Chapter One: Good Morning, To Those of You Remaining!
Wright Entertainment Group, Inc. Offices
Los Angeles, California
“Are you listening to me or are you day dreaming again, Nessa?”
I’m not being rude, I hear him. The man wiping down the new double-sided mirrors surrounding my new office just momentarily distracted me. Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t distracted for the reasons you might think. The forty-something year old man is wearing overalls and a handkerchief on his head, quite gross if you ask me. Obviously he’s unaware that we’re in here watching from the other side because if he did, scratching his balls would have taken second priority. He’s foul and if he hadn’t done a nice job installing the glass, I would have told him so.
Is there anyone in Los Angeles worth my time?
I was pleasantly surprised to have walked into this office and find that not only did I manage the largest of the offices, but also that my personal office overlooked the entire floor. I’d asked Johnny to have the glass installed for me and he’d protested for about a millisecond before informing me that the glass would be up by the time I entered the office on Monday. Point seven million three hundred thousand and one, for Johnny. He's good!
“Where did you find this guy, Johnny?” I’m still not being rude, as I look down at my new Prada stiletto shoes and grunt. I just bought these yesterday and I already have a scuffmark on them. Shit. I have no choice but to get another pair and have to deal with that bitch of a sales lady at the store. No way am I going to be caught walking around with scuffed shoes. First impressions always count and that little scuff was already bugging the hell out of me. Oh well, I'll just move on to things that I can control right now. Such as the grotesque window-washer. “If he scratches his balls one more time, I’m going to have to recommend the STD clinic I passed this morning.”
“He’ll be out of here soon, Nessa. Relax, will ya?” Johnny chuckles and I can’t help but smile as I look up at him from behind my desk.
“I am relaxed, Johnny,” I still have a smile on my face and I’m wondering if he’s nervous for me. He seems to be; he’s told me to relax three times already and honestly I couldn’t be more relaxed. I am, for once, excited. The thought that in about an hour, I will introduce myself as the new boss, kind of makes me have to change my panties, if you know what I mean. But nothing has made me quite that excited, at least not anymore. Not in a long time.
Another thing I'm hoping will change in L.A. Nessa needs love too, you know.
“You’ve called me that all week,” he says with a grin on his face. “I thought we were family.”
“We are, Johnny,” I make sure to pronounce his name as I tap my pen, a welcome to WEG gift, against my new oak desk. “But this is work, and I can’t walk around here calling you Uncle Johnny, can I? I demand respect, you know that, and walking around here calling the CEO Uncle Johnny, cries pussy. I’m a professional woman and while I may have one of those, I expect people to see me as the contrary of one. A big penis is mo..”
I don’t get to finish my sentence because he’s covering his ears and laughing. I don’t understand what’s so funny but seeing my Uncle Johnny laugh eventually makes me crack a smile.
“A professional woman, huh?” he asks, shaking his head as he stood. “I’m getting out of here before I hear things I may have to call your father about.” Johnny and my dad were old fraternity brothers and might as well have been brothers, as close as they remained. I knew nothing I did for WEG would stay quiet. If Johnny knew something about me, my dad would know too, almost immediately.
“You aren’t staying for the board meeting?” I question already, knowing the answer. He’s a smart man and I wouldn’t put it past him to avoid coming into this office at all costs. He knows he can trust me to do my job and do it well. After all I was hired without an interview, wasn’t I?
“And watch you butcher my staff? I’ll pass,” he says shoving his left hand in his pants pockets. “Try to go easy on them, Martinez.”
“Easy? Now why would I do otherwise? You trust me, don’t you, Uncle Johnny?” I wink at him and he just shakes his head as he turns to leave my office.
“Call if you need anything,” he says over his shoulder as he opens the glass door to my office.
“I won’t,” I say nonchalantly and as I watch him leave, a smile decorates his features while mine doesn’t fade. He takes one last look around the outside of my office before stepping into the private elevator. He knows I’m watching him and winks at me, giving me a wave before the doors close in front of him.
I can’t help but look down at my right shoe and notice the scuff mark on it again and I roll my eyes in disgust. I see the ball scratching glass-man gathering his cleaning materials and I hope he wasn’t hired to clean the glass on a permanent basis. I can only take so much ball scratching before I flip on his ass. He’s walking toward the elevators on the other side of the large floor and I notice one of my staff members step off the elevator, Ms. Valentine.
She’s adjusting her blouse, a hideous mauve colored thing, and she attempts to iron down the visible wrinkles on her equally hideous skirt. My very first victim -- who is early this morning if I may add -- makes a turn towards the ladies restroom past the ball-scratcher and I’m instantly curious. Why wouldn’t she go to her desk first? Technically there isn’t a desk for her to go to anymore, as of Saturday night, but she doesn’t know that yet.
I stand to walk over closer to the glass surrounding my office and watch as the ball-scratcher enters the elevator. And while that is not even a little bit fascinating to me, the person leaving the elevator is fascinating, for lack of a better word. Nick Carter steps off the elevator and I wish I could take a picture of him and believe when I say that I don’t mean it in a positive way. He’s trying to look cool and collected as he walks toward the conference room but he’s so not and he should get over himself. His hair, although short, is a complete mess. It turns out that Ms. Valentine may be a little rough and if she wasn’t busy roughing Nick Carter, the client she was supposed to be representing, I might have given her a chance to stay on my team. Rough is my middle name but Miss Audrey Valentine just wasn't working out so she can go rough up the unemployment clerk. Poor little bitch!
The sound of one of the other three elevators takes my attention from the recently sexed up Nick Carter and I turn my line of vision toward it. The elevator carried four of my staff members and I look down at my Rolex noticing that it’s still early. They aren’t due to the office for another half hour and I smile evilly. Ass kissing bastards knew the new boss started today.
Three of the four staff members are keepers, the other one, Mr. Stevenson, is history. He’ll find out soon enough when he tries to find his cubicle. Right now, though, they are more concerned about the mirrors staring back at them. They come closer to the glassand I automatically take a step back before realizing they can’t see me. I smile.
Mr. Waterhouse, one of the keepers, comes closer to the mirror and adjusts his tie. Good boy! I lean over toward the glass, face to face with him and I fake kiss his lips, which makes me chuckle. He was currently handling Danity Kane’s image and doing a great job, I plan on congratulating him on that -- although the girls could stand to wear a bit more clothing on stage and I plan to discuss that with him, as well. But not today, today was special.
The other two keepers, Mr. Johansson and Mr. Vargas followed suit, making themselves look more presentable. Good little bastards! They get it. Mr. Stevenson, the unemployed PR, apart from being a bad dresser, asks something along the lines of ‘What the hell is this?’ and I want to reach over and turn the intercom I had installed yesterday on. But I’m settling with reading lips at the moment. If he hadn’t been busy serving underage children alcohol, he’d have a clue. What the hell is this? This is something you’ll never get a chance to know about, Loser!
The men shrugged before taking their big heads to their desks. My excitement rises a notch when I finally I get to see a reaction worth my time, Mr. Stevenson reaches his desk at the end of the cubicle line up. My heart beats a little faster and if possible my exhilaration grows. He stands at the entrance of his once upon a time cubicle and his mouth is gaping open. The poor bastard will be fine; I was polite enough not to blackball his ass. I know what that feels like and although I may be a bit evil, I won’t stoop that low. He reaches into the cubicle office and my view of him is blocked briefly before he walks out of the space, a piece of paper in his hand.
I know what the paper reads; I personally put it in his vacant cubicle earlier this morning. It reads something along the lines of:
Unfortunately your services at Wright Entertainment Group have been terminated. If you feel as though this decision is not justified, please contact your lawyer, as that will be the only way you’ll get a word in otherwise. Joanna Levesque will be notified of your termination and will be advised that it was a decision made for the well being of her career. After all, we agree that we are all here for our client’s personal and public interest. Please exit the building as soon as possible but not before returning your personal identification badge to the security desk at the front lobby. You will also find your belongings there as well. With regards, Vanessa Martinez, Senior Public Relations Director.
That was the best version of pleasantry I could come up with at five o’clock in the morning and he should be glad because I could have been really nasty, telling him what I thought of him but that wouldn’t have been professional of me, now would it? Whoever he goes on to work for can deal with his stupid decisions because I will not. I won’t tolerate bullshit from people who aren’t performing their jobs properly, period. And if one of them thinks they can run it on me, bullshit, they sure as hell got something else coming. I know bullshit, personally, and I’m not afraid to call it. Bring it on.
Time seems to go quickly as I lean against my desk, watching people come onto the floor. Do they meet up in the lobby? All three secretaries came in together and the five interns from Jive came on the floor together as well. I’m making a mental note of that and I’ll be sure to mention it on the staff meeting later today. If you can’t ride the elevator up to work without having a colleague attached to your hip, then you’re in the wrong line of work. I need independence in this business and everyone seemed to be too connected for my taste.
The last of the PR members to enter the room is Mr. Fat and Balding Guy, Mr. Roger Rogers. Poor guy, he must have gone through hell in school with a name like that. I can’t fathom how he ended up marrying the princess but I can guarantee he didn’t look like that ten years ago. I decided to keep him at the last minute this morning, after I found out that his brother works for People Magazine. And while I may have to invest in getting the poor guy a makeover, his connections were worth keeping. At least for now, since I won’t have too much time to find my own.
The elevators seem to be running non-stop, depositing staff and artists with every ding. I can see the girls of Danity Kane engrossed in conversation with the has-been, over-sexed Nick Carter. Give me a break girls! He was so five or six years ago and if I didn’t have respect for Johnny as a businessman and as my uncle, I would suggest dropping his ass from the firm like the other four has-beens. Isn’t one of them into gospel now? I can’t even bother myself trying to remember his name, it’s too damn early and I’m still running on New York time.
And speaking of Mr. Carter, does he really think he can outdo the other so-called heartthrob under WEG’s management? He really must be a complete idiot, but if he’s paying for someone like me to hype his image up, under contract if I may add, then so be it. I can’t help him with the fact that he wants to go into a recording studio and produce another double plastic album. But what I can and will do is help him look better and act in the way his fans, if any, want to pay money to see. As long as he looks good when he’s falling flat on his face, I’ll know I did my job.
Ms. Valentine has finally made it to her cubicle while I changed Nick Carter’s image in my head and the poor little moron is shedding a tear as she reads my notice of termination. Somehow though, the scene before her, Nick with flirting the girls of DK, is what has her all shook up and not so much the letter. Mrs. Johnson, another one of the keepers, is consoling her. If Mrs. Johnson knows what’s good for her, she’ll break out of that space in the next two minutes or she might join Ms. Valentine on the elevator down to unemployment. There’s nothing wrong with consoling someone, but there is such a thing as over consoling and that’s for the fucking birds. You need detachment from personal feelings in this business to keep from getting hurt. No attachments come with no drama, and that's my motto, at work and in life.
I smile as I see Mrs. Johnson leave the space and heads toward her desk. Good girl!
I’ve been staff watching for about half an hour now, I realize as I look at my watch. Not one single person has come to my door. Not one. And I’m disappointed because if being early for work is their best ass kissing technique, they have a lot to learn. I would have taken a measly blueberry muffin as an ass kissing gesture. Lucky for them, I already had one this morning.
Taking a seat behind my desk after turning the intercom to an on position, I turn to my computer screen and finish the email I started before Johnny had stopped in.
To: everyonelovesabarker@yahoo.com
From: vmartinez@wegmail.com
CC: -
BC: -
Subject: I’m not moving back to New York!
Barker,
I don’t know why you keep insisting on trying to change my mind. I already made a commitment to Uncle Johnny and I won’t back down. I’m here to stay, get over it. That’s the end of that. You copy?
Where are you shooting today? Anyone worth mentioning? You aren’t stalking anyone are you? I know the place is crawling with celebrities, so try not to pass the hell out. I’m already bored out my mind here and I’ve only been in the state for two weeks. You need to hurry up and get here. Don’t fall on that runway tonight; you don’t want to let the world know Victoria’s real Secret. You know, like the fact that they hire klutz as models! Thanks for filling in for me again! I owe you!
I’m at work so I have to make this short; I need to show these peons who the new boss is, so I’ll call you later.
Love, V
P.S. Tell Naomi I appreciate the wings, they served their purpose. Bye!
It’s a quarter past eight now and I can see all of the reps are in the large glass-enclosed conference room across the hall from my office. The clients all sit together mingling amongst themselves while the staff looks ... what’s the word I’m looking for? Scared? Yeah, they look scared; Mr. Stevenson and Ms. Valentine have both taken their ride to unemployment, together. Go figure! That left the remaining reps playing guessing games and I know this because I can hear them. Did you see the face he made? She was in it for the warmth of Nick’s bed anyway! The fact that they all seemed to shrug at the recent events makes me smile. Even Mrs. Johnson put in her two cents with an ‘Oh well’ which makes me know I’ve made the right decision to keep her.
The five reps are seated at the large conference table while the various artists sat in the sofas surrounding the room. And while I knew I had to shape up my staff, I also knew I had to shape up the clients. First topic? Promptness.
I wasn’t going to make a move from my new leather chair until the person responsible for delaying my meeting arrived. The person being, Mr. Justin Timberlake or Timber-late, as Johnny had described him. Mr. Timberlake was strongly advised to come into the office this morning, on time and alone. I know this because I was sitting across the breakfast table when Johnny filled him in on his schedule yesterday afternoon. The prick made his thoughts clear about it being ‘bullshit’ that he was being forced to come to a meeting that he felt wasn’t about him. Very colorful thoughts, if I may add, and it seemed as though, Mr. Timberlake seemed to have a foul mouth, something else I was looking forward to.
And what I was looking forward to the most was that Mr. Timberlake was in for a little surprise at the meeting he was being forced to attend.
The private elevator doors open, finally getting my attention and I look past the glass to see the one and only. Unfortunately, his assistant, Trace Ayala, follows him out of the elevator. Strike One this morning, Mr. Timberlake. Didn’t Johnny indicate that personal assistants weren’t invited? That’s another meeting all together, happening this afternoon, Sir. Mr. Superstar was proving to be a complete ass and unfortunately for him, I’m the biggest asshole on this side of Los Angeles considering I’ve only been here for a week.
He starts to casually stroll over toward the conference room but is diverted toward my office door with curiosity. Well curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Timberlake and I hope someone has clued you in to the fact that where you’re headed is the wrong way. Strike Two!
He’s nearly unrecognizable with a sweatshirt, hat and jeans on, as opposed to the swimming trunks and tank he wore two nights ago, but it’s Mr. Superstar Timberlake. He’s stopped mid step by his assistant who tells him the meeting is in the other room. He turns and asks ‘What’s with the mirrors?’ to the shorter man, and I’m again proud of myself for thinking of placing intercoms outside my office. I notice that Mr. Ayala isn’t as scrawny as I imagined him to be and looks a hell of a lot better than his boss slash best friend, at the moment. Mr. Timberlake is clearly taller and fit, but the bags under his eyes indicate Mr. Ayala had a better night. The mirrors, Mr. Timberlake, are so you can see how awful you look, which makes the reason I am here ever the more clearer.
Good morning, Mr. Timberlake, although I’m sure you’re in for an even worse day.
I should be nervous as I walk toward my door, but I’m not. I always walk in with my head held high and today is no different. I have a job to do.
I check my watch once again as I stroll slowly across my office and open the door. The staff members on the floor become ridiculously quiet and I don’t make eye contact with anyone. The sudden silence from outside the conference room catches Mr. Vargas’ attention and I see him whisper something between gritted teeth. Yes, it’s the angel, Mr. Vargas, calm down. Suddenly every head in the conference room turns to look at me. I want to roll my eyes at Mr. Rogers, who is two seconds away from going into cardiac arrest but I resist the temptation. One thing’s for sure though, they seem to recognize me even when I’m not scantily clad.
The girls of Danity Kane look at me and roll their eyes in synchronized form and I try my hardest not to smile at them. I know what they’re thinking, who is this bitch? Well this bitch has now taken Nick Carter’s attention from you, sweeties. Get over it!
I seem to have everyone’s attention in the room as I walk slowly toward the door, but I’m wrong. The infamous Mr. Timberlake has his head on the conference table eyes closed and what’s even worse than the unprofessional display, is that he’s in my chair. As if, you little fucker, strike three!
Mr. Ayala is standing outside the room and he smiles at me before extending his hand out for me to shake. And I don’t.
“The assistant’s meeting isn’t until one o’clock today, Mr. Ayala,” I say stopping to look at him. “I’d appreciate if you’d wait in one of the other rooms. I’d show you around but I’m sure you know the office like the back of your hand. Make yourself comfortable; I’m certain I’ll be speaking to you before one o’clock. Now if you’ll excuse me, I was delayed going into my meeting, by your boss nonetheless, so I must go.”
Everyone in the room is eerily quiet as I walk my scuffed Prada stilettos into the room. Everyone is quiet and looking at me in what I always tell myself, admiration. But I’m not ignorant by any means; I know the look is out of terror and envy. I walk around to stand behind Mr. Timberlake, who quite rudely hasn’t even bothered looking up.
“Those of you holding your breath in shock can take a deep breath and let it go,” I say calmly as I place both my hands on the backrest of my chair. “This meeting was scheduled for eight o’clock, it is now eight twenty-five, so first things first.”
“Justin!” I hear coming from the door and this time I have to roll my eyes in annoyance. Not only was his boss already on my bad side but also now he was interrupting me. Mr. Ayala is gritting his teeth and I can tell he’s frustrated. “Justin!”
“Jesus, Trace! What?!” Mr. Timberlake raises his head off the table, adjusting his hat when it shifts at his sudden movement, and glares at his assistant.
“I think he’s trying to wake you up,” I say calmly from behind his, no excuse me, my chair. “Or maybe he’s trying to tell you to get the hell out of my chair!” I don’t know where that came from and I honestly didn’t want to raise my voice before officially introducing myself, but enough was enough.
If Mr. Timberlake was trying to show me up, he’s really in for a bad day. I’m always a step ahead of the game.
I heard the deep intake of breath that Mrs. Johnson took and I’m seriously reconsidering her position at this firm. What, was I supposed to crawl back into a fetus position every time Mr. Big Time Superstar came around? If anyone is crawling into a fetus position, it will be the superstar himself when I kick his ass for sitting in my chair!
“Who the fu..” I can see the realization in his eyes, when he looks up behind him and sees me along with the smile big enough to light up New York City in a blackout, that I’m directing his way. “Who? Wha…what’s going on? What the fuck is she doing here?” he’s talking to his assistant, completely ignoring me and he’s still in my chair. You’re all out of strikes, Mr. Timberlake! Everyone in the room is still quiet and out of the corner of my eye, I see Miss Joanna ‘Jojo’ Levesque whisper something to Aubrey of Danity Kane. Little bitch, I got a little surprise for her too!
“Let me refresh your memory, Mr. Timberlake, while wiping the look of shock from everyone’s faces while I do it,” I start speaking slowly and clearly, making my way slowly around the large conference table to the far side of the room. He’s looking at me like I have grown an extra head and I could care less. Mr. Carter is grossly checking me out and I don’t miss that even though my eyes haven’t left Mr. Timberlake’s cobalt blue ones. He must be angry and I may have to consider changing my underwear after all. I really do love infuriating people. He may be the biggest star in the room, hell in the company. but I’m the boss here, not him. “Last Saturday night you attempted a lame pick up line on me and failed miserably.”
Mr. Vargas and Mr. Waterhouse think this is amusing as they try to contain their chuckle. After all, they were laughing at Mr. Timberlake, and you don’t laugh in the client’s face. Unless it’s me, of course -rules of the office 101, by Vanessa Martinez.
Mr. Timberlake glares at them and turns his angry eyes toward me again. I’m standing at the other end of the large conference table as I return his glare; only an evil smile accents my features, as opposed to his. “Mr. Vargas and Mr. Waterhouse attempted the same and the same result came from their efforts, Mr. Timberlake, so don’t let them fool you.”
That out to wipe the smirks on their faces in two seconds flat. And it did. Did they think I was going to refrain from calling them out? I may be extremely livid at the moment over Mr. Timberlake’s lateness, unprofesionalism and chair swapping but I run this show.
“Who are you?” he asks mockingly and I want to run over and yank him off my chair by the hood of his sweatshirt. But I refrain.
“Well Mr. Timberlake, apart from being the Senior Public Relations Director, minus the wings as you can tell,” I spin around slowly and for his view and Mr. Carters’ before slowly walking toward my chair and its occupant once again. “Was that a better view for you Mr. Carter?”
“Umm.. I was…umm,” Mr. Carter stutters being caught off guard and I hear Miss Levesque chuckle. Don’t get me started little girl!
“We’ll have to work on your speech impairment, Mr. Carter. I wouldn’t want to hear that coming from your mouth when you’re live on TRL,” Mr. Vargas is going to have a field day with this guy, if I have anything to do with that. And unfortunately for both, I do.
“Now, Mr. Timberlake, where was I? Oh that’s right, you wanted to know, if I may quote you ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ Am I correct?” Of course I am, I get paid to listen to detail, it’s what I do best. What I don’t do is wait for his response, but I catch the dirty look he sends to Mr. Ayala, who is still hanging out by the door, as if he’d kept a secret from him. I place my left hip on the conference table, which makes my already short dress ride up my thigh and he has to move his hand quickly before I sit on it. I lean down close enough to smell his aftershave and while I’m wondering what area of his face he actually shaved since considering he looks like hell run over, twice and say, “I’m your new shadow, Mr. Timberlake.”
LoveStoned by Lynn
Story Tags: interracial wallsex celebrityj enemiesturnedlovers
