Her jaw drops but her words don’t match my assumptions. “The guy shows up to you being a slobbering mess and when you pass out, he pays for your apartment to be unpacked by a team of rich-people elite movers who Marie Kondo’d the place for you, and you call him a skin suit? Jesus, Jenny. Harsh.”
“What?” I’m lost.
“Yeah, Cap just told me. I was on my way in here to tell you when Laura came in and lost her shit. Lawrence didn’t unpack you. He got professionals to do it so when you woke up in the morning, everything was perfect. He was trying to be nice because you were such a wreck. Cap says he showed up and put you to bed and took care of everything. He was super upset you were such a mess, perhaps thinking it was his fault, like he shouldn’t have sent over champagne.”
“Oh fuck me,” I repeat and fall into my chair. My heart’s back from the puddle and racing a mile a minute. I cover my face with my hands and contemplate screaming into them, but the reminder I need to be worth the practically free apartment silences me.
It takes a whole minute of deep breathing before I sigh and put my hands on my lap, tapping my overdue manicure on my thighs. “Fuck. I didn’t even thank him.” I laugh but it’s one of those crazy irrational laughs.
“Okay, look, you have a huge pile of shit here.” Sukii waves her hands in front of herself as if my whole life is a storm of bad things. “Stan just moved you into the apartment, you can’t fall apart like this.” She hurries toward me. “We are going to write a list of things you need to do. Start with work, don’t touch anything unless it’s in chronological order, and we will tackle it all.”
“Okay.” I snap back, taking gulps of air again and nodding my head. “I’m sweating.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think you might actually have that anxiety sweating thing.” She hands me a tissue and takes out my planner, flipping to the back where the notebook pages are. She’s aware of the list of shit I need to get done better than I am so she writes while I fan myself with my desk calendar.
It takes a minute to get my brain back to work mode, but I manage to tuck Ben, the apartment, Lawrence, and the hockey game into a file in my head. “Did we ever hear from Natasha Wentworth’s agent?” I ask.
“Yes. She just emailed back. Says she’ll call you. She doesn't want a paper trail either.”
“Perfect.”
“Okay. Check that list, start at the top, don’t stray. You can’t mix business and pleasure right now.” Sukii pats me on the back once before she leaves, hopefully to find me more coffee as I send another email and phone Stan who isn’t in yet. “You emailed that you wanted to chat with me, Mr. Levisohn?”
“Yeah, I just got a call from Laura. She sounds upset. She asked to have Liam traded to you.”
“I can’t take on anyone else, Victor will kill me.”
“Victor won’t be involved in this.” Stan sounds annoyed but I sense it’s not with me. “Liam will be your first solo act and to even things out, I’m giving Laura a few of Victor’s needier people who are transitioning into Hollywood, trading clients. I don't think she has the spine for Liam. And you’re on this already anyway. Which means you need to clear the week of the press junket. It’s in Beverly Hills. Make sure you have flights booked and a hotel. Get Sukii to help, she’s a star.”
My heart is racing so hard I feel my pulse in my temples.
“Great,” I squeak out. “Thank you, sir,” I try to sound as though I mean it with something resembling enthusiasm. My first solo client should be exciting.
“I told Laura she would be picking up your slack this week while you handle this and your move and everything else. She’ll also be doing your work the week of the junket when you’re away, as it happens the same week as the hockey game benefit.” He sounds as though he’s making that her punishment, which isn't even close to fair. I’m technically the one being punished.
“Of course.” I want to say something else but I don’t.
“You’re a lifesaver, Jenny. A real star on this team. I want you to know I see that, and more than that, you have earned every bit of that apartment.”
My stomach tightens as I speak, “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“I have no doubt in your abilities. See you later.” He hangs up and I try to take deep breaths.
This has to be some sort of alternate world or a hoax from God.
I almost want to lay my head on my desk and cry.
Instead, I get another latte and begin making phone calls while searching for antacids to soothe the irritation from too much coffee and stress.
“You busy?” Victor comes to the door of my office and leans against the frame. The older European gentleman is not who I expected to run the American hockey PR. But he’s an avid fan and a genius at advertising.
“No—yes, but obviously never too busy for you.” I laugh nervously. What the hell am I saying?
“No problem, I spoke to Stan. He explained.” His eyes flicker and roam my body. “You okay with taking your first solo client?” His wandering stare has always creeped me out.
“No?” I laugh softly.
“I’ll be there if you need me. But try not to need me.” He winks and walks out.
“Yes, sir.” I laugh again, hoping to the gods of all that is holy I don’t.
I take a deep breath and prepare for the onslaught of my new to-do list.
It’s an
