“Oh, it’s not a problem for me.” The woman was perky and friendly. “That means I can grab a latte from the barista next door, who also happens to be really hot.”
Brooke thought of Keaton and smiled. “Lucky you.”
She disconnected and double-checked the rest of Jillian’s appointments.
Jillian didn’t say good-bye to her agent. The only way Brooke knew she was done talking to her was the long-suffering sigh from across the car.
“Honestly,” Jillian said. “The incompetence in this industry is unfathomable. I don’t know how so many people make so much money.”
Brooke had learned to stop commenting on Jillian’s statements within the first week of working for her. She’d also learned which questions to answer directly, which questions to answer with questions, and which questions to ignore completely.
The ping on Brooke’s phone hadn’t even died out before Jillian barked, “What’s that?”
“Confirmation of your cancelled interview with ET,” Brooke replied smoothly as she read the text from her sister.
Another long night. These fall allergies are so hard on Justin.
That news made Brooke’s heart sink. She instantly pictured her nephew curled up on the couch watching cartoons with an oxygen mask on, coughing and wheezing. And while Jillian bitched about something that didn’t matter, Brooke asked her sister: Are you seeing the doctor today?
Yes. Follow-up appointment with the allergist. He’s consulted with the pulmonologist who saw Justin in the hospital, so I’m anxious to hear what kind of treatment plan they put together. I’ll get the final report they sent Innova too, but not for another week. I’ll likely hear from the program coordinator before I get the report.
Tension crept into Brooke’s shoulders. That report was the last element they needed to complete the file for Justin’s entry into the bronchial thermoplasty research study for children. A procedure that offered Justin one last hope at a normal childhood.
Fingers crossed. Keep me posted, and hug Justin for me.
Will do. Don’t kill you know who. At least not until after we find out about the program. If he doesn’t get in, do what you need to. I’ll always help you hide a body.
Brooke huffed a dry laugh. Will do my best.
“Are you texting privately during work hours?” Jillian wanted to know.
“No, ma’am,” she lied.
“Then why are you laughing?”
Brooke lifted her gaze to Jillian’s. Her boss’s eyes were blue as well, light blue to Brooke’s dark. And Jillian was a blonde. While the other woman was also twelve years older than Brooke, she looked the same age. Her skin was alabaster perfection, her makeup applied in a rigid routine every morning. Jillian was media perfection personified. The woman was absolutely gorgeous. And her body was as flawless as her face. Her looks had won her a lot of roles and earned her a lot of money. The glamorous facade had left the woman beneath bitter and bizarre and lonely.
“I was laughing because Hugo’s secretary was all but licking my boots to get you back for the interview.”
At first, the ease with which Brooke had learned to lie to Jillian had unnerved her. But she’d quickly realized that what she did and who she was with Jillian didn’t affect who she was with the real people in her life.
And when a slow, haughty, satisfied smile came over Jillian’s beautiful face, Brooke relaxed.
Someday, Brooke would get caught in a lie. And when she got caught, she’d get fired. Vanity wasn’t Jillian’s worst trait. Vengeance was. And for Jillian, vengeance stemmed from insecurity.
But if Brooke just kept all that in perspective, did her job, and watched her back, she’d make it through another year.
And that was all she needed. One more year.
Then she could take Keaton’s advice and find another job.
“Rendezvous at the steps on the trail tonight.”
Remembering his words murmured against her ear sent shivers through her again. She bit the inside of her lip to keep her smile at bay opened the cover of her iPad, and tapped into Jillian’s calendar.
“I cleared your schedule this morning, but I haven’t filled in this extra time on the set.” Brooke glanced at Jillian, who was inspecting her manicure. “Did you have specific people you’d like me to contact for meetings? A schedule you want me to put in place, track, follow? What’s the purpose of this change? And of going in early?”
Jillian’s lashes, woven to extend them to a ridiculous length, lowered. Her lips, filled every three months with Botox, pursed, hiding a secretive smile. And Brooke knew with absolute certainty that whatever came out of Jillian’s mouth next would be a lie. So she closed the cover on her iPad and waited.