Zoey’s face grows seething mad. “Since when do I take orders from you?”
Scott sneers at her. “And don’t forget to mention how much he loves her and is looking forward to their wedding.”
With dark, questioning eyes, Zoey looks at me for a go-ahead. I nod.
“Zoey, that would be very helpful.”
“Fine. Now, let go of me, Scott.”
“Scott, let her go.” My voice is firm and authoritative.
Ignoring my order, my manager leers at her “That’s not all. You need to respond to all the tweets and Facebook posts that are questioning the future of Bratrina. And I want you to work with their publicists and try to get the two of them booked on one of those talk shows. Jimmy Kimmel or Letterman would be perfect.”
“Okay, now let me get to work.” She tries again to jerk her arm free of my salacious manager.
“Scott, did you hear me? Let go of her. Now!”
A smirk crosses Scott’s lips. Rage crescendos inside me. My hands ball into fists. I’m so close to punching him I can feel the pain of the impact on my knuckles. Just in time, he releases her and blows a cloud of smoke in her face.
Zoey’s eye narrow and her bowed lips press thin. “You know, you shouldn’t be smoking. It’s actually not allowed in the Hollywood Hills. It causes fires.”
“Aren’t we a Miss Know-It-All?” Scott deliberately blows another puff of smoke at her.
This time she waves it away and glowers at him. “Maybe you’d feel differently if your father died putting out a wildfire.”
My brows lift. That’s news to me. I swear the other day after she witnessed Katrina sucking me off, she told me she was going to see her father. Maybe in my mortified state, I heard her wrong. Or my fucked-up mind was playing tricks on me.
“Brandon, text me if you need anything.” She stalks off before I can say another word.
Scott takes yet another drag of the cigarette. The repulsive smell of the smoke and tobacco is getting to me. I’m done with being Mr. Nice Guy. I’m going to tell him to put the damn thing out. Before I have a chance, he blows out another puff, flicks the ashes on the deck, and throws me another curve ball.
“You know, today’s Katrina’s birthday.”
“It is?” Shit! I had no clue. My mind’s so screwed up I’m lucky I remember my name or what day of the week it is.
“I’m taking her out for lunch at The Ivy. You should join us. It might help smooth things over and being seen in public with her might help quell rumors of your breakup.”
“Can’t. I have some pickup lines to take care of.”
“Too bad. Hope you’re getting her something expensive and taking her out for a nice, romantic dinner. That would definitely help calm her down. The Polo Lounge would be a great place for the two of you to be seen.”
“Done.” Crap. I haven’t bought a thing for her or made a reservation. Mental note: Email Zoey and tell her to go to Tiffany’s and pick up a bauble. Plus, make a dinner reservation at the Polo Lounge.
Scott flashes his pearly white teeth. They glow against his fake tan. They’re perfect. In fact, too perfect. They’ve got to be caps.
“Good. You know, Katrina’s mentioned you’re still having a little problem in the equipment department.”
I cringe. She’s been sharing our sex life—or lack of one—with Scott? Okay, he might manage both of us, but it’s none of his fucking business. Fucking Katrina.
Scott takes another puff and winks at me. “Brand-man, you should treat yourself to a little bauble too. A ring.”
I glance at Scott’s flashy pinky ring. So not my style. “I don’t do a lot of jewelry.”
He snorts. “I was thinking jewelry for your weiner. Trust me, those cock rings work wonders. You’ll be as hard as nails and going at it for hours. Take my word, Katrina will love it.”
Who is Scott to know what Katrina will or will not like when it comes to sex? Just how much does she confide in him? Or is there something more? Or maybe I’m just reading into things and Scott’s just trying to be helpful.
He gives me the name of a nearby sex shop—a name that rings a bell—and I hesitantly thank him for the tip. Another errand for Zoey. She’ll need to be discreet.
“Brand-man, you’ll be thanking me again after you use it. Katrina will be way over the Globes screw-up.”
I inwardly cringe and tell him I’ll have Zoey handle it.
Scott’s beady eyes darken. “You know, Brandon, I’m a straight shooter. I don’t like that girl.”
And she doesn’t seem to like you. “What’s your problem with her?”
“She’s a little smartass. She thinks she owns you.”
She does. In more ways than one.
“On top of that, she’s been very rude to Katrina. If I were you, I’d fire her fat ass. It’s something I told you to do before your accident. You probably don’t remember.”
I don’t. And I don’t like the way my chain-smoking manager talks about Zoey. His cigarette is down to the butt. At this point, it’s moot to ask him to put it out, and I’ll wait till he lights up another. My mind right now is burning with more questions.
“Why did you force Zoey to go away while I was in the hospital?”
“For your own good. You don’t remember shit, but that little twit’s a thorn in your side.”
“You had no right to do that.”
“I made a big mistake.”
“You did.”
His lips snarl. “You’re not kidding. I should have fired her sorry ass while you were in a coma and saved you the time and effort.”
My blood is sizzling. It takes all I have to hold it together. “Scott, you may be my manager, but you have no authority to ever act on my behalf. I control all of my decisions at all times. Do you understand that? Don’t ever cross that line again.”
Scott’s eye twitches. My gaze stays on him. With silent rage, I watch as he tosses his cigarette butt onto the deck and stamps it out with one of his shiny leather loafers.
“You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me. Trust me, you could do a lot better.”
Zoey is perfect for me. Maybe what I need is a new manager.
Zoey
Breakfast at Tiffany’s was one of Mama’s favorite movies. She made me watch it with her a few months before she died. I didn’t understand it. I thought the cat was cute and begged for a kitty afterward. I was allergic to cats so we never got one. But many years later, I watched it again with Jeffrey, and it brought tears to my eyes. It made me think of Mama. Unlike me, she was waifish like Audrey Hepburn, and I could hear her singing “Moon River,” her angelic voice better than any movie star’s. While Jeffrey gushed about Audrey’s Givenchy wardrobe, I, the romantic, wished I could find true love like Holly Golightly. And could be ballerina-thin.
The melody and lyrics of “Moon River” play in my head as I float through the high-end jewelry store in Beverly Hills in a trance-like state. I hear Mama’s voice. Memories of last night flicker in my head. After dressing my boss and hearing him thank me on the Golden Globes, I had high hopes. Now, I know my erotic dream was sending me a message. I’m delusional. I can never have him. Brandon Taylor is my heart breaker, not my dream maker.
The reality is he’s in love with Katrina or I wouldn’t be here. Believe me, the last thing I want to be doing is shopping for a glitzy birthday present for the stuck-up, evil bitch. The morning was bad enough, having to perfect a statement from Brandon about his undying love for her and assuring all his fans that their relationship was intact. Long live Bratrina! It took me hours. By the time I was done, I hated myself as much as I hated the bullshit words I finally locked down. Unshed tears brimmed in my eyes.
With a heavy heart, I roam through the main floor of the store. The Rodeo Drive outpost is not exactly the Fifth Avenue Tiffany’s featured in the movie, but still it’s Tiffany’s. Dazzling diamond jewelry fills the display cases. Happy couples in love and wealthy matrons surround me. I don’t really belong here.