"You're rusty, Kai," Jun says with a grimace, like it pains him to admit the facts. It's nothispride on the line, dammit. "You know it, and I know it. When you switch to TV, things slow down. You'll need refreshers to get where you need to be?—"
I hate it when he's right. "Fine. You want me to refresh my memory, ramp up my skills, I can do that. But it's gonna cost you."
Arista grins, in that wicked way she used to when she was about to tell Jun about himself when we were all younger, less stubborn and set in our ways. "The company is willing to negotiate the bottom line to secure you. That's what Freddy here is for. He's got the numbers, and the legal prowess, to alter the contract to your specifications."
Freddy nods solemnly, like he'd rather be anywhere than here, but he's on the clock, so I doubt he cares how long we actually waste his time. "Yes, Mr. Kobayashi. Whatever you'd like, I'll make it happen, if it's within my powers."
The contract specifies a signing bonus, but I want certain securities if I'm going to do this. And I don't like the percentage they have for profit margins.
"Okay, then, let's talk numbers," I say with a grin, steepling my fingers in front of my nose as I prepare to take this man, and the company he works for, for as much money on the bottom line as humanly possible.
They want me that bad? They can have me. But it'll be on my terms, and I don't come cheap.
Game, set, match.
Ball's in your court, kNight Entertainment. Let's see what you've got.
chapter two
Denali
"Your rent is past due. Again."
I stare at my phone over my shoulder, lying on the counter in the middle of my shitty studio apartment, and roll my eyes.
My landlord, Steve, is a pain in the ass when he wants to be. Mostly, I see that side when my rent is past due.
The first time I was late on rent, it wasn't a problem. He was sweet about it, gave me time, let me work out a payment plan. But now, I'm two months behind, and I've got nothing for him. And he's got no patience left for me.
I understand it. I don't like it.
"Yeah, Steve, I know," I huff, rinsing off my silverware in the sink. "I'm trying hard, man, I am, but it's just?—"
"Listen," he says calmly, because you don't get to be as old as he is without developing some endless patience, "I can give you two more weeks, okay? But you're gonna have to at least pay half by mid-month, and the rest at the end. We can't keep slipping further behind, Denali."
I know it's just business to him, and he's already extending a huge help my direction that he's not obligated to extend. But I can't help thinking he's being a bit unreasonable. "Steve, how thehell am I supposed to come up with half of what I owe you in two weeks? Most jobs withhold for at least three weeks?—"
"Take out a loan, pawn something, borrow against your check, I don't care, Denali. There are avenues." His voice is tired; he's probably ready to be done dealing with me. "I've gotta go. You can text me with an update when you figure things out."
He ends the call, and my music starts to come through the speaker again as it reconnects to my bluetooth speaker across the room. Unfortunately for me, the music does nothing to improve my mood now.
No amount of girlypop hits can soothe the stress broiling inside me right now.
"What the fuck am I gonna do?" I ask the room at large, staring at the ceiling as I rinse off the spoon I'm using to stir my eggs. "Like seriously?"
The room has no answers for me.
I almost don't even want to bother scraping the eggs out of the pan, since it's just me—I can just eat them from there and save on dishes tonight. But that's lazy, and I'm not a barbarian. Plus, that's a good way to get burned. So instead, I shovel it onto the smallest plate I can find, coat it in cheese, and throw the skillet in the sink.
And sit down in the center of the kitchen on the floor to have a little menty b.
It's not my finest moment, I'll give it that. But like, we all have our moments, right? And right now, life is really kicking my ass. Not only am I three steps away from eviction, but my job hunt is still at an all time low.
I'm slowly losing my mind here. I don't know what else I can do. Hell, I'd even be happy to take one of those shitty jobs that I turned down a month ago, but they're not interested in me. Nobody's hiring out-of-work women who reek of desperation.
And that scent clings to me like glue.
My cat, Taco, who thinks this house is his and he just allows me to inhabit it, trots across the floor in search of the thing that smells so delicious. Or, in other words, my dinner. He's got wet cat food in a bowl just to my left, but in true Taco fashion, he refuses to eat what I've sacrificed my weekly boba tea to give him. No, the wet food isn't good enough for him.
