It’s the following evening when I strut into Johnson’s downtown office, armed with a USB stick and two brand new security guys, sourced and vetted thoroughly by Declan.
‘Wait out here,’ I tell them as the evening sun beats down on us.
In the reception area, I see a face I recognise from Senator Johnson’s salacious home movie.
‘He’s expecting you,’ his secretary smirks. I can’t wait to wipe it from her face.
‘Sadie, isn’t it?’ I shoot her a look. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’ Her jaw drops, but I don’t stop to gloat, stalking past her to the thick panelled door behind her desk. I shove it open without knocking. We’re way past such pleasant niceties.
Kurt Johnson glares at me from his throne-like chair positioned behind a desk that’s big enough to comfortably seat two people.
‘It’s polite to knock,’ he barks, straightening himself in his chair. Like every other fool in LA, the man is unnaturally tanned, his face weathered from too much schmoozing on the golf course. I know his type and I detest them. The man’s probably never done an honest day’s work in his life. Born into money and clawed into power.
The coldness in his eyes matches the silver streaks of his greying temples.
‘Yeah, and it’s polite to respect someone’s professional opinion when they decide their daughter lacks any discernible talent,’ I spit.
‘You ruined her life.’ His arms cross over his chest, animosity oozing from every pore.
‘Youruined her life by letting her believe there was a hope in hell of getting a record deal. You thought you could throw your money around and magically make your little princess a star.’
‘You know nothing about us. My daughter is every bit as good as those girls you’ve dragged up from the dirt. Mind you, it seems to me you only sign the ones who have some tragic sob story.’
‘No, I only sign those who have raw talent and the work ethic to get in front of me.’
‘Same thing.’ Johnson shrugs. ‘And anyway, by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t be signing anyone else, talented or not.’
‘Is that right?’ A framed picture of Johnson and his botoxed model wife standing smiling with the President dominates the wall to my right. I wave at it, flashing my fakest smile.
Johnson’s bushy eyebrows furrow. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Waving to the camera.’ My index finger twirls and points at the tiny dot in the corner of the frame. ‘Say hello to my friend, Gareth Reynolds. You might have heard of him? I’m fairly certain that picture was taken at the premier of the movie Gareth’s company shot, and which was partially filmed at the White House.’
The colour drains from Johnson’s face quicker than lightning. A spluttering cough takes hold of him. I perch on his desk and wink.
‘What have you done?’ he finally blurts out.
‘The real question is, what haveyoudone? They didn’t hire me at “Ruthless Records”,’ I air quote the nickname for Diamond Records, ‘for nothing.’
‘How long has it been there?’
‘Long enough.’ I roll my sleeves up, crossing my ankle over my thigh. ‘Now, here’s what’s going to happen.’
Johnson’s gaze darts between my face, the desk and the camera.
‘The damage you’ve done to my artists is irreparable. So, besides a substantial financial compensation, you will apologise to them.Otherwise, you and your secretary’s gratuitous performance yesterday will go viral.’
He swallows hard. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Try me. I’ve got nothing left to lose. Tick tock, Kurt. Your wife will wonder why you’re late for supper.’
I strut out of the office, waving my fingers cheerily at Sadie. From the beetroot red shade of her cheeks, I think she must have heard every word.
Not only do I have him on camera, balls deep in his secretary, I also now have him confessing to setting up Mia and sabotaging Naomi’s reputation. Not a bad day’s work.
Now the only thing left to do is win back the only woman I’ve ever loved.
ChapterThirty-Nine
