A/N: Well here's my first story on FictionPress. I would like to thank my brilliant beta learntosayhello for making this readable. This story is a SLASH - which means male x male. If anyone dislikes that then please leave now. For the rest of you, I hope you all enjoy my new story! I would also like to know if you think this story is worth continuing. Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. :)
Okay, try to relax.
Nice, deep breaths. That's what pregnant women do, right? If it can help them during child birth, then it should help me.
Even though I'm not pregnant. Or a woman. But that's beside the point.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. On those documentary programmes and soap operas, that's what they do. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
As I inhaled deeply, I caught a whiff of some of the potpourri on the glass table in front of me. I wrinkled my nose. Disgusting.
Still I chose to ignore it and continued on with my calming exercise. I could see the receptionist staring at me, one dark eyebrow slowly rising. Still I didn't care, her opinion wasn't important. She wasn't the one whose whole life could be changing in a couple of moments.
Closing my eyes so I didn't have to look at her, I tried to concentrate on my breathing instead. The room was nice and quiet, that helped my cause perfectly.
My shoulders dropped from their hunched position. My right leg ceased its nervous little jig. Everything was finally calm; a light blue, silent, still.
That was until I heard someone begin to use their keyboard. Not like a normal person would though you understand. No, this was someone who was deliberately trying to shatter the calm that I currently basked in. Each press of the keyboard was overly zealous, and sounded about a hundred times louder due to the quietness of the room.
I opened one eye and glowered at the receptionist. What the hell was her problem?
At the sour look on my face, she just smiled sweetly back, her red talons pushing into each key a little bit harder, with a little more force. I bet she was the type of person who thrived off other people's unease and misery. Stupid cow.
Snapping my eye back shut, I tried to ignore the constant tapping and tried once more to relax.
On my fourth attempt at a meditative breath, the polished, oaken door opposite me burst open. I jumped, my eyes flew open, and the air I was sucking in caught at the back of my throat, causing me to gasp and snort.
Oh god, kill me now.
A man in a dark suit strolled into the middle of the room and set his gaze on me. "Ah, Ethan Connors," he smiled, outstretching his hand.
Swallowing thickly, I stood up and made my way forwards. "Yeah, that's me." My nerves were suddenly hitting turbo, but I tried to keep my shaking hand under control. "Nice to meet you."
As if sensing my unease, he smiled. "I'm Taylor Richards, Mr Hart's agent. I'll be sitting in on the interview with you both."
His client was here? That wasn't normal at all. Agencies usually screened all applicants before they even had the chance to lay eyes upon their prospective new employer.
Though, now that I think about it, there was nothing normal about this client. "That's fine, no problem." I smiled calmly. Stay calm, Ethan. Stay Calm.
Taylor ran a hand through his slicked blonde hair and motioned for me to follow. "Mr Hart was insistent that he was here today," he said as I followed him through the door and into a maze of different corridors.
My curiosity got the best of me. "Why would he want to be here?"
Turning another corner, Taylor came to a stop in front of another polished door before answering, "Let's just say that… the last PA wasn't up to the job." I followed him in as he pushed open the door. What the hell did that mean?
Upon entering the room, my eyes landed on the figure sitting down at the head of a long conference table. There he sat: Dorian Hart, international pop star, notorious party-animal, very experienced womanizer. His head was bowed, a mop of dirty blonde hair obscuring his facial features from view. He was typing furiously on his phone, shoulders hunched like a teenager. He hadn't even acknowledged that we had entered the room. How charming.
I was brought out of my thoughts when the door closed behind me and Taylor gestured for me to take a seat. Unsure of exactly where to sit out of the ten spaces available, I stood awkwardly for a few moments before taking one, four spaces down from Dorian and directly opposite Taylor.
Taylor's focus turned to the papers in front of him. "Okay, Ethan," he said as he fingered through it, "I have your folder here. And I must say, it's… it's quite impressive."
I smiled and nodded politely. Of course it was impressive. I've worked with countless movie stars and television actors - all of them very much at the top of their game and very much in the public eye. But after chancing a look at Dorian, it was appallingly apparent that he was still busy playing with his phone. How rude.
Taylor abruptly stopped flicking through the file. "But what I want to know, Ethan," he said, "is how do you think you could help Dorian?"
At the mention of his name, Dorian stopped whatever he was doing and looked up. His blue eyes gave me a quick once over before he returned to his phone. At that quick glance, I was reminded of the face that I had seen numerous times on television and in the tabloids. Dorian Hart was good looking, he had a chiseled face with high cheek bones, his nose was slender, almost too slender for a man, but it suited him. He had two dimples on either side of his mouth that only showed themselves when he smiled; I had only seen them in pictorials the singer had done though. His lips were accentuated with an exaggerated cupids bow, making him look innocent, yet dashing at the same time. Of course he was handsome, you'd have to be in his line of work, but being someone who had dealt with celebrities for several years, I was quite accustomed to their unearthly good looks.
The only thing that did stand out to me about Dorian however was his rudeness. It was the first time a celebrity had ever been so flippant and rude to me, especially during the first meeting.
Choosing to ignore his ill-mannered behaviour, I focused my attention back on Taylor. "Well, of course, as his personal assistant, I would make sure his work and personal diaries were kept up to date." My voice was loud, clear, professional. "I'm capable of various administrative duties, such as planning events, meetings, organising travel, managing fan mail, screening calls, personal shopping and dealing with security. I also work very well under pressure and am always thinking one step ahead."
Taylor was now staring at me with a disconcerting intensity, his brain no doubt gearing up to decide whether or not I were up to the job. "I adapt very well when dealing with a celebrity's lifestyle," I continued, giving him a knowing smile. Being a personal assistant for the last five years, I have seen some things that would shock Ozzy Osborne into an early grave. "I know that Mr Hart has been in the public eye for at least the past six years, so I can imagine that he has a great team working around him already," I said smoothly. "I'd be a great asset to that team, I can assure you."
I was just about to list off some of the more interesting experiences I have had with my previous jobs when Taylor held up a hand, causing my words to die on my tongue. "Are you a trustworthy person, Ethan?" he asked, his tone serious.
I blinked and scratched at my hair. "Of course I am. All good personal assistants are trustworthy and reliable."
We sat in silence for a few seconds, as if Taylor was mentally checking the validity of my words. And then:
"Thanks for coming in today, Ethan."
What the hell?
"Is that it?" I couldn't help the surprise in my voice.
"We have several more applicants to see today," Taylor smiled. "But we shall contact you within the next couple of days to let you know of our decision."
So that was it. What a strange interview. No wonder other personal assistants stayed well clear of this job vacancy.
But I too had had my doubts. After all, a PA to a singer was always one of the most difficult. The countless groupies, the endless parties and the constant hangers on, a very small part of me was now wishing I wouldn't get the damn job.
I rose from my chair quickly. Taylor stood as well and waited to escort me out. Dorian wasn't even paying attention, instead he was smirking at something on his precious phone. "Thank you for coming, Ethan," his agent said graciously once we were back at the reception desk. "I will ring you as soon as any new information about the job is available."
I stood dumbly for a couple of seconds, my brain desperately trying to process what had just happened. A pop star who had wanted to attend the interview, yet took no part in it. Dorian was more interested in his phone than in hiring a new personal assistant. And why had the interview been stopped so abruptly by Taylor? The whole setup was awkward, and I didn't like it.
The extra loud-typing soon picked up again, and penetrated my train of thought. Glaring hard at the snotty receptionist, I made my way quickly out of the building and back into the safety of the real world.
I needed a coffee, and fast.
"He's a knob!"
"Ooh, I just love your British slang."
Glaring at my roommates cooing face, I slump back into the sofa. "You have known me for eight years, Scar. You should be used to them by now."
I couldn't help but wince at the shrieking laugh Scarlet sent my way. I would never get used to that laugh, never in a million years.
She downed the rest of her wine, her lips smacking together once she had finished.
"I still love it," She pouted, her body reaching towards the coffee table for another bottle of wine. "Stop calling me that name too! I sound like I'm out of The fucking Lion King."
Sighing heavily to hide an amused smile, I took a tentative sip of wine from my glass; the second in only fifteen minutes. Instead of going for coffee like I had planned, Scarlet had phoned me up as soon as I had exited the building. Don't ask me how she knew I had finished, she always had an uncanny knack for phoning at the right moment. She asked me how the interview had gone and what I thought my chances were of getting the job. I proceeded to tell her how it all went down and that I hoped I didn't get the stupid position, even though I needed it desperately. After I explained that, Scarlet demanded I come home at once, forget about the coffee and get shit-faced with her on the discount wine she had recently acquired.
So here I am, my stress and worries now comforted by the warm fuzzy feeling the alcohol had provided me.
"I know he's a knob, but is he as gorgeous in real life?"
My fuzzy feeling suddenly left me at that question. Scarlet looked at me expectantly, her eyes telling me she was eager to know the answer. Hell, I bet she'd been dying to ask that as soon as I had walked through the door. "He look's exactly the same, as he does in his videos." My answer was noncommittal, tell you the truth I couldn't give a toss about his looks at the moment.
Scarlet gave me a dreamy sigh, her eyes becoming distant. "I used to have posters of him all over my bedroom, when I was in high school."
Rolling my eyes at her behaviour, I just sipped some more of the bitter tasting alcohol in my glass. "You and the rest of the planet," I said grumpily. I was in no mood to talk anymore about Dorian Hart today.
Shaking her head at my darkening mood, Scarlet swiftly changed the subject. "Guess who phoned me today." Plopping her bum back on the sofa; her glass full once more, Scarlet smiled cheekily at me, her eye's widening in innocence.
With long, wavy dark chocolate coloured hair, sultry hazel eyes that were lidded with eyeliner and mascara, Scarlet did not pull the innocent look off very well.
"Oh...please tell me you didn't."
Her innocent smile turned into a full out grin. "What? I can't stop him phoning me!" She stated tartly, before she took another huge gulp of wine. Ever the lady.
"Scar, you do know that he's only after you for one thing right?"
Wagging a disapproving finger in my direction, Scarlet looked at me fondly.
"My precious, Ethan," she declared flamboyantly, some of the wine sloshed out of her glass and landed onto the wooden floor as she held it aloft, like a beacon. "You need to stop being such a romantic, there's nothing wrong with having a fuck-buddy."
I glowered at that. I mean I don't judge anybody who has a fuck-buddy, but it wasn't for me that's all. Maybe I'm being silly, but I wanted the whole romance and relationship aspect that came with sex too. I wanted a partner who loved me for me, who wanted to wake up by my side every morning and still loved me; I did look a terrible sight in the morning, trust me. As if reading my mind, Scarlet giggled.
"You're such a girl at times, I swear!"
"Shut up," I snapped.
Standing up, I downed the rest of my drink and made my way into the kitchen.
Our apartment was quite big; well, big by Upper East Side standards. There was a modest sized living room, which was overlooked by the kitchen and on the right, a corridor branched off which led to the two bedrooms and a bathroom. It was due to this apartment actually that I had attended the interview today.
"You know I was only joking, my lovely!" Scarlet howled loudly, her words slurring.
Getting a pack of cookies from the cupboard, I made my way back towards the sofa, a laugh escaping my lips as I watched Scarlet totter dangerously in her high heels. "How'd do I look?" Jutting out her hip, she fluttered her false eyelashes at me, her overly glossy lips turning into a puffed out pout. The tight red dress she wore looked like it had been shrink wrapped on to her curvy body, the skimpy material barely covering her ass.
"You look like a hooker," I responded flatly.
That shrill laugh reached my ears again, her hand flapping as if to accentuate her amusement. "Fabulous, just the look I was after."
At that, the buzzer to our apartment went off, causing Scarlet to squeal and shuffle towards the speakerphone. I'm surprised she could even do that given the tightness of her dress.
"Hello, c'mon up," she purred seductively, before pushing the button and placing the receiver back down.
Cramming a cookie into my mouth, I watched on as my best friend tossed her mane of hair over her right shoulder, puckered her lips, jutted out her hip and gave me a wink. There was soon a knock at the door and Scarlet wasted no time in wrenching it open, it was so fast in fact, it made me wonder if she had whiplash.
I watched as Brian kissed Scarlet sloppily on the cheek, his hands quickly roaming all over her body, causing Scarlet to giggle. He eventually pulled away and made his way into the living room. Brian was a thirty-five year old guy, who had a slight paunch, a receding hairline and a smarmy face. I don't know why on earth Scarlet liked him, the sleaziness just seemed to oozed off of him.
"Ethan, hey man!" He greeted me, as if we were best friends. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. I nodded my head stiffly, the look of distaste clearly evident on my face. Scarlet must of noticed it because she shot me a warning look. "Bri, let's go to my room, I've got some wine ready and waiting in the cooler." Taking his hand, Scarlet pulled him out of the room, her body swaying slightly. I wasn't sure if it was due to the drink, the heels, the dress, or if she was trying to be sexy that made her walk like a constipated penguin.
"Keep the noise down, you two gave me nightmares last time!" I called after them, my body flopping back onto the sofa. Switching on the television, my eyes widened, and a groan of pure annoyance escaped my lips. There, playing on the flatscreen was a Dorian Hart music video. His blue eyes were looking moodily into the camera, before he broke into a dance routine with a troop of his dancers. Quickly switching the damn thing off, I poured myself another drink and sighed. It looked like I was going to have to get shit-faced on my own.