in other lights, he’s the all-American athlete; and then you look again, and he’s a marauder—intimidating and brutish. And yet no matter what, he is still Macon; the symmetry of his features, the undeniable beauty of him, is always there.
I glare at that face now, my butt sore from sitting in a leather chair so narrow I swear it’s designed to weed out undesirables based on ass width alone. There are two other people stuck here with me, a pretty young woman who’s probably no older than nineteen and reminds me of Lorde and a guy around my age who is Matt Bomer handsome. Both are tense but trying not to appear that way. Both have been waiting less time than I have.
Karen’s assistant catches my eye and quickly looks away. She’s beautiful too—must be a requirement—and wearing stilettos that are too small. I should know; I spent a good fifteen minutes trying not to stare at the toe crotch bulging from the tops of her shoes.
The fact that I’m even thinking about toe crotch settles it. Enough is enough. I can either try to get past Ms. Heels—and I’m guessing that’s easier said than done despite the fact that I’m wearing Keds—or I can annoy the hell out of Karen. Annoying Karen sounds much more fun.
I am a woman of few talents. I cook, I bake, and I know songs. I can carry a tune, but I’m not going to win any awards. But I have the ability to remember song lyrics. Dozens of them.
Setting my purse down, I smile around the room, making sure to catch everyone’s eye. Not surprisingly, they all return my look with varying levels of caution. Weird might work on Sunset but not at a high-level talent agency. Well, at least not for them.
“At first I was afraid.” Slowly I rise. “I was petrified.”
Lorde’s look-alike’s eyes go wide as I really start singing “I Will Survive.” Mr. Blue Eyes grins. And Karen’s assistant frantically picks up her phone.
Throwing my hands wide, I give myself to the song, selling it for all it’s worth. I add in jazz hands because every performance is that much better with a little shimmy.
Blue Eyes begins to clap and egg me on, while the young woman—who quickly hurried to the other end of the room—laughs into her hands.
By the time I’m standing on the chair, doing some weird version of the bump and belting out how I will survive, Karen is in the room, red faced and huffing. From the doorway comes enthusiastic clapping, and I find North and another man watching. North gives me a thumbs-up, which earns him a glare from Karen.
Given that I’m standing on the world’s narrowest chair, my curtsy isn’t as grand as it could be.
Karen steps forward, flailing as if she’s torn between pulling at her hair or me. “What are you doing?” It comes out in a loud hiss of sound.
Sweating and panting, I jump down from my perch. “Warming up the pipes,” I tell her. “However, I’m much better with an accompanist.”
“You are not amusing, Baker.”
“That’s Ms. Baker to you. And neither is waiting for endless hours just so you can try to put me in my place.” I take a drink from my bottled water. “Now, give me the damn scripts before I start in on show tunes, and believe me, I know them all.”
I have a stack of scripts in my hands in ten seconds flat.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Macon
SweetTot: I’m looking through your social media pages.
Delilah left with North about an hour ago. I welcomed the reprieve, knowing she was still pissed at me yet having no idea how to fix it. I take it as a good sign that she’s actually texting. Then again, she might just be bored.
Miss me already?
Yeah, I’m counting the seconds until I see you again. [Insert eye roll here]
Laughing lightly, I respond.
Hide behind eye rolls all you like. I know the truth, Tot.
Uh-huh. Seriously, though, Macon, your accounts are a disaster.
What’s wrong with them?
Personally, I thought they were okay given that I hate maintaining them and feel like a fool every time I post.
They’re so wooden and stilted. And OLD. You never update!
What did you expect? I AM wooden and stilted. And I hate updating.
You forgot old. You’re old too.
A snort echoes in the silence of my living room. I sit back in my chair and get more comfortable.