Personal Assistant

Personal Assistant

Hollywood Nights

Book I

By

Cara North

       
For
my readers, you are the best and I am grateful for each one of you!

       
A special thank you to my Muse #JG for inspiring my stories, to
author Tilly Green for encouraging me to pursue this idea, and to Gail, Sara,
and Brandi for your support.

       
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed
as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright© 2013 Cara North

Cover Artist: Stella Price

       
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically
or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews. Contact: [email protected]

       
“I
just don’t know.” Frankie leaned back in the chair she was sitting in and let
her back rest against the warm metal. They often met at this little café
because of the cannoli and the rare, but occasional, celebrity sighting. “I
need to do something. I can’t explain it, but I need a change of scenery.”

       
“I
hear you, Frankie, but I don’t want you to go so far away. How will I manage?
You do so much for me. Besides, I have a better idea.
Here.
”
Shay tossed her the newspaper she had turned back to reveal the advertisement.
“This is the thing. I found it. I told you I remembered seeing it. Well, right
here it says notable celebrity seeks personal assistant.”

       
Frankie
sat up straight and took a look at the newspaper. A guilty pleasure they shared
all their lives was keeping track of the comings and goings of the who’s who of
Hollywood. They had reason to. Some of those people were once classmates. Shay
looked the part of a
starlet
and any day now her
career was going to take off. At least that is what they had been saying since
high school when Shay played Juliet.

       
“You
seriously think I should apply to be a personal assistant? I have an offer to
go abroad to teach, and you want me to go on coffee runs for some snot-nosed
teenager making money faster than he or she can spend it?”  Frankie made a
‘ha’ sound and plopped the paper on the table. “Why don’t you interview for the
job? Hollywood is your thing. Maybe you can get some inside scoop from working
inside.”

       
“Or,”
Shay said as she pushed her sunglasses up and onto her head of honey colored
hair. Frankie couldn’t keep up with her hair color these days. Shay had always
tried to look the part, no matter what the part was. Those startling green gems
peered across the table at Frankie and fluttered the false lashes as she batted
her eyes. “You could give it a whirl and then tell me the secrets. They won’t
even consider me and we both know it. I’m already too hot for that job. They’ll
see my resume and know I am just out for the press. You have a clean record, a
good education, and a trustworthy face.”

       
Frankie
wasn’t sure if she should be insulted by the comments or ashamed that Shay’s
lack of education beyond high school had halted her vocation options. After
all, Frankie didn’t encourage her to stick with it because she too thought Shay
wouldn’t need to fall back on a degree.  By clean record she meant
immaculate; Frankie didn’t have so much as a parking ticket. By good education,
she meant a master’s degree, and all but her dissertation completed for a PhD.
She didn’t bother with the memory of her mentor and the affair and the decision
to just let it all go. By trustworthy face, Frankie had to admit, several
people had said that before. “Well, when you put it that way.”

       
“Come
on, Frankie. You know what I mean. You’re special.
The kind
of person who would be easy to trust.
One look at me and they would know
I was not capable of managing my own life much less someone else’s.” Shay
frowned. Her delicate features made more exotic by the mixed race parentage:
half African American, and a quarter Hawaiian and Caucasian, her father and
mixed mother had produced one whole bundle of beauty. Shay was always on the
fringes of fame, even back in high school. Her parents were always carting her
off to one casting call or another. Frankie looked at her. She was the only
reason Frankie was able to survive those terrible years.

       
Shay
had offered her friendship regardless of Frankie’s financial status. She didn’t
grow up poor by most standards, but she didn’t have the latest anything unless
she borrowed it from Shay. Frankie dared a look and Shay silently mouthed the
word please. It obviously meant a lot to Shay for Frankie to put in an
application. Frankie felt certain she wouldn’t get a call, so what was the
harm?

       
Frankie
took a look at the paper and acquiesced.

       
“All right.”
Frankie picked up the paper again. It was
ridiculous, but her gut flipped in the good way and her curiosity ignited. The
last time her gut felt this way while reading about a hypothetical situation,
she was nominated as professor of the year. She lost, but she was at least
nominated. “I’m going to put in the application, but I want you to know that I
don’t think I will get it, and if I do and I end up babysitting, I am going to
strangle you.”

       
“Don’t
let them pay you less than seventy thousand dollars a year.”

       
Shay
had said with as much restrained excitement as she could muster. Frankie, on
the other hand, choked on her drink and felt the burn of carbonated water in
her nose. “Seventy? That is ridiculous!”

       
“Sixty-seven
is the entry rate. I thought your skills were worth more than that.” Shay
pulled her sunglasses back to cover her eyes and leaned against the back of her
chair while letting her head look upward. “Just think, Frankie. You are going
to get paid more, to do less!
How about that for a change?”

       
“Francesca
MacBeth
.” The petite blonde called from the door.

       
Frankie
stood, gathered her courage, and hoped the grip she had on her notebook was not
obviously white knuckled with anxiety. She walked past a variety of people, all
younger, all looking more like they were auditioning for a starring role rather
than a behind the scenes job.

       
“Welcome,
I’m Lea.” The blonde smiled as she held the door open. Frankie looked down at
the woman though she was wearing stilettos. Without them, Lea may have maxed
out at four foot tall. With them she was almost five. “Follow me.”

       
Lea
walked in those heels the way Frankie walked in tennis shoes. Frankie
considered her own attire as decidedly professional with flare. She wore
pinstripe black pants, a baby blue shirt, a black vest, an interesting black
metallic necklace with rhinestone
baubles,
she wore
her dark auburn hair in a neat bun, her black square frame glasses, and a nice
red lipstick. Frankie’s shoes had a heel, but blocked, not pointed, and two
inches not five.  She watched Lea carefully as she led the way down a long
hallway and past several doors. The clicking of their heels echoed against the
crisp white tiles. The air was clean, fresh. Frankie wondered if they pumped
oxygen into the building like they did at casinos.

       
Lea
strutted,
Frankie decided as the woman came to the
last door and grabbed the knob. She walked as though she were on a runway.
Every step precise, angled to show off her form fitting dress and
petite curves.
Frankie didn’t know where women learned those skills, but
she was quite certain she didn’t have that prowess.

       
Lea
turned the knob and paused. She looked up at Frankie and said, “I’m so glad you
are taking this application seriously. It means a lot to me. If this interview
doesn’t work out, I will be sure to find you a job. I don’t get a lot of your
caliber. Unfortunately, we have to interview a certain percentage of applicants
or I could have narrowed this down to five of you.”

       
Frankie
started to say thanks but the woman had opened the door and waited for Frankie
to walk inside.

       
She
drew in a deep fortifying breath and let it out slow and controlled as she
entered. It was an odd place. The room consisted of a comfortably decorated
area with a medium sized, framed mirror on one wall and a marbled statue, or a
decent replica of one, in a corner. There were four chairs in front of her and
a large framed mirror behind those chairs. She could see her own reflection and
thought that might be a good thing or a bad thing. She could see if she was
making faces or slouching, but she could also see how easily it would be to get
caught up looking at the reflection and not the panel. Tricky, these Hollywood
types were.

       
“Francesca
MacBeth
.” Lea announced and took her seat among the
interviewers.

       
The
young man in a sharp blue suit put his hand to his ear a moment and then looked
up at her. Without much interest he asked, “What are you doing here?”

       
Frankie
could feel her eyebrow rise as it often did when she was about to get
sarcastic. She took one quick glance at her reflection and decided to force a
smile instead. “I’m here to interview for the personal assistant position.”

       
“Why?”
he asked.

       
“Why not?”
Frankie quipped then recovered. “I mean, this job
is as good as any, in fact, better than most. I’m sure you have read my resume.
You know that I teach literature and have for a few years now. I grew up in
California, I know my way around this state and New York City, where I
completed my graduate work. Though I have a job offer to teach abroad for a
semester, I stumbled across the ad and on impulse applied. I’ve been looking to
do something new, something challenging, different, so why not?”

       
The
man next to him, an older gentleman with a traditional black suit wearing a red
shirt and matching tie asked, “When it comes to confidentiality our client,
more than some others, is interested in someone who will be able to keep his or
her mouth shut. Would you be willing to sign a contract stating you will be
penalized for breaching that trust.”

       
“Absolutely.
Is your client willing to disclose what he or
she may consider a breach? I mean if I am to keep secrets, will there be
guidelines to follow, or will I simply consider everything a matter of
confidence and disclose nothing when making reservations or placing orders on
the client’s behalf?”

       
The
man scrunched up his face in thought for a moment then said, “Well of course
there will be times you need to disclose the man’s name but…” He grumbled as
the rest of the interviewers looked at him. He had disclosed, at least, a part
of the identity of the celebrity in question. He continued, “Are you saying you
don’t know the difference between when you should or should not use the
client’s name?”

       
“I’m
saying if my pay or performance rating is based on the wording of a contract, I
don’t want to be fined for ordering a cake at an indiscrete bakery or someone
overhearing me as I pick up his dry-cleaning. Obviously, I would not speak of
private matters such as personal meetings, sexual exploits, or the time I might
have to drive him home because he got kicked out of a bar.” Frankie could have
sworn she heard a laugh from somewhere outside of the room. The man in the blue
suit spoke up cutting off Lea’s next question.

       
“Lady
MacBeth
, is it okay if I call you that?” He asked
with a sarcastic smile, but continued before she could respond. “Do you have
any idea who my client is? I mean you seem to have laid out a scandalous
assortment of confidential situations. Do you think you will be babysitting
some ne’er-do-well or assisting a professional?”

       
Frankie
wondered if that brat even knew how ne’er-do-well was spelled. Certainly, his
client was speaking through him. That explained the discrete touch to the ear.
She looked at the mirror now, not at her reflection, but past it, into it, to
whoever was behind it. “I don’t know who you are, sir. I just know what I have
read in magazines. I imagine having someone like me around could be useful. I
could ensure a car is there to prevent unnecessary waiting, I could call ahead
to one location and alert the media and then make reservations at another and
keep it low key. I could research the paparazzi that normally trail you and
request their criminal records to ensure you are safe. I can order and send
gifts to your family, friends, and professional acquaintances. If you’re
married I could ensure your gifts are appropriate for your wife, if you have a
mistress, I could ensure the gifts don’t get mixed up and sent to the wrong
people. If you are alone, I could tuck you in to bed at night and read you a
bedtime story.”

       
Her
stare never wavered from the mirror.

       
The
young man put his hand to his ear and spoke quickly, “And what if I…He is a
constant flirt to include the occasional teasing that may also end up aimed
towards you? Will you sue him for sexual harassment?”

       
The
only way to describe the atmosphere in the room was uncomfortable. The air had
grown thick with the change of the interview’s tone and Frankie’s refusal to
look at the panel, since they really weren’t interviewing her as much as the
man behind the glass was. The only questions that seemed to matter came from
the man in the blue suit.

       
Deciding
she had already blown this interview and had nothing left to lose she shrugged
her shoulders and smiled. “Is it in the contract?”

       
She
could not explain the sizzle of excitement flowing through her veins. Her
gaze
waivered from the piercing stare beyond her reflection
and took in the sight of herself. She was standing tall, an air of authority,
much like she possessed in front of her classes. She wasn’t exactly plain, but
she wasn’t a supermodel by any means. Whatever he was seeing, she didn’t see,
nevertheless, the simple fact that he admitted he might flirt with her, an
average woman, had her damn near ready to blush. A master at controlling her
emotions, one of the perks of being a literature professor, she looked from the
mirror to the interview committee. Lea was pale; all color had vanished from
her otherwise perky face. The older man sat with his arms crossed and with a
wry smile. The man in the blue suit sat up straight, both feet on the floor,
his hand at his ear, not even looking at her.

       
The
silence was deafening and she, for once in her life, understood how that could
be. Frankie didn’t wait for the man behind the mirror to confer with the young
man in the blue suit. She looked at her notepad and decided to put icing on the
cake. After all, this wasn’t her real job, and she could tell Shay that she
tried and failed, and then she could move on to get a stamp in her passport.
Frankie cleared her throat, commanding the attention of the room. “You should
also know that I will not accept less than seventy-five thousand dollars for a
year of service.”

       
“Thank
you, Lady
MacBeth
.” The guy in the blue suit shook
his head, a smile threatened to spread across his lips, “We will let you
know…by this evening.”

       
“You
should know.” Frankie added for her own self-esteem and to let the man behind
the mirror know he was not dealing with a desperate woman, “If I do not hear
from you by midnight, this Cinderella is heading to Europe for a semester
abroad. I have an open invitation at a university there and I will be taking it
in the morning.”

       
“No.”
The man in the suit said. “Just wait one moment.
The office.”
He looked at Lea who suddenly looked like life had been breathed back into her.
“Can he use your office?”

       
Frankie
followed Lea to the office down the hall. There was nothing fake about it.

       
“Wait
here.” Lea smiled nervously. “This is…well, he’s a bit…he’s not going to harass
you, trust me. He just has an interesting sense of humor. You’ll probably know
that the moment you meet him.”

       
Frankie
busied her mind with the photographs of so many stars that lined the walls of
Lea’s office. A sign that read “Committed to Service” sat on her desk. Frankie
smiled. The thought of serving someone was a bit medieval. She was not going to
be a handmaid. She probably wasn’t going to be a personal assistant either.
Likely, she was waiting for a reprimand of some sort. At this point, she no
longer cared. Her feet were tired from the new, though adorable, shoes on her
feet and the standing she had been doing on the hard white tile of the
interview room. The carpet in Lea’s office provided an ounce of flexible
relief. She decided to take a seat on the couch. The moment the door opened she
knew it was a good decision all around.

       
“Lady
MacBeth
,” Jonas
Gunnarsson
,
otherwise known as Jonas Gunner, stood in all his magnificent glory in front of
the door he had closed behind him. “
You,
are something
else. But I like that. I need that. I wasn’t sure I could hire an assistant,
much less a female assistant, but now, I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing the
job.” He perched himself on the edge of Lea’s desk and looked at Frankie
expectantly. “Well?”

       
Frankie’s
head was spinning. Had she been standing she may have fainted. How could she have
predicted that the one man she fantasized about almost nightly would be asking
her to work for him? How could he possibly think she would be a good assistant?
How long would it take her to find her voice and speak?

       
Drawing
in an unsteady breath, Frankie mustered up her bravado and said, “Well what?”

       
“Do
you want the job?” He flashed that million dollar smile at her.

       
His
eyes sparkled, his body leaned forward and she couldn’t help but notice the
muscles of his arms, the sprinkling of hair, and the size of his hands. All
these details she had conjured countless times in her imagination from watching
him on screen or looking at his photographs. Now, he was here in front of her
in warm flesh and blood. The details were at once overwhelming and somehow he was
remarkably, ordinarily human. She was intoxicated by his presence. The thought
of his comment about flirting sent a pulse straight to her clit. She only hoped
her outward appearance was not betraying the heat her inner core had become.
Having a mirror to see her reflection in would be nice. She was taking too long
to answer him. He obviously wasn’t used to it.

       
“Fine.”
He lifted off of the desk and walked towards her.