Personal Assistant

by Cara North

  Personal Assistant

  Hollywood Nights

  Book I

  By

  Cara North

  Dedication

  For my readers, you are the best and I am grateful for each one of you!

  A special thank you to my Muse #JG for inspiring my stories, to author Tilly Green for encouraging me to pursue this idea, and to Gail, Sara, and Brandi for your support.

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright© 2013 Cara North

  Cover Artist: Stella Price

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Contact: carolinanorth3@yahoo.com

  Prologue

  “I just don’t know.” Frankie leaned back in the chair she was sitting in and let her back rest against the warm metal. They often met at this little café because of the cannoli and the rare, but occasional, celebrity sighting. “I need to do something. I can’t explain it, but I need a change of scenery.”

  “I hear you, Frankie, but I don’t want you to go so far away. How will I manage? You do so much for me. Besides, I have a better idea. Here.” Shay tossed her the newspaper she had turned back to reveal the advertisement. “This is the thing. I found it. I told you I remembered seeing it. Well, right here it says notable celebrity seeks personal assistant.”

  Frankie sat up straight and took a look at the newspaper. A guilty pleasure they shared all their lives was keeping track of the comings and goings of the who’s who of Hollywood. They had reason to. Some of those people were once classmates. Shay looked the part of a starlet and any day now her career was going to take off. At least that is what they had been saying since high school when Shay played Juliet.

  “You seriously think I should apply to be a personal assistant? I have an offer to go abroad to teach, and you want me to go on coffee runs for some snot-nosed teenager making money faster than he or she can spend it?” Frankie made a ‘ha’ sound and plopped the paper on the table. “Why don’t you interview for the job? Hollywood is your thing. Maybe you can get some inside scoop from working inside.”

  “Or,” Shay said as she pushed her sunglasses up and onto her head of honey colored hair. Frankie couldn’t keep up with her hair color these days. Shay had always tried to look the part, no matter what the part was. Those startling green gems peered across the table at Frankie and fluttered the false lashes as she batted her eyes. “You could give it a whirl and then tell me the secrets. They won’t even consider me and we both know it. I’m already too hot for that job. They’ll see my resume and know I am just out for the press. You have a clean record, a good education, and a trustworthy face.”

  Frankie wasn’t sure if she should be insulted by the comments or ashamed that Shay’s lack of education beyond high school had halted her vocation options. After all, Frankie didn’t encourage her to stick with it because she too thought Shay wouldn’t need to fall back on a degree. By clean record she meant immaculate; Frankie didn’t have so much as a parking ticket. By good education, she meant a master’s degree, and all but her dissertation completed for a PhD. She didn’t bother with the memory of her mentor and the affair and the decision to just let it all go. By trustworthy face, Frankie had to admit, several people had said that before. “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Come on, Frankie. You know what I mean. You’re special. The kind of person who would be easy to trust. One look at me and they would know I was not capable of managing my own life much less someone else’s.” Shay frowned. Her delicate features made more exotic by the mixed race parentage: half African American, and a quarter Hawaiian and Caucasian, her father and mixed mother had produced one whole bundle of beauty. Shay was always on the fringes of fame, even back in high school. Her parents were always carting her off to one casting call or another. Frankie looked at her. She was the only reason Frankie was able to survive those terrible years.

  Shay had offered her friendship regardless of Frankie’s financial status. She didn’t grow up poor by most standards, but she didn’t have the latest anything unless she borrowed it from Shay. Frankie dared a look and Shay silently mouthed the word please. It obviously meant a lot to Shay for Frankie to put in an application. Frankie felt certain she wouldn’t get a call, so what was the harm?

  Frankie took a look at the paper and acquiesced.

  “All right.” Frankie picked up the paper again. It was ridiculous, but her gut flipped in the good way and her curiosity ignited. The last time her gut felt this way while reading about a hypothetical situation, she was nominated as professor of the year. She lost, but she was at least nominated. “I’m going to put in the application, but I want you to know that I don’t think I will get it, and if I do and I end up babysitting, I am going to strangle you.”

  “Don’t let them pay you less than seventy thousand dollars a year.”

  Shay had said with as much restrained excitement as she could muster. Frankie, on the other hand, choked on her drink and felt the burn of carbonated water in her nose. “Seventy? That is ridiculous!”

  “Sixty-seven is the entry rate. I thought your skills were worth more than that.” Shay pulled her sunglasses back to cover her eyes and leaned against the back of her chair while letting her head look upward. “Just think, Frankie. You are going to get paid more, to do less! How about that for a change?”

  Chapter One

  “Francesca MacBeth.” The petite blonde called from the door.

  Frankie stood, gathered her courage, and hoped the grip she had on her notebook was not obviously white knuckled with anxiety. She walked past a variety of people, all younger, all looking more like they were auditioning for a starring role rather than a behind the scenes job.

  “Welcome, I’m Lea.” The blonde smiled as she held the door open. Frankie looked down at the woman though she was wearing stilettos. Without them, Lea may have maxed out at four foot tall. With them she was almost five. “Follow me.”

  Lea walked in those heels the way Frankie walked in tennis shoes. Frankie considered her own attire as decidedly professional with flare. She wore pinstripe black pants, a baby blue shirt, a black vest, an interesting black metallic necklace with rhinestone baubles, she wore her dark auburn hair in a neat bun, her black square frame glasses, and a nice red lipstick. Frankie’s shoes had a heel, but blocked, not pointed, and two inches not five. She watched Lea carefully as she led the way down a long hallway and past several doors. The clicking of their heels echoed against the crisp white tiles. The air was clean, fresh. Frankie wondered if they pumped oxygen into the building like they did at casinos.

  Lea strutted, Frankie decided as the woman came to the last door and grabbed the knob. She walked as though she were on a runway. Every step precise, angled to show off her form fitting dress and petite curves. Frankie didn’t know where women learned those skills, but she was quite certain she didn’t have that prowess.

  Lea turned the knob and paused. She looked up at Frankie and said, “I’m so glad you are taking this application seriously. It means a lot to me. If this interview doesn’t work out, I will be sure to find you a job. I don’t get a lot of your caliber. Unfortunately, we have to interview a certain percentage of applicants or I could have narrowed this down to five of you.”

  Frankie started to say thanks but the woman had opened the door and waited for Frankie to walk inside.

  She drew in a deep fortify
ing breath and let it out slow and controlled as she entered. It was an odd place. The room consisted of a comfortably decorated area with a medium sized, framed mirror on one wall and a marbled statue, or a decent replica of one, in a corner. There were four chairs in front of her and a large framed mirror behind those chairs. She could see her own reflection and thought that might be a good thing or a bad thing. She could see if she was making faces or slouching, but she could also see how easily it would be to get caught up looking at the reflection and not the panel. Tricky, these Hollywood types were.

  “Francesca MacBeth.” Lea announced and took her seat among the interviewers.

  The young man in a sharp blue suit put his hand to his ear a moment and then looked up at her. Without much interest he asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Frankie could feel her eyebrow rise as it often did when she was about to get sarcastic. She took one quick glance at her reflection and decided to force a smile instead. “I’m here to interview for the personal assistant position.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why not?” Frankie quipped then recovered. “I mean, this job is as good as any, in fact, better than most. I’m sure you have read my resume. You know that I teach literature and have for a few years now. I grew up in California, I know my way around this state and New York City, where I completed my graduate work. Though I have a job offer to teach abroad for a semester, I stumbled across the ad and on impulse applied. I’ve been looking to do something new, something challenging, different, so why not?”

  The man next to him, an older gentleman with a traditional black suit wearing a red shirt and matching tie asked, “When it comes to confidentiality our client, more than some others, is interested in someone who will be able to keep his or her mouth shut. Would you be willing to sign a contract stating you will be penalized for breaching that trust.”

  “Absolutely. Is your client willing to disclose what he or she may consider a breach? I mean if I am to keep secrets, will there be guidelines to follow, or will I simply consider everything a matter of confidence and disclose nothing when making reservations or placing orders on the client’s behalf?”

  The man scrunched up his face in thought for a moment then said, “Well of course there will be times you need to disclose the man’s name but…” He grumbled as the rest of the interviewers looked at him. He had disclosed, at least, a part of the identity of the celebrity in question. He continued, “Are you saying you don’t know the difference between when you should or should not use the client’s name?”

  “I’m saying if my pay or performance rating is based on the wording of a contract, I don’t want to be fined for ordering a cake at an indiscrete bakery or someone overhearing me as I pick up his dry-cleaning. Obviously, I would not speak of private matters such as personal meetings, sexual exploits, or the time I might have to drive him home because he got kicked out of a bar.” Frankie could have sworn she heard a laugh from somewhere outside of the room. The man in the blue suit spoke up cutting off Lea’s next question.

  “Lady MacBeth, is it okay if I call you that?” He asked with a sarcastic smile, but continued before she could respond. “Do you have any idea who my client is? I mean you seem to have laid out a scandalous assortment of confidential situations. Do you think you will be babysitting some ne’er-do-well or assisting a professional?”

  Frankie wondered if that brat even knew how ne’er-do-well was spelled. Certainly, his client was speaking through him. That explained the discrete touch to the ear. She looked at the mirror now, not at her reflection, but past it, into it, to whoever was behind it. “I don’t know who you are, sir. I just know what I have read in magazines. I imagine having someone like me around could be useful. I could ensure a car is there to prevent unnecessary waiting, I could call ahead to one location and alert the media and then make reservations at another and keep it low key. I could research the paparazzi that normally trail you and request their criminal records to ensure you are safe. I can order and send gifts to your family, friends, and professional acquaintances. If you’re married I could ensure your gifts are appropriate for your wife, if you have a mistress, I could ensure the gifts don’t get mixed up and sent to the wrong people. If you are alone, I could tuck you in to bed at night and read you a bedtime story.”

  Her stare never wavered from the mirror.

  The young man put his hand to his ear and spoke quickly, “And what if I…He is a constant flirt to include the occasional teasing that may also end up aimed towards you? Will you sue him for sexual harassment?”

  The only way to describe the atmosphere in the room was uncomfortable. The air had grown thick with the change of the interview’s tone and Frankie’s refusal to look at the panel, since they really weren’t interviewing her as much as the man behind the glass was. The only questions that seemed to matter came from the man in the blue suit.

  Deciding she had already blown this interview and had nothing left to lose she shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “Is it in the contract?”

  She could not explain the sizzle of excitement flowing through her veins. Her gaze waivered from the piercing stare beyond her reflection and took in the sight of herself. She was standing tall, an air of authority, much like she possessed in front of her classes. She wasn’t exactly plain, but she wasn’t a supermodel by any means. Whatever he was seeing, she didn’t see, nevertheless, the simple fact that he admitted he might flirt with her, an average woman, had her damn near ready to blush. A master at controlling her emotions, one of the perks of being a literature professor, she looked from the mirror to the interview committee. Lea was pale; all color had vanished from her otherwise perky face. The older man sat with his arms crossed and with a wry smile. The man in the blue suit sat up straight, both feet on the floor, his hand at his ear, not even looking at her.

  The silence was deafening and she, for once in her life, understood how that could be. Frankie didn’t wait for the man behind the mirror to confer with the young man in the blue suit. She looked at her notepad and decided to put icing on the cake. After all, this wasn’t her real job, and she could tell Shay that she tried and failed, and then she could move on to get a stamp in her passport. Frankie cleared her throat, commanding the attention of the room. “You should also know that I will not accept less than seventy-five thousand dollars for a year of service.”

  “Thank you, Lady MacBeth.” The guy in the blue suit shook his head, a smile threatened to spread across his lips, “We will let you know…by this evening.”

  “You should know.” Frankie added for her own self-esteem and to let the man behind the mirror know he was not dealing with a desperate woman, “If I do not hear from you by midnight, this Cinderella is heading to Europe for a semester abroad. I have an open invitation at a university there and I will be taking it in the morning.”

  “No.” The man in the suit said. “Just wait one moment. The office.” He looked at Lea who suddenly looked like life had been breathed back into her. “Can he use your office?”

  Frankie followed Lea to the office down the hall. There was nothing fake about it.

  “Wait here.” Lea smiled nervously. “This is…well, he’s a bit…he’s not going to harass you, trust me. He just has an interesting sense of humor. You’ll probably know that the moment you meet him.”

  Frankie busied her mind with the photographs of so many stars that lined the walls of Lea’s office. A sign that read “Committed to Service” sat on her desk. Frankie smiled. The thought of serving someone was a bit medieval. She was not going to be a handmaid. She probably wasn’t going to be a personal assistant either. Likely, she was waiting for a reprimand of some sort. At this point, she no longer cared. Her feet were tired from the new, though adorable, shoes on her feet and the standing she had been doing on the hard white tile of the interview room. The carpet in Lea’s office provided an ounce of flexible relief. She decided to take a seat on the couch. The moment the door opened she knew it was a go
od decision all around.

  “Lady MacBeth,” Jonas Gunnarsson, otherwise known as Jonas Gunner, stood in all his magnificent glory in front of the door he had closed behind him. “You, are something else. But I like that. I need that. I wasn’t sure I could hire an assistant, much less a female assistant, but now, I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing the job.” He perched himself on the edge of Lea’s desk and looked at Frankie expectantly. “Well?”

  Frankie’s head was spinning. Had she been standing she may have fainted. How could she have predicted that the one man she fantasized about almost nightly would be asking her to work for him? How could he possibly think she would be a good assistant? How long would it take her to find her voice and speak?

  Drawing in an unsteady breath, Frankie mustered up her bravado and said, “Well what?”

  “Do you want the job?” He flashed that million dollar smile at her.

  His eyes sparkled, his body leaned forward and she couldn’t help but notice the muscles of his arms, the sprinkling of hair, and the size of his hands. All these details she had conjured countless times in her imagination from watching him on screen or looking at his photographs. Now, he was here in front of her in warm flesh and blood. The details were at once overwhelming and somehow he was remarkably, ordinarily human. She was intoxicated by his presence. The thought of his comment about flirting sent a pulse straight to her clit. She only hoped her outward appearance was not betraying the heat her inner core had become. Having a mirror to see her reflection in would be nice. She was taking too long to answer him. He obviously wasn’t used to it.

  “Fine.” He lifted off of the desk and walked towards her.

  She was practically eye level with his crotch. If he wanted her to speak in coherent sentences he really needed to wear different jeans.