Page 65 of Howl for Me
I roll my eyes, “Charming.”
His grin is lazy, crooked, and a little dangerous. “You don’t look the type.”
I fold my arms. “What type do I look like? Not that your opinion matters.”
He chuckles. It's cocky and a little cruel. “Not the type to be working here, that’s for sure.”
I don’t know what here is even supposed to be. He finds me amusing; I’m a joke to him. I’ve dealt with men like him before, but none of them looked like this. None of them smelled like fresh sin and forest air. I’m about to ask him who the hell he is when another man enters. He’s sharp and polished, with jet-black hair and a suede suit that fits perfectly. Rings gleam on his fingers, his skin carries a deep tan, and a hint of expensive cologne hangs in the air as he moves closer.
“You the broad that called?” His voice cuts across the velvet-drenched room like the snap of a switchblade.
I nod, straightening my shoulders. “Yeah. Cassidy. I called about the job.”
He gives me a once-over that lingers too long. “You done any work before? Anything I might’ve seen?”
Seen? My stomach does a slow roll. “I’m not sure. I just moved here. A friend gave me your number and said you might be hiring…”
Before I can finish, his eyes snap over my shoulder. “Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with his presence. You’re four goddamn hours late, Johnny.”
I turn and find the man from the couch, Johnny, stretching like he just woke up from a nap in a meadow instead of in the middle of someone else's job interview. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Traffic,” he says around his cigarette, unbothered.
My cheeks go hot. Not from embarrassment, just from how smug this asshole is. And how unfair it is that someone that irritating gets to look that good doing it. Before I can sayanything else, Reggie appears from one of the bedrooms, all peace signs and sleepy eyes. He looks at me and grins like we’re old friends. I guess we are after the night we had.
“There she is. Didn’t think you’d remember the note. You were flying last night.”
My stomach drops a little as vague memories of Reggie and the party surface. Curiosity and desperation are doing a little two-step in my brain.
While Johnny and the other man bicker in the background, I lean toward Reggie and whisper, “What is this place?”
He beams, eyes a little glassy. “Moonlight Magic Studios, man. The grooviest job in town. You’ll love it here.”
My brows lift. “A film studio?”
Could I be that lucky?
The suited man turns back to me with a raised brow. “Can you be on time?”
I nod automatically, even though I’m still not sure what I’m agreeing to.
“Do yourself a favor and leave,” Johnny mutters without even looking at me.
I bite back the urge to throw something at his smug face. “Sir, what are the hours?”
The man opens his mouth, but Johnny groans loudly.
“The hours?” he says like I just asked for his blood type. “Jesus, what do you think this is, a bank job?”
The man ignores him, speaking louder. “As long as your co-star shows up when he’s supposed to,” a sharp look toward Johnny, “then once shooting’s wrapped, you’re free to go.”
Co-star?
I blink. “Oh no, I’m not an actress.”
That gets his attention. His brow furrows. “Then… what job are you here for?”
A flicker of genuine concern crosses his face, like maybe someone’s dropped me off at the wrong damn planet. Reggie takes that moment to scurry off, leaving me to fend for myself against his stare.
