Page 24 of Fame And Secrets

Chapter Nine

Julian

“I’m not sure if I have the right address.” I handed the piece of paper Helena had given me to the receptionist peering at me over retro-rimmed glasses.

“No, this is correct.” She shoved it back in my hand and returned her attention to her keyboard. I stood, not sure what to do next. Couldn’t she at least give me a floor, or shove one of those boney-ass fingers down a hallway and point me in the right direction?

Jesus.

“She’s expecting me,” I blurted out. Eloquence beyond measure. No wonder I had girls pulling panty drive-bys on a daily basis.

She removed her glasses and tilted her head. By the way she scowled while twirling the ends between her thumb and forefinger, she wouldn’t be throwing her thong anytime soon. I’d successfully gotten myself on her shit list.

“And who is she, sir?” The way she emphasized sir, it could’ve easily been replaced with asshole.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Helena had taught me well. Never burn bridges. Even if you wanted to set every one of them ablaze and watch them sizzle. “It’s Kristina Graham.”

Her sarcastic laughter startled me. “Miss Graham doesn’t see clients.” She looked me up and down disapprovingly. “Especially unknown clients. I’m sure if you have an appointment, it’s with an associate manager.”

I’d been cordial—almost pleasant up until now. But this bitch pissed me off, and after dealing with Phoebe and Ryker’s pathetic lie-fest last night, I was in no mood for her bullshit.

“Look, lady, I have an appointment with Kristina Graham at nine a.m., and it’s now,” I glanced at my watch, “nine twelve. If you don’t call Miss Graham right now, I’ll take great pleasure in explaining the reason the rest of her day is fucked is because her assistant needs to chew a bottle of Midol. Got it?”

Almost jerking the receiver out of the cord, she pulled the phone to her ear and narrowed her eyes. “Your name?”

“Julian Bale,” I said, shooting her a brilliant smile.

Bitch.

I studied the wall art as she mumbled into the phone. Out of place didn’t begin to describe the strange feeling that washed over me. Practically living in Helena’s office for four years, I’d grown accustomed to the bare walls, tan couch, uncomfortable chairs, and meticulously tidy desk. Helena was efficiency personified. Kristina Graham exploded with color and impressionism. Abstract art hung on the maroon colored walls with ornate frames. High backed black couches littered the waiting area with brightly colored pillows that matched the weird paintings.

Helena Gibbons and Kristina Graham were as similar as chocolate and vanilla. Why Helena recommended her out of all managers in Los Angeles confused the hell out of me.

“Take the elevator to the third floor, go down the hallway, take your second right, and her office is the third one on the left-hand side.”

Turning around, my eyebrow shot up. “Excuse me?”

She sighed exasperatedly. “What part didn’t you get?”

“Pretty much everything past take the elevator.”

Rolling her eyes, she scribbled on a Post-It Note and shoved it across her desk. “Here, she’s waiting.”

I could see this chick would be an issue for me if we didn’t resolve this insta-hate right now. Forcing my practiced groupie smile, I stuck out my hand. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Sometimes my mouth shoots off and I have to beat it into submission. My name’s Julian Bale. And you are?”

A small smile tugged her lips as she tried to rein it in. Clearing her throat, the scowl returned, but she took my hand anyway. “Risa.”

I shook her hand and pointed toward the elevator. “Well, Risa, it’s been my pleasure. Hopefully next time, you can call me Julian in your mind, instead of dickhead.” I winked at her and she cracked a smile.

I silently congratulated myself as the elevator door closed.

Julian, one. Risa, zero.

The winding hallways and Risa’s simplistic directions led me on a ten-minute scavenger hunt to nowhere. By the time I’d knocked on the fifth wrong door, I’d dropped enough F-bombs to blow up the building. I’d just wandered back to the elevators, ready to forget this shitty day existed, when someone tapped me on my shoulder.

“Lost?” I glanced over my shoulder at a petite woman with wide deep-set brown eyes. She cocked her head to the side and tucked her shoulder-length auburn hair behind one ear.

I slammed my hand on the elevator button again. “Nope. Just karma telling me I’m definitely in the wrong place.” I’d kill Helena when I got her ass on the phone.