Page 63 of Take Hold of Me

Emilie

With Wills’sencouraging words ringing in my ears, I throw my shoulders back and follow the unfamiliar receptionist into an office I have only seen once or twice before. It belongs to Monsieur Price.

Once inside the empty office, she asks, “Would you like a bottle of water?”

I would prefer a shot of vodka. “Oui.” She nods and steps out for a moment, returning with a cold bottle. “Merci.” I pause for her name, but she does not give it to me—rather motions for me to take a seat and leaves.

Sitting in front of his messy desk, I take in its contents. Glossy headshots and full-body photos cover the entire top of it, with red grease pencils and notepads strewn about like discarded tear sheets. The desk is imposing, and the furniture, in contrast with the conference room, is heavy and traditional. Black. Suits the powerhouse man who uses it.

The baritone of my boyfriend’s voice warms me.He should bend over backwards to make his superstar happy.

Swallowing some water, I lean over to place the bottle on the floor just when he cuts into the room. I place my hands on the armrest to stand and greet him. “Don’t get up.”

Why does it feel as if all the oxygen was sucked out with the click of the door?Stay strong, Ems. Clear my schedule for the party on Saturday. I can do this. I cross my left leg over my right.

“Emilie, Beautiful, I’m so glad to see you made it here today—and looking so delightfully tanned from your recent trips.” As he talks, he makes his way to me, ending by standing behind me, his large hands landing on my shoulders. “Did you have a nice time in Rio and … the Caymans?”

His heavy hands root me to my chair. “Oui. They were good shoots.”

Rose’s bridal shower. I must complain. I open my mouth to amend my response when he leans down. So close I can feel his breath in my left ear.

“That’s what I like to hear.” His fingers squeeze into my flesh—once, twice—making me glad I chose this dress and not one with the cold shoulders. Unsure how to handle him, I remain still. With a sound like a cross between a sigh and a moan, he pats my shoulders and moves around to take his seat behind his desk. I exhale my pent-up breath slowly. Quietly. It is as if time stood still the moment he walked into the office.

What was I going to say?

Picking up a notepad and pen, he peers at me. “Geonna Broz stole your Llitzy House contract so I’m ramping up your game. I’ve got you scheduled to attend a French art gallery opening tomorrow. That’ll be your warm up. After that, there’s a movie premiere Friday night, where you’ll be on the arm of Brandan Rogers, one of the film’s stars. Of course, given the short notice, I couldn’t get you with the leading man, but Brandan’ll look good with you. He’s one of Greta VonStein’s PR clients. I’ve pulled strings to get you added to her roster.”

I remember Greta, Cole’s former rep. She used to be a model whotransitionedinto a PR mogul years ago. She seemed very sharp the only time I met her, but I understand from Rose that she is not a nice person. I wish I did not have to be aligned with her.

I open my mouth to voice my concern, but he barrels forward. “Now, how’s that Wills guy working out as your bodyguard? Do you want me to switch it up for you back here in LA? I could replace him with someone more Hollywood.”

I grip the water bottle so tightly it crinkles under my hand. I cannot do this without Wills. Since he asked my opinion, he better listen to what I have to say. “Wills is good.” That sounded weak. “I mean,” I clear my throat, “I want him to remain in place.”

He nods. “Okay. We’ll see how he does.” He flips through some pages. “Next week, I got you scheduled for other events. I don’t care if you’re opening a fast food place, I want your face in every tabloid there is. Here’s your dialogue for Thursday’s movie cameo.” He fumbles around his desk for a minute then hands me a sheaf of papers.

“Merci.”

I lean forward. I need to take control here, like Wills was telling me. Never mind the last time I tried to assert myself where my career was involved. That was years ago. I need to tell him—

MonsieurPrice interrupts my words before they even form. “Backing up, this Saturday night—”

The anniversary party. I twist my heel into the rug. “I cannot make any appearances on Saturday. I have an engagement.” There. I said it.

His eyes swing to mine, then narrow. He leans forward, placing his hairy forearms on top of the photos on his desk. “Cancel.”

I must stand my ground. “I am sorry, but I cannot.”

He pushes away from his desk and walks around so that he is standing in front of me, leaning back against the desk. His posture seems relaxed, but his nostrils flare like a bull. He peers down at me. “Beautiful, do you want to stay on top?” He pops the “p” of top.

Not liking his power position, I stand. “Oui. But I cannot get out of my Saturday engagement. I already missed one important event that I asked to reserve. I willnotmiss another.”

His eyes lock with mine, and his finger rubs over his lips. Suddenly, he throws his head backward and laughs. “Feisty. I like that.”

I take a step to the side when he pushes off the desk. When he walks toward his chair, I rub my hands on my arms and wait for him to sit before doing the same.

“Okay, Beautiful, nothing for Saturday.” He puts a line through something on the paper. “Oh, and one more thing before I let you go, do you have your contract signed for me yet?”

His condescending tone makes my spine stiffen. “I have not had a minute to look it over. I just returned from the photoshoot.”

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