CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
JORDAN
I opened my eyes and yawned, then nearly had a heart attack as a green gecko stared at me from the nightstand.
“Hey, there,” I said in a groggy voice.
The gecko didn’t move.
Were geckos a bad omen? Because my pounding head and hurting heart both kicked into overdrive as I gained my bearings and glanced around the room.
It was as if Max had moved me into his apartment in the middle of the night. A few duffel bags sat in the corner and two garment bags hung on the door.
So why the gecko?
“Jordan.” Becca’s voice sounded on the other side of the door; she knocked and then walked in. “I see Little G gave you a nice wake-up call?”
I frowned at the gecko. “Does he often do that? Just roam around wherever he pleases?”
Becca snorted. “He’s like Max in gecko form. What do you think?”
“That thought alone makes me want to sleep with the lights on at night.”
“Me too.” Becca grinned. “And I sleep with the man.”
“Knife under the pillow?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Nah, but I do keep fruit snacks next to the condoms just in case he has a nightmare.”
“Because fruit snacks stop nightmares?”
With a shrug Becca made her way around the bed and sat. “According to Max.”
The gecko did a little hop. Becca held out her hand; he walked onto it, slowly, and then lay down. I’d never in my life seen such a thing, a domesticated gecko. Then again, if you could domesticate lizards, why not the tiny ones?
“So.” She cleared her throat. “Max said something about an emergency on set.”
I grunted.
“An emergency involving Reid.”
I licked my lips and looked down at the comforter, silently counting to keep myself from bursting into tears.
“And”—Becca nudged me with her elbow—“I know that this is a rough time for you, but you still need your job, right? And as his publicist, it’s in your best interest to spin things.”
“So why do I need to spin the emergency on set?” I asked, curious. “What? Did he lock himself in his trailer or something and then put aluminum foil in his microwave? Press would eat that up. Reid Emory—idiot.”
“No.” Becca stifled a laugh. “But he did have a nervous breakdown.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nervous breakdown.” Becca winced. “And not the typical I’m an artist, blah, blah, blah nervous breakdown where the actor just freaks out on the director and drops a lot of f-bombs.”
Dread pooled in my stomach. Yeah, I’d had a few of those actors, but Reid never fit that bill. Which made me wonder, what was his definition of a nervous breakdown?
“He, uh”—Becca leaned forward and whispered—“he’s saying he’s Batman. At least that’s what the Twitter hashtag is, though, honestly, I think you can spin it so he can audition once Ben Affleck’s time is up, you know?”
“Batman.” I repeated. “As in the caped crusader?”
“The very one.” She grinned. “So suit up, Jordan. You’ve got an actor to save.”
“And if I don’t?” I argued, already getting out of bed.
“Who knows, maybe you’ll lose your job?” Becca offered. “I’m not really sure how those things work.”
With a grumble, I forced my legs to walk over to the garment bag, which I unzipped, then grabbed the first and only dress available.
“Uh, what’s this?” I pulled out the white lingerie-looking spectacle. The lacy corset flowed down into a see-through skirt and was covered with a lacy wrap that looked like anything but normal daywear. More like I just woke up in a historical novel and the only thing I have to wear is a night rail.
“That”—Becca pointed—“is Max. Believe me, it’s best to just wear what he has for you and ask questions later.”
“Screw that.” I went to the duffel bag.
It was filled with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fruit snacks.
Cursing Max, I stomped over to the next duffel bag. That one was filled with poker chips. Great.
One duffel bag left. “Do I even want to know?” I asked aloud.
“Probably not.” Becca burst out laughing.
The bag wasn’t very heavy. I unzipped it and sighed. See-through glass shoes sparkled from the middle of the bag. “My shoes, I take it?”
“For the outfit.” She nodded.
“You’re in on this.” I sat down on the floor and sighed. “Whatever this is.”
“Yup.” She winked. “It’s always best to just do as he says. I stopped fighting long ago. Now put on the silly outfit, go out in public, and you just may be surprised what happens.”
“Is Reid really having a breakdown?”
Becca pulled out her phone and tossed it to me. It was open on her Twitter page. With a groan I scrolled through all the hashtags: #ReidisBatman #gothamissaved #capedcrusaderreal #batmanandtheshrew.
Several pictures of Reid were tagged.
And in all of them he was wearing a black cape.
And a white mask.
Batman didn’t have a white mask, but whatever. I groaned and shoved the phone back into Becca’s hand. “I guess I have work to do. And why can’t I just wear normal clothes?”
“Max’s idea of PR genius.” Becca shrugged. “You show up like you’re in costume while Reid is already in costume and it looks planned and not like he’s actually off his rocker and about five seconds away from talking to himself and feeding a dead pet bird.”
“Great,” I croaked. “I guess it semi works since we’re in this together, until I publicly shame him and then eat a pint of ice cream in my new apartment he found for me without telling!” I yelled the last part.
Becca winced. “Trust me, it will be fine. Just get through today.”
“That”—I pushed to my feet—“is going to be my mantra for the day.”