by Tara Lain
Red looked around. An older man with tightly curled gray hair, wearing a black uniform with a cap, stood smiling at him, holding a carefully lettered sign saying Ridley.
Red cocked his head. “Are you looking for me?”
“Well yes, I’m quite sure I am.” The man grinned, spreading a web of laugh lines around his eyes like a map of Neverland.
Red had to smile back. He spread his arms. “I’m here, I guess.”
The small man reached down and grabbed Red’s bag.
“Oh no, you don’t have to do that. I can carry it.”
The man smiled but didn’t surrender his hold. “It’s both my pleasure and my job, Mr. Ridley.” He started walking briskly toward the great rotunda. “This way, sir.”
Red did a hop and skip to keep up. “Uh, what’s your name?”
“Oh, sorry, sir.” He pointed to a name badge on his chest. “I’m called Merlinson.”
“Well, Mr. Merlinson, you don’t have to call me Mr. Ridley.” Red ran a few steps ahead to hold the door to the outside so Merlinson could walk through. “Or sir. That’s pretty funny. I’m only eighteen.”
“Ah. Respect is never a question of age, is it?” He grinned even bigger and waved a hand at a huge black town car parked at the curb.
“Wow.” Red stared at the car and his eyes got even wider when Merlinson held the back door open for him and gave a little bow, indicating Red should get in. A glance around showed a couple people staring at the kid being ushered into a fancy car by a man who could only be described as a chauffeur. Red’s face heated and he ducked inside to reduce the spectacle.
Mr. Merlinson rounded the car quickly and slid into the driver’s seat. With a few efficient motions, he was gliding them into the flow of traffic exiting the station area and—bam!—just like that, Red was in the middle of New York City.
Holy crap, his stomach bunched into a tight, painful ball of stress. “Uh, Mr. Merlinson, where are we going?”
“Well, sir, I was told to bring you to BrandFace straight away, but we could make a stop at the apartment where you’ll be staying if you’d like to freshen up.”
Apartment? “Uh, what apartment?”
“BrandFace keeps a series of places that are shared by their brand faces when they’re in town. They have a place for you in one of them.”
Shared? Oh God, at least at BrandFace there was a chance he’d know someone. In this apartment, he’d be thrown in with a bunch of strangers who knew what they were doing—unlike him. “Uh, no, I’ll go to BrandFace, if that’s okay?”
“Wise choice.”
Red kept staring out the window as the big car maneuvered like some kind of eel through the seemingly impenetrable snarl of traffic. Horns blared and fists shook, but Mr. Merlinson kept moving forward through openings in the traffic only he seemed to see.
When he pulled up in front of a huge high-rise tower, Red wanted to tell him to keep going.
Merlinson stopped at the curb and a guy in a uniform came forward, but Merlinson held up a hand and the man stopped. Merlinson turned around and smiled at Red. “Here’s what you should do. Go inside the lobby of this building. Straight ahead, you’ll see a desk. Tell the man behind the desk, his name is Bernie, that you’re Redmond Ridley and that you’re expected at BrandFace. He’ll give you a badge to pin on your shirt pocket. To the right, you’ll see a bank of elevators. Go only to the ones on the right. They go to the higher floors. Hit 44. When you get to your floor, turn right and approach the charming lady at the front desk. Tell her who you are. That should be enough to get wheels turning. Don’t worry about your bag. I’ll have it for you at the end of the day and see that it gets to your apartment.”
Red was having trouble breathing, but he managed to shrug. “You’ve gotta know that I’ll probably be on a train home before dinner.”
“Unlikely, young sir. But if you are, I assure you, your bag will be in your hand.”
Red had to laugh. “Deal.”
“Remember the floor?”
“Forty-four.”
“Excellent.” He opened his door and was out holding the back door wide before Red could even move.
Merlinson might look like an oldish man, but he was way ahead of most guys. Hell, he reminded Red of Gran.
Red’s feet and stomach hit the pavement at the same time. The high-rise could have been the Death Star for all the appeal it held for him.
Mr. Merlinson tipped his cap. “You’ve got this. Trust me. I’ve seen them all come and go, and you’ve got a million-dollar look, young sir.” He reached up and adjusted Red’s collar on his best shirt that he wore with well-pressed jeans. “I suggest you remember that fact and don’t let anyone try to sell you short. Be nice but be assured, you’re unique and they’ll be lucky to get you. Understand?” He grinned, adding new wrinkles to the ones beside his eyes and on his cheeks.
“Oh gosh, sir, I’m nothing special.”
Merlinson frowned just a little. “Never say that. Each of us is special. But you, you’re the kind of unusual people will pay for. When you walk through those doors, please remember that. Money has no value as a measure of worth, Mr. Ridley. It’s only a construct delineating supply and demand. I submit that there’s great demand for what you supply. It would be an insult to capitalism to let them forget that.” He winked. “I’ll see you later.”
Well, son of a bitch. He’d just encountered Socrates in a chauffeur’s cap. “Thank you, sir. I’ll try to make you proud.” He grinned back.
“Excellent.” He waved a hand toward the entrance. Red straightened his spine and marched right into the biggest building he’d ever been in if you didn’t count a tour of the Empire State.
At that desk Mr. Merlinson had told him about, Red stopped and smiled at the stony-faced man in the dark suit who was staring at a computer screen with no apparent interest in looking up.
Red channeled Mr. Merlinson and cleared his throat. “Can you help me, please?” He tried to sound pleasant but not at all deferential.
The man looked up with a crease between his brows like Red had just interrupted a treatise on the nature of reality instead of playing tic-tac-toe, which Red spied from the side of the screen. When his icy gaze met Red’s, his eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “May I be of assistance?”
He sounded halfway helpful, so Red smiled. “Yes, I have an appointment at BrandFace. With Mr. Wolfe.” That last part wasn’t strictly true since he had no idea who he’d be meeting, but it couldn’t hurt to drop a big name.
The man’s voice came out on a breathy rush. “I’ll bet you do.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, it makes sense that you would be going to BrandFace.” He pushed a keypad toward Red. “Input your name, please, and then look at the terminal for a photo.”
“Seriously?”
“For sure.” The guy finally smiled. “We have a lot of security, especially for the 44th floor, if you understand my meaning.”
“No, not exactly.”
The guy looked amazed. “Many of the BrandFace models are major celebrities in their own rights. We can’t have rabid fans attacking them in this building.”
“Oh.” He wanted to say wow but suppressed it. “Of course, I understand.”
The reception dude nodded as if they were in on the secret together. Weird.
Red collected his hard-won name badge complete with photo, and followed the guy’s directions to the elevator. He had to press his badge against the elevator call-pad and then input 44.
Finally, the elevator opened, and a couple people got on before Red. He stepped in and turned toward the doors just as a high voice yelled, “Wait for meeeee.”
Red thrashed around trying to figure out how to hold the door open without severing his arm at the shoulder in the high-speed elevator. Just as the doors started to close, a slender body leaped into the car, slamming into Red.
“Whoa.” Red fell back against the woman behind him and looked over his shoulder in a
pology.
She grinned. “Any time.”
His cheeks heated, but he smiled, then looked at the person who’d plowed into him. It was a guy. Well, maybe a guy. The person was blond, willowy, and just a bit shorter than Red A very flat chest revealed in a slim-fitting pink sweater suggested a Y chromosome.
The person looked up in to Red’s face. “So sorry.” His lips parted. “Holy crap, look at that face!” He—she?—straightened up and stepped back. “You’re just beautiful. Tell me you’re going to BrandFace.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Oh dear, I guess I shouldn’t be happy about the competition, but nobody could be sad looking at this adorable puss.” The person grabbed Red’s chin and squeezed.
“Hey.” Red turned so his face was freed from the grasp. “Excuse me.”
“Oh sorry. I’m such a dork.” The person stuck out a manicured hand. The fingernails contributed to confusion since they had a perfect French manicure. “I’m Elbey Anastasia.”
“Uh, Elbey?”
“Yes.” Elbey shook Red’s hand delicately.
Red said, “I’m Red Ridley.”
“How adorable.” The elevator dinged, and Elbey said, “This is us.”
When the doors parted, Elbey grabbed Red’s arm and escorted him into a floor lobby that was all marble and polished wood. A real classy sign in brushed nickel said BrandFace.
Elbey squeezed Red’s arm. “So, who are you here to see, dear?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. It was, uh, Brock Wolfe who invited me to come.”
“Oh my, oh my. I’m not surprised. The Wolfeman does have the best eye to this day.” He pulled on Red’s arm. “Let’s get you up there.”
They arrived at a reception desk and the pretty women sitting there looked up and smiled. “Hi, Elbey. Who have you brought with you?”
Elbey sort of draped on the desk and said, “This darling appears to be Brock’s newest discovery, Red Ridley. You’d better be quick like a bunny and let all the important people know that he’s here.” As the girl picked up her phone, Elbey turned to Red. “Did I choose the right pronouns, dear. Are you he and his?”
“Uh, yes.” He had the opening. “What about you?”
“They, darling. Always they.” Elbey turned back to the receptionist. “Did you find out who gets to see our prize first?”
She smiled. “Yes, Mr. Ridley, you’ll be seeing Mr. Coyoten first. He’s our VP of talent acquisition.”
Elbey leaned in to Red. “Ooooh. Big brass. You’ll hate him, but don’t let him get you down. Trust me, you’ve got this.”
Red inhaled through his nose. That was two people who said he had this. Whatever the hell that means.
The receptionist seemed to bite her lip to keep from grinning. “Please take a seat. Mr. Coyoten’s admin will be out shortly.”
Red walked to one of the modern and uncomfortable-looking couches in the waiting room and sat. Elbey plopped down next to him.
Elbey fluttered their lashes. “Where did our Wolfeman ever find you?”
“Uh, I’m from Ever After, New York.”
Elbey barked a laugh, then narrowed their eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even.”
“There’s such a place?”
“Yep.”
They rocked back laughing, then said, “If there’s such a place, anyone would know you’d come from there.”
“Uh, why?”
Elbey grabbed Red’s chin again. “Look at you.” They puckered their lips and made a kissing sound. “You can be my Prince Charming any day.” Elbey leaned in closer, glanced toward the desk, then said softly and seriously. “Know your worth and hold out for it.”
Red crinkled his nose. “I have no idea what I’m worth.”
Elbey whispered, “Most agencies charge 20 percent of what you earn and charge the client the same thing. You can end up being famous and making nothing. Plus, the agency sets your hourly rates. Of course, they’re incentivized to charge as much as they can get, but if you’re popular, they can get greedy and cut deals to keep you working all the time.”
Red frowned. “I don’t know if I want to work at all.” That came out a little louder than expected and he took a deep breath.
“Seriously? Whoa, keep that attitude, cutie. It’ll take you a long way.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Uh, Mr. Ridley?”
At the sound of the voice, Elbey got a “caught in the act” look on their face and sat back on the couch as Red looked up at a young guy, tall, thin, with a face like a cross between two Adams—Driver and Sandler. He was wearing a slim-cut suit and no tie and was staring daggers at Elbey, even though he had a sweet smile on his face.
The guy held out his hand. Actually, his fingertips. “I’m Iggy. Assistant to Mr. Coyoten. I’ll be taking you to see him.” He arched his dark brows. “If you’re finished indoctrinating him, Elbey dear.”
Elbey waved a graceful hand. “Just making the new boy feel comfortable, Iggs.”
“I’m sure.” He turned with a flip of his imaginary tail and said, “Come with me.” Grudgingly, he added, “Please.”
Red made a face at Elbey that got a laugh, rose, and followed after the pretentious guy. Even though Red’s heart thumped like a drum, something about Elbey’s advice gave him a dash of courage. You got this, you got this, throbbed along with his pulse. If I don’t like it, all I have to do is walk away.
The shiver that ran up his spine barely scared him.
Iggy led Red past the receptionist who gave Red a smile, through some grand nickel double-doors that he accessed with an electronic keycard, then proceeded down a hall lined with glass-walled offices to a big door at the end. Iggy rapped, pushed it open, and said, “I’ve got him for you, Mr. Coyoten.”
Red tried not to frown at the implication that Iggy had somehow plunged into the wild and caught Red in a net, but he crossed in front of Iggy into the office and heard the door close behind him. Truthfully, he barely heard it, because the scene in front of him was like something out of a movie. At a glass desk in front of a wall of windows showing off the towers of the New York skyscrapers sat a platinum-blond man with a lean to the point of skeletal but somehow weirdly beautiful face. His hair was shaved on the sides and stood up on his head like a huge cockscomb.
As Red walked across what seemed like a vast space to the desk, the man just stared at him without the hint of a smile. Red’s whole nature rebelled at the idea of greeting someone without a touch of friendly, but he kept his face just as somber as the man he assumed was Coyoten. And he pressed his lips together because he had this odd feeling that he who spoke first, lost.
No way Red could meet this guy’s glacial eyes, so he gazed out the window and enjoyed the scenery. The tower across from them had a beautiful roof garden. I wonder what it would be like to live amidst trees that high in the sky and…
“So, you’re the one?” The man’s voice was high and whispery.
“Excuse me, sir?” Red cocked his head.
“You’re the one that Brock’s been talking about. The small-town kid.”
“I’m from a small town, yes, sir.” He met the man’s eyes finally. “My name’s Redmond Ridley. People call me Red. It was kind of Mr. Wolfe to make arrangements for me to come and—” Red almost stumbled over the words but managed to stay cool. “—check out BrandFace.”
“Check out?” Ooh, when that thin face frowned, it was scary.
“Yes. Mr. Wolfe has this flattering idea that I might become a model or something. Of course, I’m skeptical about that, and even if I could, I’m not sure it’s for me. So, it was kind to give me this chance to come and meet you and see what BrandFace has to offer.”
Coyoten’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Suddenly, the door to the office burst open and in strode Brock Wolfe. “Red, welcome. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. A meeting with Vogue. We just don’t turn those down.” He laughed as if Red knew what he was talking ab
out. “I see you’ve met Antonio. Good, good.” Brock looked around. “Hell, why aren’t you sitting? Sit, sit.” He bustled across the room to a conference table, grabbed a chair, and pulled it over while he waved Red into the one guest chair. That would be the chair Coyoten had never invited him to sit in.
Red perched as Brock settled on the conference chair beside him. Brock looked at Coyoten. “Okay, so how far have you gotten?”
Coyoten cleared his throat. “We just started.”
Red smiled. “Yes, I actually never really met Mr. Coyoten.” He stood and extended his hand across the pristine desk. Coyoten looked at it as if the hand had been laced with Ebola, but still gave Red a limp-wristed shake. As he sat again, Red just might have seen a hint of a grin on Brock’s lips.
Brock leaned forward and gazed at Coyoten. “So, here’s my thinking. While we’ve got him, I’d like to take a bunch of shots of Red. I had Mimi line up Strausberg for this afternoon. Then, after we all go to dinner tonight and he gets some rest at the apartment, tomorrow, I’d like to put him through a quick tutorial on walking and send him out on a couple go-sees.” He grinned. “Then back on the train and home in time for work at Mom and Pop’s on Wednesday.” He leaned back and finally looked at Red. “How’s that sound?”
Red forced a smile. “Scary.”
Brock laughed, and Red managed a real smile. That wasn’t even a tiny bit of a lie. At least if this modeling gig was as awful as it sounded, he could go home and forget the whole thing. Of course, he hated quitting after he failed, but hell, he had to make an agreement with himself that it was okay to not do this. How easy would it be to get caught up in everyone else’s idea of success and wreck his life?