"What did you mean?" Liam asks, calling me back to the present.
"Just that he's more protective than you," I mutter. It's a lie. Asher isn't protective. He's the devil. But Liam never sees it, no matter how often I complain. As far as he's concerned, Asher can do no wrong, and I'm just dramatic.
"You're being dramatic," my brother says right on cue, shaking his head like he just can't figure me out. "Just think about it, okay?"
"I'd rather be buried alive." I mean it. Working for Asher is, literally, the worst thing I can think of.
Liam throws his napkin at me. "So stubborn. You get that from Mom, you know."
I snort, but we both know he's right. Our mother was America's sweetheart, the movie star who could do no wrong. But she was also the woman who once locked herself in a hotel suite for three days because a director wanted her to dye her hair. She wound up getting her way, the movie, and a third Oscar nomination. I think her stubborn streak is the only thing I inherited from her.
Not that the rest of the world believes me. They're convinced I'll follow in her footsteps, filling the gaping hole her premature death left in Hollywood. They look at me and see her. It's been that way since she died.
"Mom would have hated Asher," I say, just loud enough for both of them to hear me.
Liam grins, his attention ping-ponging between me and Asher, who glowers like a thundercloud.
He doesn't say anything, though. He just picks up his bottle of Peroni and drains it before setting it down again. Then, in onesmooth motion, he reaches into his jacket, extracts a matte black business card, and slides it across the table toward me.
"Be at my office at 9 a.m. tomorrow to discuss your new position," he says, cold authority in his voice.
I stare at the card. His name is on the front, the Blackstock Agency logo burned into it like a fucking brand in the stock.
I push it back across the table. "Not happening."
He doesn't blink, just looks at me as if considering how to go about breaking me. "You'll be there."
The certainty in his voice is infuriating, but I can't help but match it. "Hell will freeze over first."
The words hang between us, glittering with challenge.
Asher's lips twitch, his smile slow and calculating. "Bring a coat, then, princess."
Liam laughs, thinking that smile means the fight is over, when I know it means the fight is only just starting. But Liam has always been oblivious. "You two are exactly alike," he says, gesturing between us. "That's the real problem."
I pluck the card from the table and make a show of ripping it to pieces. "No, the real problem is that Asher's never heard the word 'no' before."
"I've heard it," he says, his voice cool. "I just don't accept it."
"You will this time." I stand up, my chair scraping back with a screech that's almost satisfying. "I've lost my appetite. I'm leaving."
Liam rises, pulling me into a one-armed hug. "You'll change your mind, baby sister." He ruffles my hair. "You always do."
"Not this time," I vow, trying to ignore the way Asher's gaze burns holes in my back as I stalk out of the dining room. I mean it, though. I'd rather die than go to work for him.
Two weeks after my dinner with Liam and Asher, I quickly begin to suspect that the universe is conspiring against me.
I sit at the kitchen island in my apartment, staring at my MacBook like it's a ticking time bomb. My inbox is full of polite, impersonal rejections from every management firm in New York. There are so many, they blur together into a depressing wall of "Thank you for your interest," "We regret to inform you," and, my personal favorite, "Your experience is impressive, but we've decided to move forward with other candidates."
I don't even have any experience yet, so I know they're full of shit.
I close my eyes, count to ten, and hit refresh again. Another rejection email materializes, this one from Rainer & Baldwin, a firm so minor that they're still operating out of a single rented office. I open it anyway, because masochism is my new kink.
We're sorry, but we've decided to move forward with another candidate. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.
Sincerely, Amanda.
Amanda.She doesn't even sign her last name, like she's afraid I'll track her down and beg in person.
