First Edit: 21/07/2017
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I slip on my tight-fitted black dress - a classic I always come back to.
The lace and low halter makes me feel a little more risque than what I would usually want to feel for a night such as this - heck I don't even know who I'm meeting.
My hair is loosely curled and hanging down to my waist. My face is flawless, for once, with the makeup Will forced me to put on.
"Here, put this on," he hands me a tube of lipstick. I begrudgingly flip it over and read the label, "Mac. Rooby Woo."
I look at him disapprovingly, "Will! You know I'm the type of person that will get this red all over my teeth! Don't do this to me!" I moan.
"Does it look like I was born yesterday? This bïtch has you covered!" he snaps his fingers and takes out a thin sheet of tissue, translucent powder and a brush. Within seconds he powders down the gloss and makes it matte after I put it on.
When I make my way to the mirror, I gasp. "I'm impressed Will. Your tastes is better than mine."
"And this surprises you?" he lifts a brow and flips his scarf over his shoulder, "Now we just need to find the perfect heels for you."
I roll my eyes and plonk down on my bed, "I can't believe you're making me dress up to go have dinner with a total stranger."
"Honey, Bieber is not a stranger," he disappears into my closet and yells, "You've been saying his name in your sleep ever since you met him!"
I groan, "What the hell Will! You've been watching me sleep?"
I hear him laugh, "I own you! Get use to it!"
If life was measured by emoji's, I would be the eyeroll. Everyday, all day.
"We don't even know if it's him," I remind him.
Will walks out of my closet with two pairs of heels in his hands, "Take your pick and shut up about your mystery date. Some of us don't even have nice men taking us out to dinner! Be grateful!"
Major eyeroll.
I look at the heels - one pair is way too high for my tastes, red leather stilettos. The other is classic black Louboutin heels with the red streak under the heel.
I motion for him to hand me the Louboutins, "I see red is a recurring theme tonight."
When I walk out of my bedroom, Will is already lounging on my couch . He has a face mask on and is stuffing nutella into his mouth.
He smiles at me with chocolate-covered teeth, "I'll be waiting right here until you return to tell me everything! Have fun!"
I huff, "Yeah yeah, see you later," and bid my goodbye.
***
Spago.
I heard of this place from Mr. Leigh. He couldn't stop raving about the celebrity chef Wolfgang Puck, that worked here. He swore that this buzzy, sleek bistro called Spago, has the best and most creative Californian cuisine.
I guess I'll find out.
I give the elegant building and white walls one last look.
Who am I about to meet?
My heart is skipping beats like it's at a rope jumping competition. What if Justin is actually waiting for me on the other side of the door?
Wouldn't that be something.
"Stop being ridiculous!" I scold my own thoughts in a whisper.
I look to the entrance and force my legs to start moving. I can't stand outside forever. As I walk through the door I'm met with brunette hostess. She is smiling at me like I am the best thing that just walked through that door and I can't help to smile back at her like an idiot.
"Good evening miss, do you have a reservation?" she asks.
I nod at her and turn about the lobby. Fancy vases and paintings decorate the interior and I can see dozens of couples and families dining out for the evening. All sitting at their fancy tables, drinking their fancy wine.
"Last name?" she asks.
"Smith," I comment, "Leah Smith."
She squints at the screen on her desk, searching, before her smile broadens again, "Nice to have you with us this evening miss Smith. If you will follow me," she says and saunters off. I oblige and follow her footsteps.
We pass several tables without stopping. It seems as if we are exiting the place before she turns a corner and comes to a stumbling halt.
A tall, dark figure, dressed in a well-tailored suit has his back turned to me and is staring out the large window our table is set at. The walnut dining table and chairs are hidden in the corner, away from prying eyes and ears. Very private.
The man has his chocolate hands behind his back and seems to be deep in thought until the hostess speaks, "Mr. Joyce. Your guest has arrived."
Mr. Joyce, managing director of HarperCollins in Los Angeles. Clearly not Justin, but surprisingly, I'm not disappointed.
He turns around in a stiff twist, with a smile already on his face. I see his eyes widen for a second before he recomposes himself back to the formalty.
Is he disappointed in what he sees?
His onyx hair is in a clean buzz cut and his eyes black as a raven. His broad shoulders and muscular built could pass for a young Idris Elba any day. A man any woman swoons over.
The corner of his mouth peaks up, "Miss. Leah Smith. At last, we meet." His voice echoes in my ears, it's like someone just played a low bass note and he hummed in tune with it.
Oh lord. I hope he didn't catch me staring at him.
I swallow hard and attempt the deepest, most seductive voice I have, "Mr. Joyce, I had no idea. I must say, I'm surprised."
He chuckles, "Please, call me Denzel. Or Mr. X if you prefer," he winks and waves his hand towards the chair, "Take a seat miss. Smith."
I can feel my cheeks fire up at his wink, but luckily I can divert my obvious stares by adjusting myself on the chair before I look up.
He clears his throat, "I thought I would give you a personal welcome to LA. It must be quite the adjustment for you. I was surprised to find out you are in close connection with the famous Frank Leigh. That says a lot about your character."
Just as I want to speak, the hostess asks if she can get us anything to drink.
"Miss Smith, if you don't mind, I would like to order for us tonight, I think you might like what I have to offer," he urges.
What he has to offer?
Yes please!
I realise I might have bitten my lower lip as I thought that, because he stares at me with brows furrowed. I clear my throat and try to hide my flustered cheeks, "That's perfectly fine."
Denzel Joyce is perfectly fine.
I shake my head and scold myself mentally to snap out of it. One more swoon and he might think I'm a crazy lovesick child, but I mean, it's not a crime to appreciate beauty when you see it...
Minutes later, the hostess returns with the fancy white wine Denzel ordered. She continues to pour me a glass as Denzel speaks.
His deep voice rumbles in my eardrums, "Miss Smith, may I be so bold to-"
I cut him off, "Please, call me Leah."
"Very well," he purses his lips, "As I was saying, or rather asking, would you allow me to give you a compliment?"
I nod and take a sip of the wine.
Did he just lowkey throw shade at my cutting him off?
"You surprised me just as much. I was not expecting such a breathtakingly beautiful lady to join me tonight. Your pictures do you no justice. You look extravagant tonight," he lifts his glass in a cheer and takes a sip.
My whole body fills with goosebumps at his compliment. I don't do well with taking them.
I clear my throat and try to sound, once again, seductive. "Do you compliment all your employees when you take them out like this?
He smirks and lifts his eyes to meet my gaze under his lashes, "I only take out special employees, like you."
Know how I said I don't do well with compliments? That also extends to flattery. I just gulp and smile at him like a dumbstruck teenager.
Thank the lord the food arrived minutes after the awkwardness, that I protruded out like a woman who has never been kissed before. The tension carried forth during our whole meal. What am I supposed to say to him?
"Miss Smith," he shuts his eyes and corrects himself, "I mean Leah."
He speaks. Thank the lord.
"Hmm?" I look at his tense gaze.
"I'm sure you're wondering why on earth would I ask for you to work for me if you haven't even settled in New York, let alone just because of some picture that gave the company a bit of exposure," he comments.
Finally! Someone that makes sense! I put down my fork and look at him, a bit relieved actually.
"You have no idea," I say, "I was starting to think this is some kind of joke or that I've just gone crazy."
"Truth is, when I saw the articles online, I knew I wanted you on my team."
"That still doesn't answer my confusion as to why," I say.
He laughs, "The chemistry between you and him on the captures are magnificent. You didn't do anything, it's just the way you look."
I frown.
"I know, I know, it sounds vain, but hey! We are in the entertainment business." He shrugs and then looks at me with those dark eyes again, "Just hear me out before you cast your judgement."
He continues when I stay silent.
"Our previous editor that handled the celebrity department was quite, how do I put this? Well, to be quite frank - he was old, bald and fat. He did nothing for the company's image, especially when working with the rich and famous." Denzel slurs his wine around in the glass and continues like an old master, "I struggled to find a solution for the vacancy. Your photo happened to make its rounds on the internet and in the company. Brand new employee impressed all the big heads they said. Your name was being thrown left and right; and I knew I just had to have you."
"But, why?" I still don't understand.
"You're a stunning woman Leah. The way the tabloids went on about who you could possibly be struck an idea inside me - we need someone that can give them a run for their money. If you can keep this mystery girl image up for a while longer, which might I add, you do very well, I couldn't find anything on you - you're HarperCollins ticket to landing a lot of clients."
I gulp at the thought of him doing a search on me.
"So my image is what you want?" I ask.
"Exactly! Celebs being seen with the same mystery girl over and over again is perfect! All they need to know is your name and that you are connected to HarperCollins in a way," Denzel sounds quite confident about this.
"And the apartment? What's up with that?" I ask.
He leans back in his chair and orders a nearby waitress to remove our plates.
"It's all part of the image, you need to look and live like one of them to fit the image," he explains.
"Sounds like you thought this through," I mumble. I don't know how comfortable I am with this. I mean, working with the famous is one thing, but acting like one of them for the publicity of it is another. Wouldn't I be perceived as a wannabe?
"You have nothing to lose and everything to gain," he adds to persuade me.
"Denzel, if I may be honest," he nods and I continue, "I started the job at HarperCollins because I have a passion for writing. This all sounds great and all, but what will happen to my chances at editing and writing? What would my job title be?"
It seems as if he contemplates something before speaking, "I'll make sure some of the editing and writing opportunities comes your way. You're still going to be an editor, but with a diverted job description."
"And what may that be?" I fold my arms.
"Here's the deal - I give you the odd job here and there that will open the door to writing for you, which is what you really want, am I right?" I nod and he smiles, "Good. All you need to do in return is be seen with every celeb that walks through our door. I want your pretty face plastered over every tabloid. Every meeting, every check-up, every follow-up, you make sure you represent the company to the best of your ability."
"This publicity that you want, will it stop when I'm done for the day?" I ask.
"Of course. Your personal life is yours to keep. I'm not unreasonable Leah, just eager to build on a reputation for the company. I want the other competitors to eat their hearts out every time we win a contract and important client."
I still wasn't sure how this could work.
"Most famous clients we have need media coverage to promote their work, especially when they want to publish and sell a book. I assure you most of them will sign a confidentiality clause to keep your person secret and play along to meeting you and being seen with you for the publicity it gives them in return," he explains.
"Okay," I say after a while, "but how do we get the ball rolling? It's not like I can walk the red carpet, announcing my own debut."
He leans in closer and places his arms on the table, "You already paved the way by being seen with him. We need to keep building on that. You've already been debuted, now you need to keep at it. Were it not for you talking to Mr. Bieber, the idea would never have come to me; you have yourself to thank for all of this."
I take a deep breath, finding it hard to wrap my mind around this.
"This is an opportunity of a lifetime, most employees would kill to be you right now," he adds.
Well, it's not like I can walk out of this. Mr. Leigh made it clear how eage he was that I start here in LA. How proud he was of me. How much he wanted me to succeed at this job.
I'll just have to suck it up and give it my best.
It's not like you're going to see Justin Bieber again.
After we finish our ports, Denzel stands and grabs his blazer.
He throws it on and nods for me to join his stance, "Come on, let's go."
"Where to?" I ask curiously.
"I'm taking you out. The night is young and you haven't been to the hottest jazz club in Beverly Hills yet. Your new position deserves a proper celebration and what better way than seeing a few of our famous clients while we are at it?"
He grabs my hand with a devious smirk and leads me out Spago.
Oh boy.
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-euodiadem