The Perfect Present

by Rochelle Alers

  Leila let out a low breath and went in for the burger, but then, as if on cue, the music in the studio changed and on came the familiar first thumps to the song Leila was fast growing to hate: “Darling Leila.” Would she ever escape Miles or that damned song? And really Darling Leila? Talk about an unoriginal name. The jerk didn’t have an original bone in his overly hyped body let alone thought in that little brain of his.

  “Oh yeah!” Matteo yelled, now smiling wide and circling her with his camera as he clicked, clicked around her. Each click of the shutter felt like a tiny prick to her skin.

  Leila shot Matteo a death stare but then forced her features to soften as she glanced over to the side of the room and saw the group of execs from Burger Barn huddled in the corner, looking at her expectantly. Bills needed to be paid, and for that to happen, the customer was always right. Leila reminded herself of this tried-and-true mantra as she let out a sigh and further softened her features, going on automatic pilot as she mentally blocked out the song that mocked her and Miles’s now failed relationship and, worse, all her relationships before that. She took a hungry bite of the burger, imagining for a moment that it was the head of the photographer.

  Method acting. Zone it out, woman. Use that anger.

  Just then her agent and longtime friend, Jasper Weston, stepped into her side view as he went over to glad-hand the Burger Barn folks. Leila took another bite of the burger. This time it was Jasper’s head she was biting off, as she remembered it was he who had told her that taking this job would be a good idea.

  “That’s it, Leila,” Matteo finally said. “Though, maybe next time you could go at it with just a little less enthusiasm?” He lowered his camera and turned toward his group of assistants. Leila noted that they were all young and all blond, whether male or female, with slightly vacant eyes. It would seem Matteo had a type and stuck to it through and through.

  “We’re going to need another burger on set,” he said to no one in particular before turning back to Leila. She hoped that the actual food handlers picked up on his query and that it wouldn’t be one of the Stepford blondes who handed her the next burger. “How about we get ready for the next set and wardrobe change, but before that we’ll do the rain sequence?”

  Rain sequence? Since when is a rain sequence on the shoot list? Leila thought as she looked around for a rain machine. She saw none. It was then that another on-set blond assistant came over and took the burger missing two bites from Leila’s hands and scurried off into the background. Then another young blonde came toward her with a large hose and a dubious look in her eyes. Instantly, Leila stiffened.

  “No way, honey,” Leila said with a sharp look at the young woman. “You come at me with that hose, you’d better be prepared to eat it.” It was as if the whole garage had got put on mute, as all heads swiveled Leila’s way. She saw Jasper smile uncomfortably at the Burger Barn people and take a step forward.

  “Aw, come on now, Leila, darling,” Matteo began. “We need a shot with you wet on top of the car. You moving around for me. Doing a little dance. Selling those burgers as only you can.” And with that, the damned near geriatric photographer standing in front of her, holding his camera at his side, mimed his version of sexy dance moves, rubbing his hands over his body, bringing them up and, to Leila’s revulsion, licking his fingers.

  Leila looked at him in horror and then blinked her way out of the shock of it all and leveled him with a hard glare. “Like I said, little Miss Assistant of the Corn here is not coming near me with some dirty-assed water hose. Now, if you want to try, you can, but I warn you, you won’t like where the hose ends up in the end.”

  And with that, Leila slid her oiled body off the car as gracefully as she could and walked off set toward her makeshift dressing room, Jasper following quickly behind.

  * * *

  “You almost had a grand slam with this one, Walker. Almost.”

  Carter Bain watched Greyson Hill, the CFO of Hillibrand Inc., give his critique of their weeklong schmooze fest. All he could hear was the admonishment in the loaded word almost. Screw almost. He’d wanted to hit it out of the park. He hadn’t come all the way out to California to take on the launch of Sphere, World Broadcasting’s new nightly station programming, for an “almost.”

  Carter’s boss and mentor, Everett Walker, shook Greyson’s hand and nodded. “Don’t worry. You just get your ads ready. By the time we’re in place for pilot filming, all will be perfect and vendors will be clamoring for spots. You’ll want to be in on the ground floor with this one.”

  Greyson raised a skeptical bushy gray brow. “I hope so, because I see a lot that we think may have potential, with the right players. Especially that Brentwood concept, but you have to get bang-up talent behind it. All that deep thinking programming may be fine for cable and those O channel guru–loving ladies, but we can’t forget the males from eighteen to twenty-four while still capturing the thirty-five-plus moms. We want the kind of shows that are worth them streaming on their tablets, as well as getting the ladies checking in and tweeting live.

  “The way we see it, the moms are the destination watchers, and they are harder to pull away from the shows they’re already loyal to. So it’s new viewers you’re going to have to scramble for. And to get the young males, there is only one tried-and-true way, and that is to pull them in with sex. Give them something to come for, and keep them coming so they stay.” With that statement, Greyson gave a pointed turn of the head toward Carter’s assistant, Karen.

  To keep his job in place and the potential ad revenue still in play, Carter chose to ignore the look, but still he stepped into Greyson’s field of vision. “Thank you, Mr. Hill. Your insight is very much appreciated. But believe me, you don’t have to worry about Brentwood or any of our upcoming shows. We have a long line of A-listers fighting for casting consideration.” Carter feigned a humble look. “Unfortunately, due to some contractual obligations and the way the press works, we’re not at liberty to share them yet. I’ll just say, be prepared to be wowed at our next meeting.” He gave Greyson a wink and a pat on his shoulder.

  Greyson looked over at his brothers, the Hill Pack, and gave a short snort. “I sure hope so,” he said before turning back to Everett. “You’ve got a real go-getter in this one,” he said, indicating Carter. “He’s hungry. I like that.”

  Everett looked Carter’s way and gave a nod. “That he is. Carter is one of the best. When there is a job to be done, I can always count on him. Like he said, there’s no need to worry. You all just get your ads lined up. Let us handle the programming.”

  Carter shook Greyson’s hand a final time. “I’ll have my assistant e-mail yours with all the details of our meeting and the kits.”

  Carter then turned his attention toward Greyson’s brother Waymon. Next to him were Bret and Cliff. It would seem the rumor about the Hills traveling in packs had officially been confirmed. At least when it came to getting off their property in Tennessee and coming out to California to do business with the so-called “city folk.” They all had thick accents, but Carter had no doubt it was more for show than anything else. You didn’t run a multinational company with businesses in the food, media, and technology industries, not to mention exert political influence that went deep, or so the rumors said, while being country bumpkins. But, hey, Carter could play along. Anything to seal the deal. If he had to, he’d chew tobacco and don a pair of overalls to bring in their ad commitment.

  Still, it was with relief that Carter stood beside Everett and Karen outside World Broadcasting’s California studios and watched the limo take the Hill clan away, their expressions all nearly frozen in place as they waved their final good-byes. The next car to pull up was Everett’s. No limo this time. It was a not so understated Mercedes convertible. Everett turned to the duo and shook Karen’s hand first.

  “You did an outstanding job this week, Karen. I know a lot was thrown your way, but you stepped up to the plate. Carter’s lucky to have you on his team.”
r />   Karen smiled as she returned the handshake. “Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.”

  “You do it well. Never sell yourself short.”

  He turned to Carter, sobering. “You both did very well. But Greyson is right, there is room for improvement. I want this account. If we get Hillibrand, then more vendors will follow suit. Don’t make a liar out of me. I expect to have a short list of names ready by next week to consider for Brentwood.”

  Carter fought to stay cool and keep from frowning. He had known this would come up with Everett, but he had thought he’d maybe get a five-minute congratulatory breather. Hell, who was he fooling? This was Everett Walker. He wasn’t into pats on the back, and he definitely wasn’t into giving breathers. It was part of the reason Carter admired him. Carter had always respected Everett’s no-nonsense business manner and drive. It was so different from his upbringing, where his business sense and appreciation of capitalism were considered a fault. Coming from a working class family, you’d think his accomplishments would be celebrated, but to his bohemian parents, they were more of an embarrassment.

  Still, he couldn’t complain all that much on the parental front. Though he’d been poor, Carter counted himself lucky having grown up with both a mother and a father in the home. His father, Malcolm, was an artist who was a jack-of-all-trades and a master of none, and his mother, Faye, was a woman with an obsession for helping those less fortunate, second only to her obsession with trying to manage her only son’s life.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Carter said. “I have some ideas in the works. We’ll discuss them next week.”

  Everett pulled off, leaving Carter and Karen standing together, once again with plastered-on smiles, as they mumbled behind clenched teeth and waved. Karen let out a grumble before she spoke aloud.

  “I’m so glad this week is over. I’ve had enough California sunshine to last me a while, thank you very much. And I swear, if that little perv Cliff Hill took one more leering look at my boobs, I was going to gouge his eyes out. It wasn’t only the older Hill who couldn’t keep his eyes to himself.”

  Carter’s smile wavered ony slightly as he gave Karen a quick glance and continued to wave at Everett’s car. Part of him couldn’t blame the Hills. His assistant, Karen Woodley, was a good-looking woman, he supposed. But it didn’t matter, since Karen was a part of his staff, which put her in the off-limits category. And since she was his assistant, in a weird sort of way, Carter felt that put her under his protection. He knew it wasn’t entirely true, and was clearly overstepping on his part, but still he wouldn’t have her messed with or in any way disrespected.

  Despite word on the street about his slick reputation, he did have a conscience. It was that same conscience that kept every woman on his staff off limits in his book. Sex was one thing, but it didn’t trump money in the bank.

  “Thanks for not gouging his eyes out,” Carter said, addressing Karen’s comment about Cliff. “At least not just yet. Let’s get all the signatures we need from them and seal this deal first, and then you can gouge away. Metaphorically, of course. Hell, I’ll do it for you. Hey, at least you didn’t have Waymon breathing down your neck. The man was looking at my package like I was fresh crab legs just put out at Caesar’s buffet.”

  At that comment, Karen pulled a face, and he couldn’t help laughing. The car turned out of sight, and they both put their hands down and shook their heads.

  “You think his wife knows?” Carter asked.

  Karen nodded. “Probably so. Believe me, even if she says she doesn’t, she has a clue. The wife always knows . . . something.”

  Carter shrugged. Given that she was twice divorced, he figured Karen knew what she was talking about, so he just deferred to her on such subjects. Besides, he steered clear of romantic attachments. Nobody was ever on the up-and-up. At least not when it came to matters of the heart. His parents were the rare exceptions and he was sure last holdouts of a bygone era. And he wasn’t swayed in the least by his best buds falling so hard that they both went the commitment route. Hell, part of him felt bad seeing them as whipped as they were.

  Not him, though. No way. That was why he’d rather stick to business. At least across a board room table, a man looked you in the eye before stabbing you in the back. Not that he didn’t love women and indulge in his fair share of them. It was just that he wasn’t foolish enough to believe in the fallacy of true love, trust, soul mates, forever, and all that bull. He’d had his fair share of women who’d been with him for what he could do for them and then hit the road when he’d taken them as far as his position would go. So yeah, he had learned his lessons about love and found it best to leave the fiction for what he was producing for the small screen.

  Carter let out a breath and tugged at his collar before looking up at the blazing sun. “How can something so beautiful be so torturous? What is with this freaking heat?”

  Karen shrugged. Her sleeveless white blouse and black skirt had remained unwrinkled. “Well, it would help if you dressed a little less for New York and a lot more for California. You could practically choke on that tie of yours. You look like you’re ready for fall in London instead of spring in California.” She arched a brow. “And is a bow tie necessary?”

  Carter’s brow rose. “Yeah, it is. Besides, it won over ole Greyson. We were matching.”

  Karen let out a snort. “Matching. Ah, now I get it. Knowing you, you did that on purpose.”

  Carter grinned, and Karen’s eyes went skyward. “I swear, is there anything you won’t do to make a deal?”

  Carter put his finger to his temple and feigned thinking. “Not that I can come up with.”

  Karen shook her head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Carter let out a snort. “Tell that to your holiday bonus.”

  With that, Karen held up a hand. “You win. The tie is a perfect touch.” She pointed to her feet and looked down. “Somebody has to keep me in these fancy shoes.”

  Carter laughed, relieved to have the dog and pony show over, as they walked back inside the studio. The lights had been dimmed, and the stars—what few they had and what few they could call stars—had all left, as had the live studio audience for the last taping. Today they had tested a pilot for a family comedy with quintuplets that so far had received high test ratings. It was risky, but they were using actual quints to star in the key roles. Carter knew it was a big gamble, but each time he’d had The Morning Show broadcast an update on “miracle babies,” their ratings had gone through the roof. Why not try to re-create that magic in prime time?

  So as not to be considered too far off his rocker, though, Carter had been smart enough to cast actual actors in the lead parental roles. This was much to the chagrin of the quints’ mother, but the blow was softened by the fact that her sub was a very well-known blond beauty who in her heyday had turned quite a few heads by being the lead in a top lifeguard dramedy.

  But that was just one of the shows they’d gotten settled. There was still plenty to do back in New York, where most of the productions would take place and where World Broadcasting was headquartered. Carter knew he’d be spending a little time in LA, but he was thankful that shooting was moving east and he wouldn’t have to upend his life completely. California was nice, but all this sunshine could turn a guy’s brain to mush. Hell, this week alone had put him halfway there. The Hills liked to party, and hard. They might be older, but they came with stamina to spare, both natural and, he suspected, in some cases pharmaceutical. Each night he and the rest of the network’s team had taken them to a different hot spot, where they’d been wined and dined in the VIP lounge. Due to the company going liberal with the tipping and bottle service, and the Hills heavily greasing the right palms at the after parties, they had never been without arm candy as they made their way back to their hotel villas.

  But the partying only got so hard for Carter. He knew that keeping a clear head at all times was paramount on this trip. He was there for the clients. His pleasure would come when t
he deal was inked. Getting a woman to warm his bed, well, that was easy. All he had to do was make a call, but he didn’t need any distractions or possible entanglements. These next few months—hell, the next year—were too important. Everett had put a lot in his hands this time, and it was up to him to pass or fail this most important of tests.

  And Carter was sure many were expecting him to fail. Maybe even wanting him to fail. Sure, he’d heard the watercooler talk of how he’d gotten as far as he had only because he’d been close friends with Everett’s son, Aidan, all these years. And yes, being friends with Aidan had maybe gotten him in the door. But Everett didn’t play when it came to his money or his business. It was Carter’s hard work and determination that had kicked the door down, and it was that same determination that would take him to the very top.

  If he’d learned anything from his parents, who worked hard on their respective endeavors but didn’t have his same drive, it was that hope and a righteous cause didn’t pay the rent. The lights got left on due to cold, hard cash. As a family, they had had their lean years of living hand to mouth and had even endured the embarrassment of living off the mercy of the system. Coming home from his fancy Upper East Side school, where he was on a scholarship, and being hit by a red eviction notice on his door had taught him early on that the streets were paved with promises and good intentions, but it was cash that made the world go around and kept a roof over one’s head. Not that Carter had any animosity or regrets. He considered his past nothing but a supersize classroom, one that had taught him that when opportunity knocked you hurried up and opened the damned door.

  That was what he was doing with this new network, Sphere. It would be a hit if it killed him. Still, the wrinkle in this week’s dog and pony show was Brentwood Drive, a sort of retro nod to Three’s Company, but flipped, with two guys and one girl rooming together. So far the male leads, a couple of up-and-coming comedic actors, seemed solid, but the female leads that had been tested had left the focus groups with low feedback numbers. For the female spot, they needed someone with real star quality, but honestly, the network didn’t have the budget or the cachet to warrant an actual star.