by Emma Quinn
Copyright 2020 by Emma Quinn
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
WARNING: This eBook contains mature themes and language intended for 18+ readers only.
Wrong Number (or not)
Emma Quinn
Content
Wrong Number (or not)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Extract from the book: I had to let you go
Wrong Number (or not)
Emma Quinn
1
Dianna
I
love my job, I love my job, I love my job.
I repeated the words over and over again in my head until they officially lost all meaning.
Bridezillas and air-headed models were the two types of people I hated working with the most. This was especially the case when I had to work with a combination of the two –bridezilla air-head models– like Billie Whaleson.
She was drop dead gorgeous. Legs for days, beautiful locks of gold pooling over her shoulders, flawless skin like porcelain. Billie was the biggest thing in fashion, movies, television, and music videos at the moment. Everybody seemed to want a piece of her good looks and charming smile. I couldn’t count the number of YouTube cameos she’d been in this past week alone working with self-proclaimed beauty gurus and lifestyle bloggers. Practically overnight, she’d gone from some D-list star to the highest echelons of Hollywood.
I see Billie, the online comments would all say, and I click!
It was just a shame people didn’t realize she had such a bitchy personality.
Billie snapped her finger at me like I hadn’t been paying attention. “I want more downward angle shots,” she said, directing me even though I was the one in charge of the camera. “Make sure to get my good side. And why isn’t that fan working? I want it to look like a natural breeze is making my dress flow, not some hurricane. You–” Billie pointed a perfectly manicured finger at a passing personal assistant –one of the light technicians that had just been hired by Pelican Media– and hissed, “Turn the fan the fuck down. I swear to God, if these pictures don’t turn out I’ll scream.”
The light technician –Stephen, I think his name was– looked to me like a lost puppy.
A greasy lost puppy.
The guy had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, but the roots were all oily and covered in obvious signs of dandruff. His face was on the chubbier side, sporting a patchy beard and a wiry soul patch. He had on a dark Star Wars graphic t-shirt that seemed a size too small, the fabric hugging his round stomach and chubby upper arms. His whole look practically screamed I still live in my mother’s basement, but I did my best not to judge.
I kind of pitied the poor guy. He’d been working on my team for a little under a week, but he already looked like he’d been to Hell and back. There were heavy circles beneath his eyes, and his forehead was breaking out into stress pimples. After this experience trying to appease every single one of Billie’s demands, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised to see his resignation letter on Rachel’s desk tomorrow morning.
“You look very beautiful,” I said as chipperly as possible. “We need the fans on at this level or else there won’t be much of a result. You just got to trust me on it, okay?”
Billie glared at me like I just threw mud on her pretty lace wedding gown. “Excuse me?”
I set my jaw and forced a polite smile. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t be stuck shooting these dumb celebrity wedding spreads. I’d been telling Rachel that I wanted more interesting topics. I didn’t spend four years in college earning a degree in photographic journalism just to attend to self-important ‘stars’ like Billie.
To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think this wedding’s legitimate. Billie met her future husband through a friend of a friend–or so the rumors go. She was never actually been public about how they met, which led me to believe their meeting was all convoluted and designed to bring in more clicks and views. He was some sort of football player or something, supposedly impressive with a huge following. Their whirlwind romance took the internet by storm, and the whole world’s hoping to capitalize on the wedding –hence the reason why I thought this was all fake.
But I was just the photographer, hired by Pelican Media Group for this so-called ‘exclusive.’
I raised my camera up to look through the viewfinder, ignoring Billie’s look of indignation. Her expression automatically softened once the lens was on her, her natural instinct to always look good in front of a camera kicking in and luckily shutting her up.
For what it was worth, she really was gorgeous. The angles of her face were as sharp as her personality, her lips were as full as she was of herself, and she looked like she was floating down to kill you with her bare hands in that dress of hers. The whole studio was set up to make it look like she’s quite literally appearing out of the clouds, soft golden lighting to wonders for her complexion.
I snapped several shots in quick succession, eager to get this over and done with. I wanted nothing more than to go back to the office, upload the photographs, and then let the editing team deal with Billie’s incessant micromanaging.
“The lights are too hot,” she complained, squinting in disapproval. “Turn them down.”
Stephen stuttered through his reply. “T-there’s n-no setting to a-adjust them f-for–”
“Are you kidding me? Just turn a section off or something.”
“T-then the light will be u-unbalanced. I could open a w-window for you if–”
“Do that,” she cut him off. “Make it snappy. And maybe stay by the window. You smell awful. Ever heard of a little thing called deodorant?”
I lowered my camera and pressed my lips together. “There’s no need for that,” I grumbled.
“The fuck did you just say to me?”
“You’re being rude.”
The whole room fell quiet.
Billie’s mouth literally dropped open, her cheeks immediately turning bright red. “I’m being rude?”
“Stephen’s just trying to be considerate. There’s no need to attack him.”
With an overdramatic flair, she scoffed loudly and placed her hands on her hips. “Who do you think you are? What’s your name? I’m going to report you.”
“Report me?” I almost rolled my eyes. “For what? Telling you to treat another human being with a little respect?”
Billie’s mouth fell open and then closed, likely at a loss for words. Although, given her general maturity level, I didn’t think she knew too many words to start out with because she was a figurative thirteen-year-old.
In a huff, she bunched up the fabric of her long dress and hiked it up to her thighs
so she wouldn’t trip as she trudged off. She screamed in frustration, a string of profanities that I could barely hear and comprehend because she left in such a hurry. Her three separate personal assistants and her seven different girlfriends who’d all been taking up space and making an absolute mess of the studio raced after her.
“She’s so fucking fired! I’m never working with this agency ever again. Unbelievable!” Billie shrieked from down the hall, followed by the harsh echo of the metal doors slamming shut.
The rest of my team exchanged awkward glances with one another, but nobody could find the courage to pipe up. I was personally too stunned to say anything. There was a tightness in my throat, a sinking feeling in my gut. The woman had no manners, accustomed to walking all over people to get her way. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch her talk down to Stephen.
Billie’s threat echoed in my ear. Was she really going to get me fired? Surely that wasn’t going to be possible. I needed this job. I couldn’t afford to go looking for a new one, especially not in this economy. Push come to shove, I could always try and go freelance again, but working for Pelican Media ensured a steady paycheck.
“Th-thank you,” Stephen said to me. “You really didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did.”
I gave him a small smile. “I was glad to do it. The look on her face was priceless.”
“You should have taken a picture.”
A light laugh escaped me. “Yeah, maybe I should have.”
“I-I’ll vouch for you. If she does try to get you fired, I mean.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Stephen. I appreciate that.”
“Did you at least get enough photos for the spread? I really don’t like the idea of a reshoot with her.”
With the press of a few buttons on the camera’s digital touchscreen, I clicked through the pictures I managed to snag of Billie before she stormed off. They weren’t the best photos I’d ever taken. I personally would have used a different lens and a different lighting arrangement, preferably nature light. There also wasn’t a lot in terms of range and composition differences, but they also weren’t too bad. If I submitted these to Rachel, I’d likely get her approval.
“These should do,” I said. “Let’s, uh… Let’s wrap it up for the day.”
Since the studio we were in was owned by Pelican Media, cleanup was easy. There wasn’t any need to tear down lighting equipment and load it up in trucks. We just had to spend the next twenty minutes or so wrapping up cables, storing props in their proper labelled bins, and sweep up the mess Billie’s entourage left behind. We were done in a flash, and I was grateful.
I didn’t have an office. Rather, I had a desk in the open office space just down the hall to the photography studio where I worked along company copywriters and low-level marketers. Pelican Media Agency was the overarching company, the proud owner of several celebrity gossip magazines like Beverly Hills Gossip Hotline, Star Walk Today, and Hollywood In Focus.
We were actually based out of a renovated plane hangar, the different magazine teams working in different corners of the refurbished space. It was actually a pretty cool place to work, what with all the modern décor, expensive office furniture, and tall ceilings. I was located at the furthest end next to the only window facing the Hollywood sign –a spot I fought tooth and nail to get.
And it also helped that I was friends with the boss.
A boss who appeared like a rabbit out of a hat the second I plopped down in my chair to upload the photos.
Rachel cleared her throat and leaned against my work desk, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised at me. Sometimes it was hard to tell what she was thinking. I couldn’t tell if she looked amused or annoyed. One would think I’d know by now considering how long we’d known each other.
“I heard you had a little confrontation with our guest of honor,” she chuckled.
Okay. Amused, then.
I finally allowed myself to let out a heavy sigh of relief. “It’s not what you think.”
“Did you at least get the spread done before you pissed Billie off?”
“Of course, I did. Do you think she’ll still want to give us the deal, though?”
Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “Let me handle the negotiations. I can be pretty persuasive. I’ll just say I fired you. Should be enough to appease her, that snobby little shit.”
I smirked. I’d known Rachel since college and I’d only heard her swear a handful of times. She was a professional, after all. The best in the business. Her reputation as the CEO of the Pelican Media Agency was always on the forefront of her mind.
“Just try to grin and bear it next time,” Rachel continued. “People like her could still slander the company’s name and image. I hate this whole ‘cancel culture’ stupidity. It’s a real headache to deal with.”
I nodded. “Mob mentality in the age of social media. This is why I keep telling you to expand the PR department.”
Rachel snorted. “Why hire more people when I’m just as effective?”
“It’d take a load off your plate.”
“Touché.”
“And for what it’s worth, Billie was being a bitch to the new guy.”
Rachel grinned at me fondly. “That’s my Anna. Always fighting the good fight.”
“Speaking of a good fight, there are rumors of an underground fight club downtown bringing in major celebs. If you gave me permission, I could dig deeper into the story and–”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, cutting me off. “It’s a really interesting story, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t waste my best photographer on a rumor.”
“When are you going to give me an assignment that’s meaningful?”
“You mean taking glorifying pictures of Billie Whales in a half-a-million-dollar wedding dress isn’t meaningful?” she asked dryly.
“You know what I mean.”
Rachel stood up straight and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Anna. I run a gossip magazine company, not a newspaper. We regurgitate information. We imply that affairs are happening. We judge strangers on their fashion sense or lack thereof. My people don’t chase after stories, we let the stories come to us.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek and sank into my chair. “I know, I know.”
“Hang in there. I promise a scandal will break out soon enough. Then you can deep dive as much as you want, okay?”
I nodded slowly. “Okay,” I said quietly, though I didn’t quite believe my own words.
“Don’t be so down, hm? Why not come out with me to grab some drinks tonight?”
“I appreciate the invite, but I’m really not feeling it.”
“Come on. You’ve been like this ever since you and Tommy broke up. What’s it been? A month? Time to get back out there. Besides, we can bitch about work when I’m off the clock. It’ll be therapeutic.”
I swallowed at the sticky lump that was lodged in the back of my throat.
I hadn’t thought about Tommy in a while. Or at least, I tried not to think about Tommy. His absence was a constant reminder of what he did to me. Our breakup still had me reeling. We’d been together five years. I thought we were in a good place. And then he went and cheated on me with some random he met at a bar. It hurt to know that I wasn’t good enough, that it was easy for him to just toss everything we had in the gutter.
“Maybe next week,” I said slowly. “It’s been a long day. I just want to go home and take a bath.”
Rachel shrugged her shoulders, though she looked quite understanding. “Alright, alright. Send those pictures over and call it a day. I don’t need my best photographer burning out. I’ll have a new assignment for you tomorrow.”
I gave her a mock salute, though I was genuinely thankful to be able to go home. “As you wish, boss.”
2
Nathan
P
arties weren’t my thing. I didn’t know how or why I kept getting dragged to st
uffy events like this one. I would much rather be back at the office putting in a couple more hours of work than rubbing elbows with Malibu’s so-called elites. I normally blamed Matty for these horrid affairs since he was the one constantly blowing up my phone with reminder texts begging me to come with.
“I can’t go without my wingman,” he said as we both stepped out of the town car together.
This particular event was a charity dinner for kid’s literacy programs in the state. By the looks of it, it was a pretty big deal. The who’s who of Hollywood was apparently supposed to be in attendance. A red carpet had been laid out for VIP guests, velvet ropes on either side to keep paparazzi from storming partygoers while demanding smiles for their pictures. The flash of camera lights was blinding, a screen of white that left me simultaneously disoriented and exhilarated.
As the son of a famous Hollywood movie producer, Matty was at the top of most guests lists. And he somehow always managed to drag me along. He just had one of those faces you couldn’t say no to.
Matty patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t be shy.”
“I’m not shy,” I replied gruffly, stepping forward. “I just don’t like my picture being taken.”
“You just have to stand here for a couple of them and then we can be on our way.” Matty chuckled. “Besides, it’s good for the public to see you out and about. The rumor around the watercooler is that you’re starting to become a bit of a recluse.”
I frowned at him. “What watercooler?”
Matty rolled his eyes at me. “It’s an expression. Seriously. People are going to start thinking you’re Bruce Wayne or something, working in your Batcave on another invention.”
“You’re a nerd and this is why you’re single,” I said flatly, though there wasn’t any heat behind my words.
I ignored the paparazzi who were shouting my name to get my attention. I wasn’t some dog they could call and expect to come running. As the head of Monteverde, the second largest international shipping company rivalling only that of Amazon, I needed to carry myself with more respect than that. Old Jeff didn’t bow down to media pressure, and neither would I. I did my best to stay out of the public eye as much as I could, much too focused with my work than attending events.