Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
And they were all taking something.
That was one of the many reasons I didn’t work full-time with any kind of celebrity. No matter how much money they offered me. Friends of mine in the industry did. Yeah, some got lucky and got a borderline sane client who treated them like a human being and didn’t scream at them over the kind of underwear they’d paired with a dress. But not many.
Though I really needed the money, my mental health had no price. And I might’ve been superficial in a lot of ways, but I was serious about that.
As it was, I made good money. Great money, in fact, for a freelancer in L.A. But although I might not have daddy issues, I had a whole bunch of other ones I treated with serious retail therapy.
Although my dreams hadn’t been big, they’d been important to me. What I did meant something to the girl flipping through expensive fashion magazines at the store, marveling at the beautiful clothes inside of them. It was a kind of magic to me. Something I wanted to create for myself.
So the fact that the second bedroom in my apartment was full of designer clothes and shoes was me living my dream.
Sure, my savings was a heck of a lot lower than it should’ve been. I could’ve had enough for a deposit on a house—in the Midwest, at least—for the price of everything in my closet. But that wasn’t the life I wanted.
This, right here, was the life I wanted.
I was enjoying an overpriced cocktail at a very trendy eatery in West Hollywood with Zoe, my best friend who happened to be a star publicist and always got us one of the coveted tables at said eatery.
“Okay, let me repeat this. Jay Helmick had you pulled off the dance floor at Klutch and taken to some fancy office so he could propose a sexual arrangement with you?” Zoe asked, her perfectly groomed eyebrow raised.
Everything about Zoe was perfect. Put together. She always wore suits that were tailored to perfection, showing off every inch of her ample curves. She wore minimal jewelry, but expensive. Always very expensive. Diamonds at her ears and throat, Rolex on her wrist. Louboutins on her feet, the newest Chanel bag sitting on the ledge of the window.
Owning one of the top PR firms in the city, she had more means than I did In addition to that, she always had a man—not a boyfriend, she never had those—who liked to spoil her with things like a TAG Heuer or a limited-edition Louis Vuitton. Zoe never turned down a lavish gift because she “worked her beautiful ass off for her money, and men in this world worked half as hard for twice as much”. Which was true. It was also true that men gravitated toward Zoe. Women too.
Everyone, really.
She was magnetic. Beyond beautiful, though she was that too. Her parents were immigrants from Nigeria. They’d entered the country with a meager amount of savings that they had managed to convert in to a restaurant. Then another. Then another. They worked their asses off, raised three daughters, put them all through Ivy League colleges and still worked to this day.
Zoe had that same work ethic. She also had her parent’s stunning features. Her mother’s sharp cheekbones. Full lips. Her father’s unique eyes. Hair that changed depending on what mood she was in. Today she wore it natural, in wild, tight curls to her shoulders. It was midnight black and framed her face perfectly. Her ebony skin was flawless, because she was naturally flawless but also because she had a strict twelve step skincare routine and was religious about it. Zoe took care of herself, pampered herself and loved the shit out of herself. And it showed.
It wasn’t just her physical attributes that drew people to her, though. It was the way she carried herself. The way she spoke. With a brash sort of confidence that somehow didn’t offend a single soul she came across. When you talked, she listened. You worked your ass off to gain her respect, but once you had it, you’d damn near have to kill a puppy in front of her to lose it. She was a loyal friend, a fierce businesswoman and an extraordinary human being.
But right now, she was pissing me off.
I scowled at her. “I’ve been known to be attractive to men.”
She grinned. “Baby, we both know you’ve surpassed attractive,” Zoe replied. “But that isn’t what I mean. I mean, Jay Helmick is very well known for his ‘arrangements’. It’s the worst kept secret in L.A. I’m surprised you don’t know all about them.”
It was my turn to raise my brow at her. “I do my level best to tune out any models or actors gossiping. It gives me migraines.”