The sky was a hazy soft blue, sunlight oozing golden through the smog. Carmen's driver had picked Vera up at the airport, and she had spent the drive trying not to goggle at everything like a useless tourist. Sure, this was Los Angeles, but it was just a city, ocean on one side and mountains on the other, not so different from home. There were a lot more palm trees, though. She let herself take a couple of photos. And a selfie. She would send them to Ivy when she finally told her what she was doing. Maximum impact.
The houses got bigger, the hedges higher, and the gates sturdier as they wound up the narrow streets. Tourists on an open-roofed bus peered down at the car as they passed, and Vera was glad for the darkly tinted windows. The tourists were probably imagining someone famous was inside the car, and it was kind of fun to be the source of that fantasy.
After buzzing through security at a black iron gate, the driver eased the car slowly up a curving drive. Vera peered out the window as a house appeared from behind the trees, wide windows and peach stucco and curved tiles on the roof. A sleek red sports car was parked at an angle by the door, and the driver pulled up beside it carefully.
He left the engine running while he hopped out to unload Vera's luggage. Unfolding herself from the roomy backseat, Vera straightened her shirt. Her outfit was carefully curated to look casual but professional, from the strappy black bra under the silky white shirt to the cherry-red heels. At home it was still cool, spring fighting for a foothold, but here the air was warm, and she was glad she hadn't worn a coat.
"Good luck," the driver told her, with a laugh that did nothing for her confidence.
He took the car away as Vera stepped up to the doorway, nerves in her throat.
It took a very long time for someone to come to the door, and when it was pulled open at last, the woman who stood there was not Carmen. She might have been a few years older than Vera. Diffuse sunlight gave her dark skin a cobalt undertone and flashed off the silver beads adorning her waist-length locs. She wore high-waisted jeans and a loose pink shirt. And she was curvy. Very curvy. In fact, Vera would have said fat if she didn't have recently traumatic memories of bridesmaids gasping in horror.
One hand still curled around the door, the woman looked a long way down at her, arching one perfect brow. "You're the influencer," she said. It wasn't a question.
"That's me," Vera said, smiling widely and straightening up to her full height, which made no difference at all. The woman still towered over her. "Vera Kwan." She stuck out her hand awkwardly, because that's what you were supposed to do when you met someone in a professional capacity, right?
The woman stared at Vera's floating hand for a moment, just long enough for Vera to feel like this handshake thing had been a terrible mistake.
Then she said, "Sharise Carter," and put her hand into Vera's. Her palm was very warm. "I'm Carmen's manager." Then, as they let go, and Vera's excitement was starting to bubble back up to overwhelm the nerves, Sharise added, "My assistant said you were arriving tomorrow."
"Oh. Uh. Nope, it's today," Vera said, laughing like the misunderstanding was funny instead of a little concerning.
Sharise didn't smile. "What's with the luggage?"
Vera glanced back at her two huge bulging suitcases where they huddled at the bottom of the step. Yes, she had probably overpacked, but she was trying to sell herself as someone who knew something about fashion. She couldn't look like a slob. And who knew what sort of events she might end up going to while she was here? She had to be prepared for anything. "Yeah, I know it's a lot, but I think--"
"No, I mean, why didn't you leave it at the hotel? Is that stuff for Carmen or something? You probably didn't need to do that."
"Hotel?" Vera repeated stupidly. She didn't like the way Sharise was looking at her like this whole thing was a huge waste of her time. "I, uh. No, it's mine. Your assistant said she'd have somewhere for me to stay, and the driver just brought me here, so..."
Sharise let out a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose between two perfectly-manicured fingers. "Jesus Christ. I need to fire that girl. Fine. Leave it there. It's not going anywhere. We'll figure out where you're staying later. What're you still standing there for? Come in."
Clutching her purse against her body, Vera glanced back at her luggage as she stepped inside. Sharise shut the door with a very final thunk.
"You can leave those on," Sharise said when Vera went to kick off her shoes.
"Oh. Right," Vera said, feeling stupider by the second. She shimmied her toes back into her shoe.
"I mean, I guess if you wanna take them off, you can. They do look a little uncomfortable." Sharise eyed her three-inch heels dubiously.
Waving her hand, Vera laughed airily. "No, it's fine. They're comfy." They weren't, and her toes were already pinching, but she wasn't about to admit that now. There was something about Sharise's dismissive attitude that irked her. She needed the extra height if she was going to have to go through this woman to get to Carmen.
"You'll need to fill out some paperwork," Sharise said ominously.
Vera followed her down the lofty hallway lined with huge, tasteful nude paintings done in bright primary colours. In the ultra-modern kitchen, Sharise slapped a hefty stack of paper onto the cement countertop. The first page read Non-Disclosure Agreement.
"Uh."
"It's just standard stuff." Sharise tapped the intimidating stack of legal documents with the tips of her perfect nails. "No selling anything to the tabloids, no tips to the paps, no unauthorized social posts."
"Unauthorized social posts?" Vera repeated, clutching her purse strap.
Sharise finally smiled, baring just the tips of her blindingly white teeth. "Did Carmen ask you what's in this arrangement for you?"
Vera shifted on her heels, pinned beneath that bright gaze. "No."
Unsurprised, Sharise nodded. "Carmen's your boss, not me, but it's my job to make sure no one's taking advantage of her. You sign this or you don't work for her. Got it?"
"I'm not here to take advantage of her," Vera said, widening her eyes innocently.
Planting her hand on her curvy hip, Sharise looked down her nose. A very long way down. "Right. Of course not. You're a nobody trying to be an influencer--"
Vera winced.
"--who happened to catch Carmen's attention. You're here at her whim and expense. You expect me to believe you weren't already planning how you're gonna use Carmen's fame to boost your own?"
Straightening her shoulders, Vera glared right back at Sharise. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and she hated the way this woman kept talking down to her like she was trash. "Carmen and I agreed to a month-long trial period. If she likes my work I expect to be able to take credit for that, yeah. What's wrong with that? I mean, I'm thrilled to be here, but I'm not here to give away my work for free. This should be a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Hand still on her hip, Sharise stared at her, full lips pursed. Finally, she said, "Of course. No one's saying you can't take credit for your work. Within reason. Anything you post about Carmen goes through her or me."
Vera nodded. "That's fair."
"Good." Sharise pointed at the forbidding pile of paper. "Sign the NDA to say you agree. You probably wanna read it first. I'll find the girl."
It was suddenly very clear why Carmen hated being called girl.
Her flats tapping quietly on the floor, Sharise slipped away down a different hallway.
Letting out a sharp breath, Vera shook the tension out of her shoulders before she flipped over the first page of the NDA. The paper was dense with nearly unreadable legal language. She tried, she really did. Unbearably slowly, she slogged through three pages, the words sliding through her gaze incomprehensibly. The silence clung heavy around her.
A glint of gold flashed in the corner of her eye. Vera looked up. Something was shimmering outside, throwing dancing patterns of liquid sunlight across the ceiling. Setting down the impossible page, she tapped over to the huge window above the sink.
Outside, a sinuous pool shone cerulean in the afternoon light. Half a dozen lounge chairs were laid out along the pool deck, and beyond, lush greenery hedged close, turning the whole scene into a small private oasis. Vera could imagine a bevy of beautiful celebrities lounging around the pool in bathing suits and flowing caftans. Somehow the whole scene said Hollywood to her, more than the sprawling city or condescending Sharise with her glares and paperwork.
Quick, quiet footsteps sounded behind her, and Vera whipped around, drawing herself up to face Sharise again. Anyone would have needed more time than that to read that absurd NDA. She didn't have to admit to getting distracted.
But it wasn't Sharise who appeared in the doorway. Vera didn't need to be introduced to this woman. She recognized her instantly.
It was mid-afternoon, but Carmen Juarez looked like she had just woken up. She was wearing leggings that made her impossibly long legs look somehow even longer and a white men's t-shirt, her hair thrown up in a messy bun. She wasn't wearing any makeup. Her wide forehead was a little shiny.
She still looked like an ethereal being that had descended from heaven: bone structure a model would kill for; a wide mouth and full, sensual lips; huge brown eyes and sculpted brows. Even with zero effort, the most beautiful human Vera had ever seen; maybe even more beautiful in person than on screen.
Vera really hadn't expected her heart to start beating so quickly when those big, warm eyes fixed on her.
And she certainly hadn't expected it to then lurch to a stop when Carmen said blankly, "Who the fuck are you?"