Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Hey, man,” he said politely, his brow wrinkling like I looked familiar but he couldn’t remember why. I didn’t blame him. The kid had a twenty-person team around him, not to mention the film crew that had been with him for the last couple of years. I was just another slick-looking adult on the edge of his orbit. For some reason, it made me like him even more.
It wasn’t often that people’s behavior didn’t change when they saw me.
The next day, Miller made it to my office in time, but he was pissed off about it. “The waves were great,” he told me darkly, sitting down behind my desk rather than at the small conference table where I was.
“We’re interviewing over here.” I extended my leg and kicked out one of the other chairs without looking away from my computer screen. Sometimes geniuses were ineffably brilliant. Sometimes they were just like fucking toddlers testing their boundaries. Right now, Miller was the latter.
“I’m comfortable here,” he said, slouching lower. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stack one foot on the other, the top one wiggling. He was debating putting his feet up on my desk, but even he wasn’t that far gone. His foot stopped wiggling.
I was debating whether to let it go or to bark at him to get his ass over here, but before I could decide, my executive assistant’s voice flickered through the intercom. “Julian, Willow Laurier is here.”
“I don’t like her name,” Miller said from my desk. “It gives me the wrong energy.”
Ignoring him, I stood up and straightened my jacket. “I’ll go get her.”
“I’ll wait here,” Miller said with the exact same cadence.
I shot him a look. He was holding my stapler, prying it apart, running his nails over the tightly packed staples. He was giving me more and more evidence that my dad was right about geniuses, but I wasn’t throwing in the towel now. I set my jaw and started determinedly toward the small waiting room outside of my office. I just needed the right production assistant to help me handle him for another few months.
The woman waiting for me was surprisingly young, or maybe she just looked that way to me. It had been a long time since I interviewed a twenty-something for a production assistant position. I was usually the last word on the higher-up hires. Established men and women in their forties and fifties who had already made it through the initial interviews with my team. Willow looked like she could still be an undergrad.
And she was beautiful.
I pushed the thought away, but I couldn’t unsee her. She had long hair that glinted brown and red. Eyes that shimmered between gray and green. High cheekbones and a slight uptilt to her eyes that gave her an almost feline look. A wide, dramatic mouth that was painted dark red, skin the color of freshly poured cream. She wore all black. Cigarette pants and a thin black sweater that hinted at generous curves.
Automatically, I gave her my professional, impersonal smile, but it came a beat too late. She’d clocked me staring at her. Her mouth flattened slightly. Her eyebrows slanted faintly. The changes were subtle, but clear. Her guard was up.
And then, it all changed so quickly I wondered if I’d really seen what I thought I had. She rose to her feet and gave me a megawatt smile. “Willow Laurier,” she said, holding out her hand. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
Her handshake was firm, confident. Her gaze was direct without a hint of the disapproval I’d seen a moment ago. Had I really seen it though? I couldn’t decide as I led her back to where Miller was waiting, but I used the short journey to get my head back on straight. When we reached my office, I was glad to see that Miller had moved to the conference table. He had his chair shoved back from the table, legs thrown out and crossed negligently at the ankles.
“Miller, this is Willow Laurier, our first interview.” My tone warned him to straighten up, to take this shit seriously. Miller slouched lower. I glanced at Willow, curious to see how she’d react.
She looked Miller over, only a faint twitch of an eyebrow breaking her neutral expression. I got the feeling she wasn’t impressed. “Nice to meet you.”
“Is it nice?” Miller wondered. “What’s your criteria for something being nice, Willow?”
Her eyebrows arched higher now, and she looked over at me.
“We’re hiring Miller’s fourth production assistant since shooting began,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose and trying not to let my exasperation show.
“Isn’t that nice?” Miller asked Willow, a caustic note coming into his voice.
Willow didn’t say anything, just met his gaze levelly and held it until he made a face and looked away under the pretense of scratching his nose. “Are we going to do this thing or not?” he demanded.