She seems to think this over for a minute, her eyes thoughtful. “If you could get back into the industry, would you want to?”
“I’d love to get back to it. It’s not easy work, but it’s what I’m good at.” My free hand reaches up and begins absently twisting a lock of my strawberry-blonde hair around my fingers. “It’sallI’m good at.”
The look on her face is skeptical, but she doesn't call me on the self-flagellation. “Social media management is a thankless, difficult job. What made you get into it in the first place?”
“I’m good at managing people and diffusing bad situations. And I know social media. From the first moment I made an account on uMe, it’s been the one place I’ve felt like I’m doing something right.”
It's literally the place I can be whoever I want to be, and nobody has to know that I'm not as awesome as I pretend. I've learned the algorithms, I've worked out how to curate engagement, and I even know what sells. And I'm so damn good at it, I get paid for it.
Or Iwould,if the asshole hadn't made sure to shut down my only line of revenue and turn me into a pariah in my own field.
“I know how that feels, believe it or not. And the entertainment industry can chew you up and spit you out. It’s done it to me once or twice before.” She sounds like she's got a story, but I don't ask for it, because she's made it clear we're talking about me here, not her. “But sometimes, you find luck and a helping hand in the strangest and most unlikely of places.” She slips a business card across the sparkling bartop in my direction, then sets her empty beer bottle on the edge of it to weigh it down. She's not putting pressure on me to pick it up.It's up to me to make that decision on my own. “If you decide you wanna find a place to start over, you call me. I could use someone like you on my team.”
She stands up and drops a fifty on the bar to cover the tab and a tip, then walks away with a little wave, and I'm left wondering who she was, or what that interaction even was.
I'm too curiousnotto pick up the card, so the second the bartender takes the money left for him, I slip the card out from under the bottle and skim the lines printed in shiny gold lettering.
Arista Simmons, Foreign Talent Liaison, kNight Entertainment.
At the bottom is an email address, a phone number, and the address of what I assume is the building she works in. On the back, a little QR code that I whip out my phone and scan without even thinking.
A website pops up, and I gasp.
I applied to this company the second the Asshole fired me, right before I was blacklisted. And I'd had an interview set up for their media team. Unfortunately, I ended up in the hospital with a sprained ankle on my way to that interview, because some asshole tried to run me down as I stepped off the sidewalk.
I don't believe in fate. And I certainly don't think just one woman can get me in with the wall of bullshit I've been so far unable to surmount.
Still, it won't hurt to pocket the damn card, and I break my own rules and order one more fancy beer, wincing as I hand over the little bit of cash on my person, and down it in one go.
I won't be getting drunk tonight, but I'll certainly be getting a buzz. And when I get home, pass out, and wake up, maybe the world will look a little less bleak.
Hope is a hell of a drug. Sometimes, it's like living in an active addiction. And when the world comes falling down on me once more, it'll be like living through withdrawal.
I just hope the fallout this time isn't too bad.
chapter one
Kai
"Whatever it is,I didn't fucking do it."
My usual greeting doesn't work on my brother, who answers it with a sigh. "Just when I was beginning to think we shared more than just DNA, you open your mouth and prove me wrong."
Angel is . . . a bit pretentious. But I like him. He's got spunk. And apparently, he's a hired hitman. Go figure.
This new town I'm in is wild, lemme tell ya, but his town, just down the highway, is wilder.PortWylde, to be exact. And the place is hopping with criminals, killers, and civilians who know better than to go out alone at night in certain areas of town.
I'm not sure what I expected from this new country, but this isn't it.
"Hey, bro, I don't make the rules. We were raised differently. I grew up in a poor but loving home; you grew up with an asshole and money. We each had our setbacks."
His sigh is put-upon and heavy. "Do you need a ride from the airport? I can have one arranged?—"
"No need—the company I'm signing with sent one." They did, too. It's a sleek little number, fancy, with a little black divider,like I'm some sort of celebrity. I'm not, though. Not here, at least. "You coming up here any time soon?"
"I'll be up this week to make sure you're settling in okay." He pauses, and I can practically hear the eye roll he does. I wonder if his eyes are as vibrantly violet as mine. I know we're twins, but he hasn't sent me any pictures of himself, and I haven't sent anything he can't find online. So really, we have no idea what to expect from each other. "Do you have your address yet? Are you staying at a hotel?"
He's nosy, too. I wonder if he's as controlling in person as he is with me over the phone.
