L.A. Fire (35 page)

***

 
When we arrived at work, Julian and I got on an empty elevator, and rode up
together. Right before the doors opened he gave me a quick kiss, and wished me
luck in my meeting.

 
I grabbed the Richard Phillips file from my desk and went straight to Paul’s
office.

 
“Morning, Sarah,” he said, ushering me in. “Please sit down.”

 
He leaned back in his chair, and looked at me with concern. “I just wanted to
warn you that Richard Phillips is a bit of an abrasive character.” He picked up
a pen, and started tapping it against his desk. “He’s likely to be brash,
possibly even rude. And he’s got an ego the size of the Nevada desert.” He
stared at me long and hard. “Do you think you can handle it?”

  Could
I handle it? I knew I could be diplomatic, but I also knew my face was very
expressive. Perceptive people could see exactly what I was thinking just by
looking at my face, and Richard Phillips was a successful writer, so he was
perceptive almost by definition. And if there was one thing I hated, it was
egotism. Confidence I had no problem with. Arrogance, however, was another
matter. I would have to put on a tremendous performance to hide my dislike for
this potential client. But I had no choice. Helping sign this writer would be
another career game changer for me. I flashed Paul what I hoped was a winning,
confident smile and said, “Yes, I can handle it.”

 
He eyed me carefully, looking slightly weary, but then he finally nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Mr. Phillips will be here in half an hour. Bring him to the
boardroom when he arrives.”

 
At ten-thirty, Richard Phillips was still nowhere in sight, and he hadn’t
called to tell us he’d be late. At five past eleven, Annabel buzzed me to let
me know he had finally arrived. I quickly called Paul to give him the heads up.
He let out a long sigh and said, “It’s going to be a difficult morning. I’ll
meet you in the boardroom.”

 
When I reached the lobby, I caught the client leaning suggestively against the
reception counter, leering at Annabel, and obviously trying to flirt with her.
She had a tight smile on her face, and looked relieved when she saw me. “Mr.
Phillips, this is Sarah Stevens, Mr. Cooper’s assistant.”

 
Richard Phillips turned toward me, a lazy smile on his face as he looked me up and
down. “Very nice,” he said, then winked at me. I felt myself cringe. This guy
was so gross. Not that he was physically unattractive. He was lean, tall, and
dressed in a grey Hugo Boss suit. His eyes were an intense green, and they
twinkled with amusement. He had tan skin, and his face in general was easy on
the eyes, but it was obvious from the way he was looking at me that he was a
total sleazebag.

 
I put on my most professional smile, ignored his leer, and held out my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips.” He grasped my hand firmly, and held it for a
little too long.

 
“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said, and winked at me again.

 
I could feel my temper begin to simmer, but I kept my cool. “Please follow me.
Paul is waiting for us in the boardroom.”

 
When we got to the boardroom and he saw Paul, his demeanor immediately became
more professional. “Nice to see you again, Paul,” he said, his tone suddenly
genuine and warm.

 
Paul smiled at him warmly, and gestured for him to take a seat.

 
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.

 
He gave me a lopsided grin and said, “Yeah, sure, Sweetpea. A coffee would be
great.”

 
I cringed again, and my eyes darted toward Paul. He gave me a knowing look, as
if to say, this is what I warned you about. I quickly got Richard his coffee
and settled into my seat.

 
“So Paul,” Richard began, leaning back in his chair. “What exactly are you
prepared to offer me?”

 
Paul started tapping his pen on the boardroom table, and for a moment he looked
deep in thought. “We’re a boutique agency. We’re very selective of our
clientele, and because we take fewer people on, everyone gets star treatment.
We’ll be behind you two hundred percent.”

 
Richard smirked at him. “I’m already a star, Paul. You’re going to have to do
better than that.”

 
Paul leaned forward, his expression very serious. “I’m sure you’re aware of my
reputation at the bargaining table. My clients earn top dollar. I’ll get you
the best deal in town, Richard.”

 
Richard nodded slightly, then took a long sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he said.
“What else?”

 
Paul gestured toward me. “Ms. Stevens – Sarah – has drawn up a contract for
you. As you’ll see, the percentage split we’re offering you is very favorable.”

 
I pulled the contract out of my folder, and slid it down the mahogany table
toward Richard. “The percentage split outline is at the bottom of page four,” I
said.

 
He gave me a crooked smile, and then a strange glint rose from the back of his
eyes. “You drew this up?” he asked, his tone exaggeratedly incredulous. “And
here I thought Julian only slept with bimbos. Good to know you’re good for
something both in the bedroom and the boardroom.”

 
My mouth dropped open in shock. I felt my blood start to boil, but I took a
deep breath and gripped the table hard to keep the tension out of my body. I
had to keep my cool. Not only keep my cool, but remain strictly professional. I
could feel Paul watching me closely, weighing how I would respond. I pinned
Richard with a level stare, then returned his crooked smile. “I’m a talent
agent,” I said. “And I’m damn good at my job. If you think Paul would hire
anyone who wasn’t, you’re not as perceptive or savvy as your reputation would
have me believe.”

 
Richard’s eyes started to twinkle, and a smile slowly spread across his face.
“Not easily ruffled,” he said. “I like that.” He winked at me, then turned his
attention back to Paul. “She’s a real keeper, this one,” he said.

 
For the rest of the meeting, his demeanor toward me became markedly more
professional. He asked me several questions about royalty percentage
calculations, and mentioned he’d heard through the grapevine that I was making
a name for myself spotting new talent. As he was leaving, he even asked me to
send him feedback on his screenplay. He said he wasn’t ready to sign yet
because he had three meetings this week with other talent agents, but he’d been
impressed with what he’d seen today at Cooper McGregor, and was still seriously
considering signing with us.

 
After I walked him out, I returned to my desk and found Paul standing there
waiting for me. “Sarah. Follow me to my office.”

 
We entered, and he gestured for me to take a seat. His expression was a strange
mixture of paternal concern and pride. “I just wanted to say that I found the
way you handled yourself in the meeting today remarkable. You showed yourself
to be not only feisty and thick-skinned, but also a consummate professional.”

 
I looked at him in wonder and awe, and felt gratitude swell up in chest. “Thank
you,” I said, feeling truly moved by his compliment.

 
He pressed his lips together, and his brow furrowed slightly. “I know it can’t
be easy,” he said. “Being a new hire, and dating the boss’s partner. People
make assumptions. Even I made assumptions. But you’ve proved me wrong, Sarah.
You’re growing into a fine businesswoman, and you’re doing it on your own
merit.”

 
I felt my heart melt at his words. “You don’t know how much that means to me,
coming from you,” I said.

 
He nodded curtly, and looked slightly embarrassed. “That’s all,” he said, then
grabbed a pile of papers off his desk and handed them to me. “Please type these
up and have them on my desk by three o’clock.” I smiled slightly, and took the
papers. It was back to business as usual; I’d be working my butt off for the
rest of the day, but I wasn’t complaining. I loved my job. I loved everything
about it. Even the more menial stuff I didn’t find a chore. And one of the best
agents in the industry had just told me that I was damn good at doing what I
loved. I left his office feeling on cloud nine, and the feeling lasted all
through the day. In fact, all through the week. By the time Friday afternoon
rolled around, I was feeling confident and in control. I was good at my job.
And dating Julian, I decided, wasn’t going to jeopardize my career. I might
have to work harder to undo some people’s impressions, but I wasn’t against
working hard, and Julian was worth it.  

 
By eight o’clock Friday night, I’d packed my weekend bag and pulled out of my
condo’s underground garage in Little Blue, headed toward Julian’s place in Venice
Beach. When I pulled into his driveway, he came out the back door of his beach
house, and rushed over to my car, lifting me up into his arms. “I’ve been
looking forward to this all week,” he said, grabbing my bag from the front seat
and locking up my car.

 
He was wearing a loose white linen shirt and khaki shorts, which perfectly
showcased his tight, firm ass. I leaned my head against his chest and breathed
in the warm, deeply masculine scent of his skin. As soon as we entered the
house, I was hit by a waft of cool central air and the smell of spices, sweet
potato, and cooked meat. My stomach started rumbling in response. “You cooked
me dinner?” I asked.

 
“Yes,” he said, placing me down in the foyer and taking my hand.

 
“Fantastic. I’m starving,” I said. “What are we having?”

 
He eyes glimmered with delight. “It’s a surprise,” he said. “Follow me.”

 
Julian led me through the kitchen, where something was simmering in a pot, and
out to his private courtyard. My breath caught when I saw the table he had set
up outside. Three candles in blue blown-glass were dispersed about the table,
flickering and glowing in the dark. A single red rose sat in a glass flute,
forming a centerpiece, and two gold rimmed bone china dishes were placed on
either end of the table, flanked by silver cutlery. “You set this all up?” I
asked.

 
Julian looked sheepish. “No, my housekeeper did,” he said, “But I did cook
dinner. From scratch.”

 
I was wearing an off-the-shoulder white lace dress, and Julian scooped my loose
hair off my neck and planted a long lingering kiss on the back of my neck. His
touch sent an electrical charge shooting through me. After a long moment, he
released my hair and pulled out a chair for me. “Have a seat. Dinner will be
served in a moment.”

 
I hesitated. “Can I help?” I asked.

 
His lips formed into a hard line. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Now sit down.”

 
I flashed him a half-smile, and said “Yes, sir.”

 
His eyes started twinkling with amusement, sending a flood of warmth through
me. “You’re starting to get the hang of this,” he said, running his tongue over
his lower lip.

 
I smirked at him and said, “I’m just indulging you, butternut. So don’t get any
ideas.”

 
Julian let out a long chuckle. “Butternut?” he said. “I’m not sure I can live
with that nickname.”

 
I shrugged, then fluttered my eyelashes at him. “How ‘bout Tiger?”

 
The corner of Julian’s mouth quirked up. “Tiger I can live with.”

 
A moment later, Julian returned from the kitchen with the pot I’d seen earlier
simmering on the stove. He pulled off the lid with a flourish, and my nostrils
filled with an intoxicating mix of herbs and cooked meat.

 
“Pot-au-feu,” I said, grinning up at him. “This must have taken you all
afternoon to make.”

 
Julian shrugged, and started serving me some of the beef stew. After serving
himself as well, he went to the kitchen again and returned with a bottle of
red. “This wine is the perfect pairing with this meal,” he said, pouring me a
healthy glass of a Chateau Evangile Maison Descaves. I sighed. Another
exquisite bottle of wine.