“The harder everyone works, the bigger the prize. The profits could be huge and they’re for the winner to keep.”
Blah, blah, blah. Aster couldn’t care less about the cash. Sure it would be nice to buy her own Burberry bikinis, but it was the connections that truly interested her. Her agent was right—Ira’s clubs attracted Hollywood’s finest. She was beginning to wonder why she hadn’t thought of it herself.
“Any questions?” Ira’s tone made it clear that questions weren’t actually welcomed, but just as Aster was raising her hand, having no idea what she would ask but determined to be noticed, that damn Layla beat her to it.
?
??What about the first week?”
Ira squinted, fiddled with the cap on his water bottle. “What about it?”
“Will we be given a promotional allowance to get started?”
“Only twelve will make the cut. No use talking details that won’t apply to most.”
Layla nodded, then shot Aster a squinty look.
Clearly she didn’t give a shit about the answer. She just wanted the same thing Aster did, to get Ira to notice her in a sea of desperate wannabes too scared to speak up in his presence.
Yep. She was definitely one to watch.
SEVEN
I CAN’T GET NO (SATISFACTION)
Tommy followed Ira’s assistant into his office, trying not to stare too hard at the way her hips swayed in her little black skirt. From what he’d seen, all of Ira’s assistants were smokin’. His dad was clearly living the good life.
“Mr. Redman, Tommy Phillips is here.” Her voice was prim, but the intimate look that followed was all Tommy needed to know Ira was nailing her.
Well, at least someone in his family was having some fun. His mom had sworn off men long ago. Claimed to be perfectly happy keeping house with her bilingual parrot. And despite Tommy’s good looks, in a showy town like LA it hardly compensated for the crap car, the shithole apartment, and the nearly empty wallet.
Tommy sat before Ira, wishing he’d taken time to prepare. He knew the importance of rehearsing for a gig, but when it came to the most important interview of his life, he hadn’t so much as bothered to go over some possible responses to Ira’s inevitable questions. And yet, nothing could’ve prepared him for the intensity of going one-on-one with Ira in a closed room with a pack of hot, clipboard-toting assistants standing by.
Ira leaned back in his chair and pushed his sleeves up his forearms, allowing a glimpse of the bracelet of small round beads that reminded Tommy of the prayer beads his mom always wore. It seemed like an odd choice for a man like Ira. Then again, most LA moguls liked to feign a spiritual side, claiming to adhere to a rigorous schedule of yoga and meditation before heading out into the world and obliterating competitors, entire companies, and anything else that got in their way.
Just above the bracelet was an expensive gold watch, this one a Cartier, as opposed to the Rolex of the other day. Probably had a whole collection of ’em—one for every day of the month—while Tommy relied on his cell phone to keep track of time. And if things didn’t pick up, he’d be forced to hawk it on Craigslist.
This was a mistake—one of his biggest in a very long list. He should’ve left that stupid flyer in the trash where he’d originally tossed it.
“So,” Ira said. “Tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”
Tommy hesitated, unsure what he meant. Did Ira recognize him from that day at Farrington’s?
He forced his gaze to meet Ira’s, wondering how he’d react if Tommy said, “Well, Dad, as it just so happens, I’m the long-lost son you abandoned.”
Would Ira lose his cool? Have him tossed from the room?
Wasn’t worth finding out. Or at least not today.
“Guess that depends on what you do know.” Tommy practically dared Ira to remind him of how he’d nearly cried when Ira bought his dream guitar out from under him. He was guessing Ira was enough of a douchebag sadist to do it.
“You’re hungry.” Ira steepled his fingers and held them under his chin. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Question is, what are you hungry for?”
Rent money, a shelf full of Grammys, to prove myself worthy and one day surpass your success in ways you never saw coming.
Tommy shrugged and looked around the room. It was sleek, modern, minimal but expensive. Even the requisite ego wall, covered floor to ceiling with framed photos of Ira’s various magazine covers, was tastefully done. “I like to win.” Tommy shifted in his seat, then instantly regretted it. It made him look nervous, unsure of himself. He was, but it wasn’t like he needed to show it.
“Who doesn’t?” Ira frowned, the steeple collapsed, and his hands fell to his lap, where he fiddled with the tiger’s-eye beads on his bracelet, as Tommy wondered if something from Ira’s brief dalliance with his mom had managed to stick.