His Assistant - Alexa Land Page 0,17
and simple. They asked for stupid shit because they could, and they didn’t care about inconveniencing others. I’d always appreciated the fact that Harper wasn’t like that. His contract did ask for diet soda and protein bars instead of the usual array of sugary stuff, but that was just because he had a hard time resisting junk food if it was in arm’s reach.
Within minutes, someone from wardrobe whisked away Harper’s suit and shirt to have it pressed, and I stepped out into the hallway to see who was around. During a typical episode of his late-night talk show, Tommy Allen would have four guests and a musical act, but for his anniversary special, over a dozen stars were on set. That meant backstage was utter chaos. Quite a few celebrities had spilled out of their dressing rooms and were milling around and schmoozing, along with their assistants, agents, and entourages. Meanwhile, staff members rushed around with headsets and clipboards, their expressions ranging from grim to borderline panicked.
“Phoenix!” I turned to see who’d called my name and spotted my friend Noah weaving through the crowd. He was a handsome Black guy in his early thirties, with a stocky build, short dreads, and a smile that always seemed like it was right on the edge of becoming a smirk. Like me, he’d spent the last decade working as a personal assistant, which meant he had zero fucks left to give.
We grabbed each other in a back-slapping hug when he finally reached me, and he exclaimed, “It’s great to see you, man!”
“You, too! You look terrific.”
He grinned at me and said, “You speak the truth. Who are you here with?”
“I went back to work for Harper Royce.”
Noah grasped my shoulders and gave me a shake as he blurted, “No, you did not!”
“I did.”
“What the hell, Phoenix! He drove you insane when you worked for him a year ago, and you and I both agreed quitting that gig was the best choice you ever made.”
“I know, but he was desperate. His assistants keep quitting on him, and his entire life is in disarray. He didn’t even know he was supposed to show up for this gig until yesterday, when I found an unread email buried in his in-box.”
Noah frowned at me. “So, you decided to swoop in and make everything better?”
“He’s paying me three times my usual rate, and it’s just until July. Then I’m going back to work for this sweet up-and-coming actor named Will Kandinsky.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You will.”
“At least you’re getting well-compensated,” he said, “although I’m not sure it’s worth all the frustration. Did you forget the way he used to get on your last nerve?”
“Oh no, I remember.” Something occurred to me just then, and I blurted, “Oh shit. I just realized who else must be here if you are.”
His expression turned sympathetic. “Yeah. He’s the musical guest.”
Noah had been working for my twin brother for the last five or six months. As if on cue, an all-too-familiar voice behind me yelled, “Phee-Phee! Is that you?”
I pressed my eyes shut and ground my teeth. Then I forced myself to pull up a neutral expression before turning to my brother and saying, “How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”
Dallas looked incredible. I obviously wasn’t going to tell him that, because he wouldn’t be able to fit through doorways if his already overinflated ego got any bigger. But he must have gotten a new personal trainer, because he’d totally transformed the lean runner’s build we’d both had all of our adult lives. He looked like he was ready to star in an action movie with his big arms, shoulders, and overall muscle definition. Of course he was wearing a skin-tight T-shirt and jeans, to make sure everyone noticed. He’d also trimmed his beard into a goatee and was sporting a very expensive haircut, along with high- and lowlights in his dark hair that no one would suspect were artificial, unless they happened to have the exact same head of hair. I absolutely hated the fact that he and I looked like before and after photos on a makeover show.
He flashed me a blindingly white smile and said, “Lighten up, bro. I’m just teasing.” I stiffened when he grabbed me in a hug, and then he let go of me and asked, “So, what brings you to the set?”
“A client.”
Amusement sparkled in his hazel eyes. “Well, duh. I meant, who are you working for these days?”
Well, duh.