Public transport in LA was a joke.
Without my own car, I had no other means of getting around. Back home—I was spoiled. Not only did I have my own car, but a boyfriend who made sure it turned on and got me from A to B.
The bus ride was uneventful; folks keeping to themselves and staring out the window in a dull state of mind. I had planned to stop off at a coffee shop near a place called The Grove. According to an old newspaper that I found at our doorstep, it was a popular place to shop and eat with many celebrities that frequented the joint. Not that I cared. I just wanted to get my hands on this ridiculously expensive cake to say thank you for employing me even though I was a rambling mess.
The coffee shop is busy; many people occupying the small tables that were scattered around. The glass display is full of delicious desserts. Rows and rows of mouth-watering sweets, making my stomach growl loudly enough that the lady carrying a tiny rat-looking dog in her purse—takes notice.
“The caramel baked cheesecake with crushed Oreos and peanut butter cups, please.”
The cashier, Sarah, packs the cake into a silver box, sliding it over the counter as I hand her some cash. Politely saying thank you, I turn around deciding to open the carton just to catch another glimpse of this oh-so-perfect cake.
The side of the lid gets caught in the corner. I nudge it slightly to close it shut again until all of a sudden, my body slams into another person causing me to gasp loudly.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!”
Frazzled, I look up to see an annoyed guy wearing a thick leather jacket, standing in front of me, arm draped around a pretty girl and carrying a helmet in his spare hand. She appears to be amused by something, and following her eyes, I stare down at my white dress which is covered in Oreos. Shit. Shit. SHIT!
“Might want to do something about that dress of yours,” he snorts, arrogantly, twitching his hazel eyes with a fiendish grin.
“Excuse me?” Perhaps I’m overreacting, but this moron just cost me thirty dollars. Who does this asswipe think he is? “How about you learn to have some manners!”
I wasn’t the type of person to raise my voice at a stranger, usually controlled and able to walk away from such nonsense. Yet something about the way he made me feel like a pathetic nobody just rubbed me the wrong way.
He—and his Hollywood bimbo—didn’t deserve any more of my time. The damage was done, I had a ruined cake and equally ruined dressed. Of course I had to wear white today!
I turn back around with a red face, greeting Sarah at the counter. I could see the sympathy in her eyes together with a disappointed smile.
“You know what?” Sarah is examining the damage. “I’m sure Mona can quickly fix the top. Saves you having to buy another.”
Sarah disappears into the kitchen only to return with a smile, asking me to wait for a few minutes while Mona fixed the icing. She hands me a small cloth which I use to carefully wipe the excess cake off my dress.
Mr. Dick (as I liked to call him starting from this moment) moves closer to the counter, ordering a triple-shot coffee as if he didn’t do anything. I stand, waiting, impatiently tapping my feet with my arms crossed to cover the hideous stain. I had no time to go get changed let alone spend money on another dress.
He hands over a credit card, trying to eye-flirt with Sarah.
“You know, you might want to watch where you’re walking. Head buried in a cake box is probably not the smartest thing to do.”
“Neither is being a dick,” I mumble under my breath.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. It’s bad manners not to make eye contact with someone when you speak.”
My head moves swiftly, eyes wide open, staring at this arrogant ass. He wasn’t the first arrogant asshole I had encountered in the four days I had been here. LA was full of them.
“You want to talk to me about making eye contact? I think you just told me to watch where I was walking but at the same time, you were flirting with Sarah.”
Sarah almost drops the coffee in her hand, embarrassed that she enjoyed his attention.
He takes the cup and turns to face me, giving me a better chance to get a glimpse of the face attached to the asshole personality.
The first thing I notice is how light his eyes are: hazel colored. Light in comparison to the dark beard that sits across the bottom half of his face. His olive complexion makes them stand out but beneath them is dark bags. Tired, worn out—something about him looked aged.
Without trying to make it look obvious, a scar on the side of his jawline catches my attention. It has a pinkish tinge, looking fresh from some accident and buried in his overgrown beard.
“Are you done looking at me now?”
I pull back, unaware I was that obvious.
“Yes. Just wanted to remember the face of the person that cost me my favorite dress and is making me late to an important appointment.”
“That dress is your favorite?”
I look down at my dress. It is my favorite. I bought it three summers ago at the Macy’s clearance rack during one of our girly road trips to Anchorage. It had this 1950s feel to it; halter neck with three large buttons that ran down my chest. The bottom flairs beneath my waist, covering my wide hips.
“Actually, it is.”
The blonde bimbo that accompanied him into the shop is by his side, eyeing me again like I belonged in a zoo.
“I bet you’re not from around here. Let me guess, you came here to be the next biggest movie star.”
They laugh in unison, only adding to my uncomfortable state.
“And let me guess, you came here to be the next biggest porn star!”
I don’t wait for her reaction, turning around and facing the counter desperate for Sarah to return with my cake. Beside me, Mr. Dick is laughing, prompting Bimbo to nudge him with her shoulder.
Sarah comes out of the kitchen carrying my box. Letting out a sigh of relief, I thank her as she passes it slowly over. I won’t open the box this time, turning my back towards them while I walk to the exit.
“Hey!”
I stop for a moment, contemplating whether or not to turn around and bother giving him another minute of my time.
“What?”
“I still didn’t get an apology.”
The box is steady in my hands as I turn around to argue with him one more time.
“Since I’ll never see you again, you can take my apology and shove it up your ass.”
His lips curve upwards, into a wide grin. “And if you do see me again?”
“Then I’ll take it out of your ass and actually mean it.”
I refused to entertain him any longer, pushing the door open and leaving the shop in a mad rush to Emerson’s house.
“This cake is divine.”
Emerson takes another bite as we sit outside on the back patio. Her house is enormous, surrounded by the greenest grass I had ever seen and views of the valley that stretched beyond the horizon. Towards the right there is an Olympic-sized pool with a small pool house on the opposite side. It was just like out of a magazine; picture perfect and could fit the tagline of Dream Home.
“Thank you. Again, I’m so sorry about my appearance. I’m not usually like this, I just…I can’t believe the nerve of that guy.”
She smiles, softly. “It’s okay. Once I almost walked on stage with toilet paper hanging out of my butt so I understand completely. Though that was entirely my fault.”
We both laugh with a mouthful of cake. Emerson was easy going, spending some time to explain the role and parts of her personal life. I had a good feeling about her; she seemed nothing like the other LA snobs I had encountered.
“I have a daughter. She’s six months old. Her name is Lola.” She taps on her phone and proudly shows me a picture. She’s a gorgeous baby with a full head of brown hair coupled with deep blue eyes. “She’s napping now otherwise I would bring her down.”
It explained why she had a baby monitor on the table beside her phone.
“I try to keep a routine. I work three days a week from nine to five and then on the remaining days, I work during her naps. When my fiancé is in town, I get a chance to work a bit more but to be honest—I just want to spend time with him.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what does he do?”
“He’s plays soccer. Right now, he’s in Brazil leading a soccer program for youths.”
“Sounds like you have your hands full,” I tell her, with ease.
“Yes, that’s why you’re here.” She laughs, taking another bite of cake. “I’ve got baby brain. I need someone to help me with scheduling meetings, run business errands and meet with suppliers when I can’t. When I have interviews and appearances, I need someone to coordinate my publicist, stylist, the whole team. It is a very busy role but I think you’re the right fit, Milana.”
“I’m dedicated. We just need to find our groove. Does that make sense?”
Her eyes light up, impressed. “Total sense. So how about we start tomorrow? If you could meet me here at nine? Just wait here a second…”
Emerson stands up, her white shorts and navy-blue tank matching the fabric of the chair she was sitting in. She disappears only to return moments later. She’s carrying a laptop, phone and set of keys.
“This is for you.” She hands them to me, much to my bewilderment. “We can schedule the next twelve months’ of meetings tomorrow and sync our diaries. The keys are for the car that you’ll need to run errands. The phone is for business clients to contact you and myself.”
“But…this is…” I stumble on my words, feeling terrible for accepting the car.
“All part of the job.” She finishes my sentence. “And, a tax right-off. Charlie, my lawyer, will FedEx you the contracts to sign.”
Back home, Mildred Mason had one computer in the office and a landline. It was never an issue and somehow, we were contactable. Although I had a laptop and a brick, as Liam referred to it, this was all a bit much.
“Are you sure?” I question with uncertainty. “I was going to buy a car, I just wanted to get settled first.”
Emerson places the keys in my hand and rests her palm on mine, reassuring me that this wasn’t a pity handout. “I’m sure. There is one catch though.”
Of course there is.
“One of my business associates is very difficult to work with. In fact, I limit contact with him because I can’t deal with him anymore.”
Odd, yet I’m curious as to why she doesn’t just cut ties.
“Your business partner?”
“Yes.” The subject appears to irritate her, the smile on her face disappearing and the grit in her teeth portraying her anger towards this individual. “As much as I would love to not deal with him, he has made it difficult for me to legally pull away from the business.”
He already sounded like a dickhead.
“It’s okay. When it comes to people like this, I can keep my head strong and stay focused on the job.”
She breathes a sign of relief and ends with a small giggle. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“If today’s debacle taught me anything, it’s to be prepared. You never know who’s just around the corner…”