A Little Bit Tempting (January Studios #3)

1. Annie

Annie

“I’m sorry, we are out of blueberry muffins.”

Out of blueberry muffins? What kind of coffee shop runs out of the number one pastry in America at eight in the morning? Okay, maybe not the number one, don’t quote me on that. But, on today of all mornings? It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I won’t let this ruin my mood.

I straighten my back and offer Mary, my favorite barista at Flora Coffee, a polite smile to show how little I’m fazed by the fact that they are out of my favorite muffin.

“We, um, have blueberry scones.” Mary has the audacity to hold out the item still in plastic wrap.

“Oh, is that it?” I wince, hating that I have to ask. My gaze wanders to the case, and sure enough, there are no other pastries to be seen.

“That’s it, Annie. We should have more tomorrow, though.” Tomorrow isn’t as important as today, but I smile anyway.

“Oh, okay. I’ll take my usual and the large drip.” My usual being a large Americano to get me through my morning commute. I don’t bother telling Mary today is a pivotal day, or that the blueberry muffin was supposed to be my good luck charm.

“Can I also purchase a fifteen dollar gift card to pay for anyone who comes in after me?” If I can’t start my day right, maybe I can help someone else.

With my watered-down espresso in hand and an obligatory coffee for my boss, I exit Flora and walk to the curb to catch my Uber to the office. Today isn’t technically my first day at Starlet PR. For the past three years, I’ve been an underpaid and overworked intern.

It’s my first non-intern day, and to kickstart my career as a publicist, I get a trial client to prove my abilities—as if I haven’t worked my ass off already. I’ve asked the universe for a short contract and an amicable client, fingers crossed she listens.

My purse vibrates in the leather seat next to me and I reach for it, already knowing who’s calling.

“Hi, Marce!” I answer.

“Hello! Got your good luck charm for today?” Marcy, my best friend, asks.

We balance each other out and have since I first moved to Los Angeles five years ago. The first day I met her was the same day I learned how much Marcy hates mornings.

“Ugh, no.” I groan and throw my head back to stare at the gray ceiling of the car. “Can you believe Flora didn’t have my muffin stocked?”

“Wow, didn’t they know it’s your first real day today? Mary didn’t save one for you?”

“Shut up, not helping. No, Mary didn’t save one for me.”

“What a bitch,” Marcy jokes, laughing into the phone.

“That’s exactly what I told her too. What a bitch for not having my muffin.” I chuckle and drop my head in time to see the driver look my way in the mirror. Oops.

“You could always stop by the studio if you still want one.”

Marcy works as the assistant director at January Studios alongside my sister, Cassie, her husband, Emmett, and a slew of their friends. It’s because of them that I’m addicted to this damn pastry.

“I’d be late,” I say as my eyes track the buildings as they pass. “Otherwise, I’d tell my Uber to take a detour.”

The driver tries to talk to me, clearly only hearing the last part of the sentence, and I have to shake my head and mouth, “No, keep going.”

“You should try to bake them. I bet you could recreate it with your fancy baking machine.”

“My stand mixer? Marcy, that is—” I shake my head to no one but myself trying to contain my laughter.

“One, that is called a stand mixer. Two, I could technically do that. But three, I don’t have time to bake as much anymore.

” My job has taken over, and any semblance of balance is nowhere to be seen.

“You know, there’s a way to solve that. You could—”

“Don’t say find a new job,” I interrupt.

“I’m serious, Anns.”

“Maybe things will be different after this trial client,” I say, my chest tight with dread that it will be the opposite.

“You say that, but—I already told you once—” Marcy’s voice suddenly becomes muffled as she talks to what I can assume is an employee. “Annie, I need to go. Not going to wish you luck because you don’t need it. You’re a badass publicist and any client will be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, Marce. Be nice today.”

“Not a chance. Love you.” Marcy gets the last word in before the line goes silent.

A few minutes later, the car pulls up to the curb in front of the office while my discovery station blasts in my ears. I thread the handle of my bag up my arm and onto my shoulder.

I thank the driver, get out of the car, and breathe in the cool August air. If my stomach wasn’t growling so loudly that I could hear it through my headphones, I’d be in a much better mood, but I can’t win them all.

My feet clack on the tile floor of the lobby as I make my way to the elevators. Starlet PR is on the tenth floor and is full of large conference rooms and individual offices. I’m only in the office two or three days a week, but at least they keep the kitchen stocked with snacks.

By the time I enter the conference room where my boss (and CEO of Starlet) is waiting for me, I’m right on time—fifteen minutes early.

“Annie, good morning.” Greg looks at me for a brief moment before returning his attention to his computer.

He’s dressed in his typical three-piece suit (today’s is dark gray) and his barely-there brown hair is slicked back.

He’s your typical asshole CEO: always making sexist jokes and always has a laundry-list of items for you to do.

“Good morning. Did you have a good weekend?” I smile, even though he’s still ignoring me, and place the large coffee next to him.

This is how every meeting goes. I show up, wait for Greg to finish whatever task he’s doing, continue waiting as he tells me a random story about God knows what, then we finally talk about why we are in this room together.

“Oh, mhm,” Greg says as he types, half-listening. “Oh, coffee.” He smiles as he takes the cup in his hand. You’re welcome .

I wait a beat longer before saying, “Any updates for me?” Might as well cut to the chase.

“Yes, yes.” Greg sets his coffee down, then shuffles the papers that sit to the right of him.

“We are going to meet your client today for an early lunch at Little Italy Bistro. I’ve booked us a private room.

” He babbles on about the menu and other unimportant items as I read the paper he slid over to me.

This paper should be a small binder with a brief about the client, as I was told I didn’t need to prepare anything.

I should have background information, recent articles, anything more than this sheet of paper.

And what did Greg think was important to tell me?

Is there anything on here I don’t already know?

We only deal with actors, so that was known. The actor’s location is in Los Angeles. No duh. And there’s a statement about an NDA.

So, no. I’ll be walking into this meeting blind. Wonderful .

Regardless of how I feel on the inside, I smile at Greg. “And do we know who this actor is?”

He nods. “You need to sign the NDA before you learn anything else about him.”

A male actor, that’s something not on the paper. Is he old? A teenager? What sort of problems has he gotten himself into? Why could they not send the NDA over in advance like normal? Did Greg already sign the NDA?

“Is this a last-minute client?” I ask, assuming that would be why Greg doesn’t have more information for me.

“It is, yes, came in over the weekend. I don’t expect this client to be too taxing,” Greg says.

I don’t bother asking what would have happened if this magical client didn’t come through over the weekend. Instead, I nod like the picture-perfect employee while I jot down notes.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on this,” Greg continues, “and step in when needed of course.”

And by that, Greg means if I lack skills or capabilities needed for said client . Perfect. Three years here, and I’m still micromanaged. If I’m able to prove to him that I can handle my own client, I’ll be hired on as a full-time employee when this contract is done .

This has been my dream since I was fifteen years old, sitting on my bed, reading gossip magazines and fawning over troubled actors that received their redemption arc. I fell in love with following their stories, watching how they turned their career around, and knew I wanted to have a hand in that.

After I gather the single piece of paper with the rest of my notes, I stand up from the table and push in my chair.

“Okay, Greg, I’m going to do a bit of recon before we head out if that’s alright?”

He’s back to typing, already tuning out even though I’m still in the room.

“I’ll ping you when I’m ready to leave,” Greg mumbles.

I hold back from flipping him off, instead turning my back to him and heading out the door to go to my office.

You’d think after all I’ve given this company, Greg would trust me. I’ve worked so hard, putting in long hours, weekends, not going home for holidays, and forgoing plans with Cassie and Marcy on more than one occasion. If this assignment ends poorly, I’ll be starting over.

Sure, I’ll have the experience as the intern, and some experience from when I “helped” Cassie with her publicity when she first became an actress, but who would trust me if I were let go from Starlet?

I might as well be on a Do not hire list and toast to the end of my PR career if I can’t help my first client.

My butt barely sinks into my chair when my phone buzzes on my desk. Cassie’s name appears on the caller ID. She moved here five years before me, and it’s been great to be in the same city. Although she’s busy acting in movies or with Emmett when he directs films, we always find time to catch up.

“Hey, Cass.”

“Hi! How’s your first day going? I would have texted you earlier, but I had a late night with Emmett.”

I roll my eyes, not wanting to know what ‘late night’ means. “Say no more. I just had a meeting with Greg about my client, and before you ask, no, I don’t know who it is yet.”

“Damn, still?”