his wallet. Donning a pair of dark shades inside of our office, his skin looks pale, his expression lucid and his hair is somewhat slicked back in a half-hearted attempt at being styled. I can only describe what he’s wearing as ridiculous, though I can already tell it’s his attitude that’s going to be the worst of his ensemble today.
Without Louisa to see them through, I lead them into the meeting room myself. A simple, minimalistic space with only a mahogany oval-shaped table to make it anywhere close to interesting, along with six matching chairs. Antique apparently, though I couldn’t tell you any of their history for they were something my parents gifted to us when we first opened our doors. I didn’t have the heart to tell them they looked more suited to an old French chateau instead of a modern urban office for the potentially rich and famous. We vowed to get rid of the set when we could afford something new, however, years later, they’re all still here, looking like intruders.
Making it stand out even more is a small kitchenette. It does the job of making hot drinks, reheating leftovers from the night before for lunch, as well as storing an old tin of cookies that went stale last year. Rip…or RIP, takes up at least a quarter of the room but at least chooses to remain by the door where he guards it like a bored bouncer with his hands clasped together, staying silent and brooding. The way he stares into nothing has you wondering if he's managed to fall asleep with his eyes open. Trent, the walking cliché of a new celebrity who has just discovered what good marketing and a few successful model campaigns can do for a guy, saunters in, slumps himself on top of the chair, then throws his right booted foot onto the table. He’s under the misguided belief that he will stay like this; that everyone will always want him. He should realize this could all change within the blink of an eye. Tomorrow, it could be all stolen away from him, and passed onto another pretty face. He needs to sell his talent, not his propensity to fuck up every other week. People will only withstand a bad reputation for so long before they lose interest and move on.
Trent’s father, who at least looks respectable in his suit and tie, sits beside his offspring. He smiles nervously, which can only mean we’re his last chance. Theo and I both automatically turn to face him, bypassing the walking joke of a man who is his son.
“Good morning,” Theo begins, shuffling through the newspapers and magazines that have headlined some of Trent’s ridiculous behavior in recent months. His father, understandably, winces at the sight of them. “For starters, let me apologize for our absent PA. Unfortunately, she has an appointment, but we are expecting her at any time now. She’ll bring in the proposed contracts as soon as she arrives.”
Trent juts his chin up and smirks arrogantly, whereas his father waves a dismissive hand in front of his face; to be fair, a missing PA is the least of his worries.
“So, we’ve been putting the feelers out there on Trent’s behalf,” Theo continues, “unfortunately, the same issues keep rearing their heads whenever we mention your son’s name.”
He pauses to gauge if there is going to be any hint of a reaction from the thirty-year-old idiot dressed in a leopard print jacket, leather pants, and punk-style boots. There isn’t.
“Look, we realize Trent has a reputation for partying, sleeping around with inappropriate people, and generally being a prize moron,” his father says nonchalantly. Expecting at least some sort of comeback to this, we both turn to watch Trent, but he merely shrugs wordlessly. Rolling his eyes, his father continues with his rant. “But I need you guys to man him up because I can’t deal with any of this anymore. If he wants to throw his life down the toilet, that’s fine. But before he does, he has to pay his mother and me back for all the money we’ve thrown at his career since he was fifteen years old. The sorry excuse for a son has all but squandered the money away on booze, drugs, and women. The guy’s a walking, talking cliché; I mean, just look at him!”
His father is now red in the face and looking at his son as though it pains him. I have to admit, I’d be giving him much the same look if he were my kid.
“The trouble is, Trent,” Theo tries to open dialogue with the man himself, “you’re not considered the trendy, young kid-man anymore. You are now in the age bracket where you need to play more serious roles if you want to make the kind of money you’ve been used to. You and I are the same age and yet I dress in a suit for a meeting; you wear some fucked up outfit that would look ridiculous on anyone.” Trent frowns at my business partner, but pretty much continues to look like he’s at home watching Netflix. “Now, you take me, and you take you; which of us looks more befitting for a male lead in say, a rom-com? A thriller? Or a period drama?”
Trent pauses, as if trying to make sense of what has so obviously been put before him, then sighs and throws his sunglasses across the table. I can’t keep the grimace from off my face when I see the state of his eyes, which are dark and hollow from a late night out. He runs his hands down his face before he eventually removes his boot from the table and slides upward in his seat. With no words of understanding forthcoming, Theo eventually decides to continue.
“Put that together with the headlines you get on a weekly basis, and you don’t seem all that attractive to directors anymore,” Theo says bluntly. “But you are known for your acting talents, and you do have the potential for leading roles because of how you look.”
“You hitting on me?” Trent finally manages to utter something, not that it is at all useful. He smiles over his own bad attempt at humor at the same time as his father slaps his hand on top of my mother’s antique table in a fit of frustration.
“Trent, for the love of God, grow the fuck up!”
“Fine,” Trent sighs in such a way, you can tell he’s used to these outbursts. “What would you have me do? I’ve just been through rehab so I’m not doing that any time soon.”
“Daniel?” Theo turns to me and offers a smile I’d like to punch. He knows this is going to be a headache and a half, so of course he’s handing it over to me.
Shaking my head, I slowly turn to face Trent so I can properly size him up. I remain silent while thinking over the options. He widens his eyes, trying to prompt me to say something, but I say nothing. I can act just as bored as he can. In fact, I look him over like I’m trying to work out if he’s worth my time at all, which eventually makes him squirm a little. I guess this is why Theo likes to put me with turds like him. I can turn my impatience into a source of intimidation for my weak-willed clients.
“Well? You gonna say anything?” Trent eventually snaps.
I take my time to reply, leaning back in my chair and steepling my fingers together before I eventually look at his father. I choose to address him instead of the guy who couldn’t be bothered to behave at all professionally at a business meeting.
“I’m thinking…an engagement?” I turn to Theo who raises his brow while Trent scoffs over my suggestion. Of course, I ignore Trent’s reaction and address the grownups in the room instead. “With the right girl, he can tidy up his reputation, and portray the serious, romantic gentleman that directors want, as well as charm the female population back into lusting after him. Of course, there will need to be a complete style overhaul,” I add as I gesture to his ridiculous outfit.
“Fuck you!” Trent laughs. “I get enough pussy without you getting involved with what I wear and shit. And I don’t need you fixing me up with some virgin!”
“Trent, I swear to God if you don’t cut this crap out, your mother and I are cutting you off,” his father threatens. “We have your last few million tied up in trust. If you don’t pull your head out of your ass and at least make some sort of effort here, then it stays tied up. Do you understand me, boy?”