4. Annie
Annie
If I had a pillow, I’d be screaming into it. I cannot believe Zayn Barnes is the client that will make or break my career. Of all people in Hollywood, it had to be my ex-boyfriend’s older brother.
“Annie, sweetie, you okay?” James is standing in my doorway, an exact replica of this morning. I can smell the coffee from the extra cup they’re holding. Rushing over to them, I offer a weak smile.
“Oh, yes. I’m okay. Just a long morning.
” My lips turn up into a grin. Fake, but they won’t press me for more.
I grab the drink from them and turn around to walk to my desk.
“I met my client. He seems nice.” I remove the lid and take one deep breath, the fruity smell of coffee somehow grounding me as I take a seat.
“Thank you for this.” Snapping the lid back on, I take a sip.
“And who’s the lucky guy that you get to spend a bunch of time with?” James asks.
“Zayn.”
“As in the Zayn? Zayn Barnes? The hottie with the beard?” James is practically drooling over the man.
I shrug and smile because they are not wrong. “The one and only.”
It’s taking everything in me right now to hold back spilling everything to them. The only person that knows the full story about my ex is Cassie.
“Interesting. And you’re supposed to clean up all his latest media drama? That guy knows how to upset reporters.” James leans casually against the doorframe. They tend to have all the easy clients. The ones that just need notes for an upcoming interview or some pointers on what to say for a speech.
“I’m supposed to help move him in a better direction, yes. The entire lunch was spent talking about events coming up and contract details. Greg wasn’t able to brief me about the client because of the NDA.”
James just nods, taking it all in before they offer advice like they do every time. “Ah, an NDA, you should have told me that this morning. Well, be careful. I’ve heard that guy doesn’t have a great reputation.”
“You mean it’s not great that he dropped some guy’s camera in a lake?”
“I thought it was just a trash can.”
I laugh. “Regardless, I’ll be fine. It’s what I’m best at. Remember the client I helped you with last summer?”
“The woman who couldn’t stop crying about her dog whenever someone asked her about it?”
“Yes, James, the poor woman grieving her dog.”
“I remember,” James says, nodding. “You ordered her a keychain replica of her dog to carry around and somehow that made her stop crying whenever someone brought up the damn thing.”
“You could be a little more empathetic, James. But see, I’m good at taking someone’s negative image and helping them remedy it.”
“You were made for this job. Just be careful, little bird. He seems like trouble.”
“You’re just saying that because he’s attractive.” I glare at them, knowing I’ve spoken the truth.
Jame’s giggles. “Just text me if you need anything, okay?”
I nod before James exits my office and closes the door. Since I know little to nothing about what Zayn is up to these days, I need to spend the rest of the day researching.
For typical clients, I would have done this already.
I would have been prepared from day one.
Around the office, I’m known for being the over-prepared employee and the one that’s always willing to help.
It’s why I’ve taken on extra hours at the firm, helping out when I can.
In return, people compliment my work ethic and say that they’d be lost without me.
Ever since Dan told me I’d never make it and belittled my career, I chase external praise.
It’s one thing that keeps me going when my belief in myself starts to waver.
My computer dings, and a new text banner appears in the upper right-hand corner. My heart betrays me by flipping and beating quicker once I see who it’s from.
Zayn
Meet me in two hours at Dave’s Diner.
I did say I was a text away, didn’t I? Two hours doesn’t give me long to start prepping for the gala this Saturday.
It would have been better if Greg would have told me who the client was, to give me proper time to research and document our course of action.
Everything that I know about Zayn is surface level.
I know he’s thirty years old and doesn’t like me.
And as I’ve already established, the older brother to the man that mentally scarred me for life.
Where his brother was my type on paper, Zayn is the complete opposite.
His hair and beard are a harmonious shade of dirty blond, with subtle hints of brown and grayish undertones, giving him a rugged and natural look.
He towered over me today when I stood next to him as I tried not to picture myself nestled under the crook of his arm.
I didn’t expect him to take my breath away, like he did when I first met him two years ago, before he stopped acknowledging me when we were in the same room or when Dan tried to get him to say hello to me on FaceTime calls.
Yet, here I am, curious about what’s going on in his head, feeling a pull toward his grumpy demeanor.
I still don’t understand what his end goal is, why he needs a publicist. We should have talked about that during our meeting earlier, but Greg wouldn’t shut up about the damn movie Zayn was last in.
Zayn doesn’t have a great image, but knowing January Studios doesn’t work with just any actor, he has to be pining after a specific role.
Redirecting my attention to the computer, I figure I have enough time to do a bit of googling before I leave the firm to meet him.
By my phone’s estimate, it’ll take roughly thirty minutes to reach the diner.
It would have been nice for him to find somewhere a bit more in the middle, but he was presumably only thinking of himself.
The diner happens to be across the street from January Studios and is notorious for kicking out anyone who looks like a reporter—it’s probably why Zayn wants to meet there. The more private, the better.
My search turns up what I expected. Most of the articles written on him are speculations or rumors.
The interviews published recently are short, two or three questions max.
I scribble down a few questions to remember to ask him, then switch the browser to look at images.
I was hoping to see photographs of him with family or friends, to get a sense of who Zayn has been since I last saw him over a year ago.
I should not have ventured into the images tab because holy shit .
Looking at Zayn, you can tell he’s muscular.
His shirt clings to his biceps, emphasizing that he maintains a healthy physique.
But, let me tell you, shirtless Zayn... that’s something else.
“You dropped something.”
My eyes flicker up to see James, who has once again returned to distract me from doing any actual work. Closing my jaw, I press the x button on the browser tab to exit out of the gallery.
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
Bless James, who simply smiles, oblivious to the fact that I was ogling at a man that I dislike with every fiber of my body.
There was a time that I liked Zayn. That was before I met him, when I saw the way Dan lit up when he talked about his “older brother who is the best actor he’s ever seen.
” A year into our relationship, after we’d been living together for two months, Dan asked me to come home with him for the holidays.
I said yes, obviously. And I was excited to meet his family since my own mother lives halfway across the country.
The moment I walked through the Barnes’ front door, Dan’s twin sister Kiley enveloped me in a hug and we hit it off immediately. She told me stories about the boys and hung out with me while Dan was helping his parents in the kitchen.
Zayn must not have expected me, because the moment he walked into the room, he stopped. Kiley asked where some girl Marissa was, and Zayn replied that they were on a break. No one introduced me, but Zayn’s gaze never left mine.
“Are you leaving soon?” James pulls me from the past memory.
I nod. “If I want to beat traffic, yes. Plus, it’d be nice to get there before him. You know, get a booth and all. I don’t want to leave a bad impression.” I add a shrug and let out a sigh, then pack up my items from my desk.
My laptop goes into the case, then into my bag, followed by a notepad and a few pens.
James walks me to the elevator, wishing me luck, which I take since I desperately need it.
I plan to write down a few more questions on the way over, hoping Zayn doesn’t mind if I take this first meeting to do an informal interview to try and get to know him.
Bias aside, I need to help him. If I help him, he will probably land a role, and I get to work at Starlet full time. It’s an “I help you, you help me” sort of situation.
The car ride to the diner took longer than expected, and I’m ten minutes late.
Thanking the driver out of habit, I exit the car and walk toward the entrance.
The parking lot is practically empty, but when I step through the front door, the place is packed with people.
The smells of butter and onion fill my nose as I survey the room, looking for Zayn.
I’ve been here a lot. It’s where Cassie and Emmett met, so they tend to pick this place if we meet for dinner.
Even though rock music blares on the speakers and there are likely one hundred movie posters hung up on the walls, I like this diner.
It reminds me of when Cassie and I used to go out to eat at a local diner back home in Indiana and order a giant stack of pancakes to split.
I find Zayn in the back corner booth, my attention immediately drawn to him.
He’s staring at his phone, a scowl painted on his face.
Everyone that walks near the back looks in his direction, curious about what’s hiding beneath that mask.
It’s what I’m thinking as I stare in his direction, wondering when the light went out inside him and why he remains to himself.