nora(h)

“Afraid to put your knickers on backwards by the end of it?” Best guess. It’s also a guess he has put zero thought towards. This is his stage; this is his liquor; and all he wants at the moment is for both of them to be left to him alone. If he has to share, she’s going to find out it’s more her loss than his. She just hasn’t done anything to warrant him to take action that doesn’t simply come naturally, and truly he’s had much worse company. He’s been married to them enough to know.

“Proper stalker, eh? Nice to be thought of,” he answers her back with a vague look behind his shoulder while he heads out towards the seats the audience is usually taking up. Glass in hand, he takes the steps up through the aisle, ice clinking like a cowbell. “Could see why security let you through. Pat and Frisk love what they do,” he goes on as he’s claimed his spot, foot pushing down to unfold the seat before dropping into it. He just doesn’t know why she’s here at all. “Couldn’t be a locator. Would’ve had my brains splattered about already.”

she can’t help the laugh, a quiet but unmistakable sound. as if that would be the case. he couldn’t know one way or another, but it’s a funny image to conjure. as if it would ever be the case. “well—” she supposes it’s a compliment, and she’s never one to begin the debate on the merits of sexual harassment jokes. they will be made whether she’s in the room or not, she’d rather know the stance she’s dealing with. she won’t exactly say thank you, but it’s enough not to say anything at all. “security lets me through to help with your interviewees.” 

and now she lingers, trying to fit together a few wandering pieces of a stray puzzle. how often was myles delaney left alone to converse without censor or audience. his assistant was nowhere to be seen, neither was his daughter. “you don’t think they’ll put on a show for you when the time comes?” sooner or later, but all the same a star was a star. even the washed up drunk has-beens got a callback or two in their final hour. “gunshot to the head is so uncreative nowadays.” although she’s speaking only of the ones that had been aired, a sharp downturn in the tumultuous change of department leads that seemed ongoing. but in the end, death isn’t exactly her style. “locators tend to stay back in the shadows anyways.”

“Class act, aren’t you?” The facetiousness is hard to shake from being on stage, in his natural habitat, a trait that’s sunk too fair into his skin to scratch out, but he is also host, one that is not yet drunk enough to forget. He turns his back to her with another glass plucked from the stack of them, hand back to the bottle he had just put down. “Vodka, all right? Look like a bird that gets her fill from it.” She looks like someone. A familiar face, but one that he’s let assistants be introduced to, take care of, allow them to be in the background while he’s in charge of the rest, the ones the camera sees. If sobriety ever takes hold, she’s the kind of face that might ring sharper bells, or at least ones that would make her treatment be on the softer side. She gets this instead, an outstretched glass of clear liquid that matches his and a curious look.

“Shows over,” he points out, gesture of the head to a non-existent audience. “Easier ways to get free drinks. ‘less the bars are full of men for a reason tonight.”

“vodka.” she traces over the word, associations springing to mind with the drink. there would be more of an implication to infer if the glass in question had any kind of mixer to it. either she seems to be the kind of girl who drinks vodka neat, or he’s simply the kind of man who doesn’t actually care. the answer is obvious enough. 

the glass is taken, though she doesn’t sit down on the couch that’s so often made available for guests. this isn’t an interview, nor should he feel compelled to try and make it one. “i try to avoid meeting men in bars.” she had moved past the tedious fumblings of the half-drunk, the slurred pick up lines that populated los angeles after dark. her existence might have been more isolated for it, but her work suffered far less. “besides this has worked out fine for me.” she tips her glass in mock cheers before taking a sip. 

“you don’t make it out to afterparties any more?” 

There’s a particular laugh that accompanies little girls that have outgrown their innocence but don’t know why yet. Some keep it as a souvenir of youth. Harlow is five again, toothy grin following her bubbling laugh, a squeeze from the lungs, like wringing out a dirty sponge. “Nah…” is her answer, that same tone that’s plastered on wrinkled noses and squinting eyes, the voice of a girl who knows nothing about what caused the shattered Ming vase with a pair of nunchucks dangling from her hand. “But it’s not like it’d be a chapter people would read!” As if that solves that. A problem that didn’t exist until she created it. Made all better thanks to her. She’s welcome.

“Borrrrrrrrring.” She looks down at her card, lip raised up to display a canine of disdain. “Only you would get something like that.” But there’s a smile. Aged 6. Maturity is blossoming as she puts a finger on it, ignoring the topic of the author in favor of the game. For now. “You’re awakening your senses because there’s five of them. Duh. Red is passion. Diamonds means commitment… Ooo, maybe you’ll get married, Nori!” As if! “My turn!” She flips down her first before correcting it from being upside down. “Justice,” she says proudly, as if she’s won her make-believe game already. “It means I’ll get what I want.” Self-satisfied smile before the side of her head lands on her shoulder. Speaking of getting what she wants…. back to the author. “I want her because! Isn’t that good enough? You’re so nosy.”

she stares at her cousin, wondering if she should feign hurt or agreement, if any of it really mattered even in the slightest when the conversation seemed to ping back and forth between rationalities. if she searched far enough into the future she could see that there would never be any book at all, but the exercise is futile. it does little to answer her present questions. in the end there is no response given. seeing the twins interact, she knows that sometimes harlow prefers it this way. who would dare to challenge such assumed authority anyways. 

her fortune is given, as incoherent as she expected it to be. word association done by a child will always have a result, but that does not mean it has a correct answer. “maybe.” although it doesn’t have the same ring as being justice, does it. strange how the imbalance works. “i want to introduce you two.” she can think of nothing she would like less than to try and be in a room where harlow pulitzer and clementine fehr are trying to carryout a conversation. “i just want to give her a good reason, so she’s extra excited.”

her next card flips, the jack of spades. must be her upcoming husband’s name. “writers can be...” she reverts her language, trying to match the chatter of the christmas parties and thanksgiving table. “kind of fussy. i want you guys to be friends, since it’s so because.”

“I only turn them off when you visit, Nora.” This is casual conversation, skimming over thorns, delivered with smiles and sharp eyes. He is curious. Not desperate. The word in itself disgusts him, poised like a dagger at the throats of those on a level that he steps over. She’s confirmed only one thing: two instead of one. It’s a fact that changes his face in the most minute way, pulling at the corner of his lips while he considers. Jade Bellamy and… Interesting.

“Any longer, and you’ll convince me you have neither for me.”

her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth, glib and childish just as his own sentiment had been. “the true romantic.” there’s an eye roll, the distinct reminder that she is just playing a game where one of them will eventually lose. she reminds herself that sometimes it will simply have to be her— the manageable loss over the disproportionate blindside it could have been.

there are plenty of things that can be stretched out over long luxurious periods of time, but it seems this conversation is not destined to be one of them. “the planner and financier.” certainly there are negatives for pointing the spotlight on a family name as big as the one she’s pointed to. but felix has made his bed by falling in love with every blonde haired-blue eyed ice princess he sees. and more importantly, he does not pay her. “hearst certainly had the money set aside to spend on this sort of event, and bellamy just so happens to have the vision boards.” out in the open finally, no take backs to the details she’s given. a twisted focus from the wedding itself to the tension that must surround it, keeping romance dead last on the public’s mind. “you’d think after their fallout, there must be some tension.”

It wasn’t his idea to have a chaser of mouth spray. An assistant’s choice, tugged down, mouth opened, clinging for dear life in a vodka-stained throat. For the rest of the show he could swear he had a mojito instead of something out of a paper cup, posing as water. Water with a special kick, enough to last through the hour until the lights could dim, the guests to get on with their lives, to let him begin to walk off stage with a hand already working at the tie around his neck. He wasn’t going far. Just far enough to get to the mini bar, a staple of the show itself, more used by host than those on his couch.

“Too late for last call.” There’s a sound from behind him, making him turn with bottle still in hand, nozzle open and streaming into a tumbler. “Do you wager I could make your mouth from here like at the funfair? Piss poor of a prize in that, isn’t there?”

she didn’t strictly have to be on set when her clients were being interviewed by contracts. it was hard to believe that anyone would risk trying to infuriate the people with the points and jobs, but then again not every host was myles delaney. still, the show had gone well and her obligation was over. which left the rest of the night for personal. such things could often be so dull, but there’s sounds from the now dead set. 

“sounds like a mess.” not that she wasn’t already looking at a pr nightmare. but he wasn’t her responsibility. so few were. “i usually just try and make it in the glass.”

Truce. It’s not a word that’s particularly favorable in Axel Reeves’ lexicon. He doesn’t hear it, and neither of them say it. Another word pops up that is not spoken but is heard, one that /is/ favored: negotiable. The ceremony will go to no one, including himself, but that door is closed only conceptually. He will try all avenues even when the main one is closed; it does not mean she is the only route. He smiles back at her with a nod. “Understood.” Rowan’s workload has just become one task heavier than it was an hour ago.

“I don’t need a chart to pin up on the wall when I have you, Nora,” he tells her, teeth gleaming, words resting somewhere between faux flattery and returned banter. He’s not bothered. Neither is she. They move on. He does not know the planner, but he has his educated guess. Jade Bellamy’s appearances at bridal boutiques. Doubling at teasing points out of publicity and assisting her meal ticket. This is the one that comes to mind immediately, but Nora remains in his good graces for a reason, and it doesn’t require him to tip the hand he’s already playing with. “Enlighten me.”

his understood is met only by another slight sip of her drink, one that might not have even counted at all except in the purpose of furthering their conversation. there’s no need to pretend an actual agreement has been reached. when has one ever? the only promise that’s ever between them is equal measure threat. best to not bother with seeing who would be ruined first, not when they’re being so amiable. he garners a small breath of a laugh for his efforts, perhaps even that is too generous. 

“must i always keep the lights on in your offices?” there’s the obvious, the sort of tell that she’d expect the usual run of the mill journalist to keep up with. it’s not hard to draw attention to yourself when you’re an a-lister. and though bellamy is quite the expert, she alone is not much of a story in this instance. “do you have one name or two.”

“What’s NOT going to be in there?” That’s the better question. Somewhere there’s an answer laying around here, probably a push away from the descending slide that spirals down to talking with a ghost writer. “Star. Genius. Philanthropist,” she counts them out on her fingers with her katana limply held in the other hand before her head whips back up at her cousin. “You could have your own chapter if you win.” That’s prize enough, isn’t it? Then again, that’s if she wins, a notion that would hold any weight had there been a legitimate game involved.

“It’s so easy.” The cards are scooped up with the edge of the blade. In her own head, she’s the greatest dealer at the card table, able to shuffle them in one hand if she wanted to. She doesn’t. But if she did, she would be the best at it. “I get five cards. You get five cards. Whoever has the best hand wins. It  l i t e r a l l y  couldn’t be any easier. You might have a shot that way!” she teases before her tongue sticks out, one wink to accompany it, the most kawaii girl in the room. “You start. Show me your first card, and you better make it a good one!”

“think i could fill a whole chapter?” she knows the answer, the scathing laughter that must accompany a no. but it’s better that way, she’s found that the less her cousin, the less anyone, knows about her life the better. “wouldn’t want to take away from the philanthropy paragraphs.” there’s no reason to consider this a serious offer, the book will never manifest. she is just here to lose a card game and move on with her night.

the rules make sense in a playground fashion, those old school games where it only had to make enough sense for the small group of girls playing. but they’re adults now, and she’s settled into the rules of poker and blackjack, go fish a remnant of things long past. still, she nods as though she’s accepting these terms, “best hand wins.” 

a five of diamonds is flipped down on the table, middle of the road as far as all things are concerned. “so, the author? you just want her opinion?”

“I read all the time, so check yourself,” she huffs with a set of rolling eyes that land upwards to Nora. Harley has more important things than to give her the full effect, and she goes right back to her tarot cards she’s sitting on the floor with, dealing them out like she’s playing poker with imaginary friends.

“What if I wanted to get my memoirs done, huh?” The Star card is flipped over on her side of the messy piles, making her grin like a child who has been pleasantly surprised with a B instead of a D on last week’s report. She is a star. They’re right as always. “People want to know what it’s like as a Pulitzer all the time!” And then she flips over the one across from her with the edge of her fingernail. The Lovers. The smile is gone. Impulse is inbound. The katana that’s used as a toy smacks into it with enough force to crimp it, devoid of expertise to cut.

“Mine,” she speaks as she uses the sword to scoop it over to her pile, almost as explanation if she had any self-awareness. “Wanna play, Nori? Bet I can beat you.”

“what’s going to be in your memoir?” she’s learned that while her cousins are wildly more privileged than she could have imagined when her mothers tried to reason it out for her. and they have the funding to make any problem go away in the snap of their fingers. but they aren’t as bright as they thought they were, in fact, they had some glaring blindspots. but she wasn’t in the business of psychology, she was just a business woman. 

and it was good business to keep them happy. “i’ll play.” she has no idea what the game is or how the cards are supposed to be thrown down. if it’s a tarot reading it won’t be accurate, if it’s anything else there will be no reason for it. she doesn’t win games against harlow and bridget, but she is such a great sport. “what are your rules.”

she did not get her first job because of her cousins’ last name. she knew that in the abstract their last name had funded some part of her lifestyle and education, but she did not go so far as to take advantage of such a connection. but there had never been any harm in doing a favor when asked. “why did you want the author so much anyways?” casual discussion, both parties were winning. she had new talent, though she wasn’t sure why. that would have been up to the elder of the twins to illuminate. “she’s nice, but i didn’t think you cared about literature.”

His teeth are gleaming, revealed slowly as the lips grin. It’s not a welcoming expression, as much as a snapshot view of it would suggest otherwise, but pleasure in a face doesn’t align with the impatience of the person who owns it. And still his voice is a warning wrapped in a teasing facade. “You’re beginning to lose my interest, Nora.” If she couldn’t provide the basics of his top request, the point to their arrangement was looking precarious in the moment. There would have to be a close second on the table to make up for the difference.

“Let’s start again,” he goes on, another flash of a smile as if the past is going to be reworked by his very fingertips. The wedding was a bonus, and it would be won thanks to his own team. Clearly not from her. That left negotiations wider on his side, the circumstances returning, stalking or not. “Ladies first. What do you need to make you wait for me?”

The condensation from his drink brews, beads forming before becoming too heavy to stay. He’s never been a heavy drinker, in spite of the liquor of choice; pacing comes naturally to him, even in a setting such as theirs. He’d rather stay clear-headed, sharp enough to pinpoint that Nora is dancing around the subject. It makes him laugh, head turning to the side slightly to have it draw out in one exhale while his finger taps once on the damp napkin beneath the highball glass. If it had been the ring as the final tip-off, he had no business being where he was. Try years earlier. Try an abandoned script in place of one that a director like Julian Santiago would never want. Try a car accident that sent someone in the hospital. Take your pick of the rumors that swirled around the film after that. “You can read about it when we publish the ceremony. And I take it Damion Killgrave requires no further comment.”

“oh.” a disappointed sigh, barely making it past her lips, just enough to hint at the point. losing his interest, what a sorry sight that would be— how would she endure. the statement’s an arrow that’s just shy of finding it’s target, but she’s firm on a few principles when it comes to her clients. when something is off the table, it simply was. no amount of small degrading statements was going to force her hand in the matter, though he was welcome to continue to see how far it got him. 

“now,” he starts again, trying to find the inroad into getting what he wants, although she must admit this version is much more appealing. “what do i need?” she cracks just the fraction of a smile, the enjoyment of the statement. that there is something she simply could not live without, that only axel reeves could provide it. was there such a barter to be made? maybe. “the wedding isn’t going to any publication.” definitive statement, made it all the more exclusive. she supposed that added to the couple’s allure. although one only needed to spend an hour in conversation with them to be dispelled of the notion. still, after this long with them, she knew some things were not fit to print. “of course some details will slip, but you can’t have the ceremony.” 

she’s not sure if there’s going to be an exchange of vows, but if there is it’s certainly not going to end up splashed across a double page spread in axed!. but she’s not going to say the word and reveal the true target. instead its’s the ceremony, instead everything else is up for grabs. “you’re going to make a conspiracy theory chart?” and she’s not going to be taunted by thinking that damion killgrave of all people would fold to a tabloid. she can’t be his agent, but that doesn’t mean she thinks weakness of him. “what do you know about who’s planning it?”

Anti-cancellation. What a joke. Someone might as well have called themselves anti-capitalist. Rich coming from someone that had benefited from it. Depending on who you asked, in more ways than one. He wondered what Cheyenne Stewart’s price would be to tell him as much. But she was nowhere in sight for negotiations. Someone else was, someone who was now being given a quiet laugh, a spreading smile, as if he wasn’t asking the questions; he was providing the answers, served up in the syrup of sarcasm. “Not enough to take one in longer than… wasn’t it a week? Two?” It had been the running theory at Axed, but never could get the proof. It often wouldn’t be any deterrent, but in this particular case, where the dog in question did have a bite as equal to his bark, he became the exception. With a compound as tightly secured as his had been and currently was, there wasn’t one single photo that could seal the deal. Some people just didn’t value their jobs enough to put in the manual labor. It showed when Axel fired them when he saw their empty hands.

Was she vying? Did the answer matter? Did that all mythical truth matter? Ever? He couldn’t care less, no matter how his blue rings chiseled across her sardonic face. “You stalked me in a hotel bar.” His wedding band clinked once against crystal before the same glass was raised to his lips, sip not yet taken as he went on. “It has a /look/ to it.” Isn’t perception something? Changes on a dime. Good thing he had plenty of them to make it whatever he wished. But this was just entertainment. No threats to be had here. She’d understand. The interest was a straight line, no bends to allow anything else but point A to point B. For now, they were stuck on A. Not good enough. Not even close.

His shoulders relaxed into the leather upholstery, a breath released to show the epitome of ease, everything opposite to the sights he set on his drinking companion. “I’ll have one of mine sit down with Damion Killgrave.” Rumor was he was close to the bride-to-be. The interview with him would be unsatisfactory if it was /only/ about the happy couple, though. Involvement in the mysterious murder of his wife? He could make that happen. He’d love to read all about it. Wouldn’t she? “I can tell he’ll be more effective in this situation.”

“go fish.” she shook her head as if the questioning was nothing more than an annoying probe. it wasn’t a shot in the dark, it was far from it. he was circling around the same story again, trying to figure out where it fit in the scheme of things. and if the story broke now, it wouldn’t damage anyone but cheyenne stewart— would it? it was so hard to tell what her clients talked about among themselves, but she felt that a guest like that would have been hard to miss. even now, what could that information have brought to the table, it had grown too cold to be considered much. all parties had moved on and he should have known better than most to let sleeping dogs lie. there was no leverage left in the name of a c-lister. 

“stalked is such an interesting word for it.” she doesn’t have a supplemental one. a meld of facts, who had been here first? who’s tab was this on? was the hotel staff going to note such swaps in detail, she doubted it. and besides, dragging his wife into the whole thing was a little much in the early rounds. the ring hits glass in the place of where her next remark would be, cutting a reminder of their places far more decisively. she doesn’t need to change much to her approach though. this is just the early game. 

“you could.” she sips her drink, thinks about the world where she just gets to leave contracts out to dry. but julian likes claudia, and claudia, for whatever old school badge of honor reasoning, still likes damion. it’s not a hard train of thought to follow. but it banked on the one question of how much proof did anyone have about who claudia marshall really considered to be a friend. and what would she even tell the man. these are questions she doesn’t yet have the answer to, so the answer is only to buy time. “when did you first know they were together? was it the ring?”

“You’re softening,” he countered without miss, lips already on the next sip of his drink. They both knew the game, the business that they landed on, just so happened to be on opposing sides. There was no room to be flattered over anything. You had to know your value going into a negotiation, not be reminded of it, and never be fooled into an inflation of the market. Santiago was a cornerstone to her client list. Though not the only one, he had been the longest running one, and that type of equity had to have heavy returns. It also meant a heavier price to keep that investment growing. Dangerous to play favorites, especially with money.

“Things don’t work out when you don’t want to win enough. Santiago is like a dog with a bone. Everything is an agenda.” Quite the show. Very believable. Who couldn’t be entertained by the stunt during the dares? The epic hero. “Makes people wonder.” The smile back to her played at helpful warning, the lighthouse to the jagged rocks, only he was the storm pushing the ship to wreckage. Do you know what else entertains people? Scandal. Conspiracy. The questions that teased at being answered.

The expression did not wane, even in the face of nothing. She was offering nothing usable, nothing that could even be spun, nothing even worth responding directly to. “Funny. I didn’t know you liked vying for my attention this much. I thought we were making a deal today. Not playing at catch up.”

his jab was met with an amused chuckle. softening. certainly not the word that she would have used, but there was something to be said for her staunch defense of the santiago name. she would have preferred loyal, better for the brand, but this was a conversation where she was going to have to take what was given. a problem handed over to a junior associate, and now look where she was, look what she had turned him into. and still, she didn’t have anything on the wedding to give. “anti-cancellation is the agenda, i believe.” sad actors with lives on the line, strong director pushing through. “but you didn’t need me to tell you that.”

people could wonder anything they wanted, kept busy with heads full of cloudy ideas and leading questions. she knew that it wasn’t about the truth, people didn’t wonder about leaving well enough alone. they wanted to know a version of the story that wasn’t there. even if she handed over a fairytale wedding wrapped in a bow, she doubted it was the story that would run. the sharp curve of the smile across the table that was waiting for her response. loyal that was the word. why else would she be here.

“am i vying?” question posed with a curious quirk. there was that spin that she had been expecting, one text and a dangerous downfall. but she was certain of some things in her life, she did not vie and she did not beg. and that axel reeves had more than enough time to pass the conversation back to her. hours, if she had to guess. “fine. there’s no publicity at this wedding. it’s not just you.” she wasn’t even certain it would involve her, the doubt coloring cheerful eyes serious for the a second. that was all he was going to get in the way of soft. “no bruised egos here.” hard line drawn in the sand. she couldn’t wait to watch him redraw it. “your turn.”

“Good for you.” He meant it, no matter how the words seemed to gleam with poison, sweetened in condescension. It was good for her that Julian Santiago didn’t forget the brand that he was known for. Those that hated him wouldn’t be swayed by sudden good nature; those that loved the persona would shout sellout. Hard to sell a commodity when the tide of the audience could shift with a heartbeat in the wrong tempo. “Whose idea was it to knock the contract out as a possible wife?”

He would have respected it if the answer was her, but doubted it. Think what would have happened if he had. Disaster. For them. It would have been better for the story, the long-term downfall that would inevitably follow from it, too. Nora would be extinguishing fires once a week. At least. It would make the aftermath of Luis Desoto’s cancellation a cakewalk in comparison.

She may have been able to hold her tongue when it came to a biting laugh, but Axe didn’t know the meaning to pull punches when the opportunity presented itself. A chuckled breath while his head twisted, eyes on her with a snake charmer’s smile. Making something out of nothing was half the job. Where would they be if they waited for the news instead of making it? “I wouldn’t be too sure. You know what they say about voids; something has to fill them.” No photographers. No invites. Foolish to think guests were not off the table if the leading idea didn’t come through. “Glad to hear it. Sounds exclusive.” His drink was brought to his lips, one sip, back to the table, game never ceasing. “Where is it being held?”

the bachelor image hadn’t been terrible to lean into. kept it mysterious, didn’t tie it to a singular woman. it was like playing three card monte, always being sure to disguise the queen from people dumb enough to pay. she hadn’t even been sure she was hiding the right queen, just the gut feeling. the flash of his face sitting in the hospital emergency room. there was only moment when she thought she might have been wrong, axe already putting pressure on the weakest point. “you’re flattering me.” dabbling with a any answer to his question would have been a foolish admittance, so she settled for nothing. they both knew that a demand she made of her client was not going to be met. 

she took a sip of her drink. “sometimes things just don’t work out.” thank god she was not dealing with cheyenne stewart. the story would have been passé at best, melting the heart of the tough director. and she’d have to deal with the prometheus offices for rights to information. he’d taken care of it before it presented a real issue and she had remained right. the real queen now had a ring around her finger, stars in her eyes, and ink drying on her new clientele paperwork. 

“is that what they’re saying about voids?” she knew that the strategic lack of information was not actually an accident on anyone’s part.  she’d seen his security system. there was nothing left to chance with that one. “missed that article.” and didn’t he know it was her job to read absolutely all of them. twenty alerts on her phone, all of them set to last names. “you guys branching into astrophysics now?”

Neither Santiago or Marshall were friends of his. On their own volition, an invitation wouldn’t occur. That was why there was Nora, the go-between that was currently at the highest value. If not her, the second best would be any one of the various contracts that would undoubtedly worm their way into the event of the season. There was a reason why the former was the first pick, yet today she was yielding nothing. Worse, she hoped that she could change his mind, making him grin, some hollowed photoshoot of an expression.

“That’s a cute play.–Now, drop it before they wonder why they need you,” he spoke, seeing through the smoke-screen bluff, pushing it aside with a single stream of breath between the rows of gleaming teeth. She had her job; he had his. “Since we’re on the topic of running each other’s business,” he went on, finger flicking away a droplet of condensation forming along his glass, “remind them that I’m giving them a platform. If they want to hang themselves on it, that’s your mess to clean up.”

she almost laughed. the comical note that axed! could be considered a platform instead of just another thorn in her side. people did not read it to be well informed, and there was no information that either of them would willingly give that would be considered entertainment for the readership. forever a lose lose. people loved the mysterious, they did not realize that underneath it was just more of the same. the man alone in his big secure house, now there was a wife what was the story? “she hasn’t changed him.”

implication, the rules that they had put in place remained largely unchanged. he was not softer nor more negotiable because there was someone new who might want the nice wedding or favorable coverage. if anything— it was always the opposite. hadn’t that been what got her tangled in the spider’s web in the first place. report anything about the desoto cancellation but don’t report the girl. it was a favor then. call it a wedding present now. 

“can’t hang themselves if nothing’s there.” because what did she know really, there would be a ceremony. hell they seemed like the elopement type if anyone asked for her personal opinion. but she was not made to give quotes, she was made to clean messes. “no photographers, no invites.” said confidently even though there was no guest list for her to properly vet. “that’s just how it’s going to be. we can talk circles about it all day.” 

Light conversation. He had a smile for every occasion, like a shark did for every diver, flashing one in stride to her defense. “Make sure of it.” He knew her list. If he didn’t, he had no business in the industry he helped push into what it was today. Every name had its benefits, along with its weaknesses. Of course famed director and acclaimed cinematographer would never forget, as loud as they banged on their drum of morality. “You know where I’ll be if they do.” Eyes swept around the hotel’s bar, the brush of scenery before landing back on her, harassment of humor as he raised his drink to his lips. “Clearly.”

He leaned back against the booth, arm sprawled out along the top edge while he gave her his attention, an expensive acquisition for many, usually costing more than one could afford. Axe’s gin-touched lips curved. “You’re a smart girl, Nora,” he paid back, not in compliments, more so in a means of sardonic disappointment, as if there could only be one obvious thing she had that he would want. “Where’s my invite to the wedding?” Where was Axed!’s invite, more specifically. Was there any difference when they were one in the same? “Your clients are more forgetful than you’re letting on.–Take some helpful advice and fix that before it becomes a problem.”

"circling the water.” she took another sip of her drink, her own posture light as the conversation. they were just exchanging words, two old friends if anyone asked. she doubted they would, least of all the bartender who was now out of their line of sight. she could already see in his relaxed gestures that he was finding her weak point, trying to angle his way into the wedding. and she had expressed interest in keeping all press out of it. funny how that worked. 

“there are no invitations out.” she responded. because truthfully, there weren’t. that would have required planning and forethought, and whoever was doing that part of the ceremony was neither of her clients’ concern it seemed. “and there are no reeves on the guest list.” she was not so foolish as to assume that he was talking about a personal stake in going to the event, although it would be a mark of exclusivity to say so. “they’re both private citizens, what’s a small party between some friends.” downplay, minimize, spin. “barely makes your page six.”

The bar at Hotel Bel-Air was not exclusive to the Axed! tab privileges, but it was one of the favored ones. It was not out of pleasure that drinks could be billed to the account; they were business expenses. Every one of his writers understood the practice. Hotels simply made it easy. Open access. See who entered. See who exited. You make the connections that way, you write the story that way, and most importantly, with enough intoxication, you could get a quote or two to make it stick that way. It was easy. Contracts were practically begging to tell you everything about them, too dumb to realize each drink came with a vial of poison. Work hazard.

Nothing worse than the bottom-feeders, only exception came in the form of those that leeched off of them. How low could you sink? Everyone needed to make a living somehow; just not all were skilled at it. A handful could make it work for themselves, and there was one in particular that was making it a habit of rounding the corners of success, circling the pillars that he built from scratch.

“Clients forget to pay this month?” The smile of kings, wielded with charm and poised enough to be considered off-center, indicating what direction the joke was supposed to pierce. Eyes swayed off of her, the Tom Collins set down between the beat of his entrance to the moment his hand reached out to take it, as if the expectation was always there. “Don’t forget that martini comes with strings attached,” he reminded while turning away, corner booth of leather awaiting them, or at least him if she didn’t deign to follow. Her mistake. “Am I going to have to pull those strings today, or do you have what it takes to close the deal?”

it’s not so much a sigh that escapes her lips, but the continued exasperation against a game that she had no particular interest in playing. of course she had a stake in winning it, but there were a variety of routes to get to the answers that axel reeves provided for her. this just happened to be the— most pleasurable. a woman of few wants, as it were. 

“forget?” an airy tone, the implication of everyone knowing better than that. people didn’t simply forget in this industry. they hoped to avoid, as if ignorance would some how stop the sharks from circling at their door. her client was one such man, willing to feign privacy for reasons unknown. his fiancee was of equal make up, but she’d taken her on anyways. and now she would find the price of having both marshall and santiago on her roster. “they don’t forget.” and neither did she at his next words. obviously there were strings attached or she wouldn’t have had to sit at this bar and wait for this man. the axed tab was only a buffer, a perk of the transaction that she was always going to lose. because who goes into a negotiation, knowing they can offer nothing?

she took a sip of her drink before nodding to put it on the same tab, the extra beats that put her just a few steps behind. she did not follow, he did not wait, in the middle they both made it to the booth. “do i make deals?” she said finally, “i’m not the mob.” sneaking around in hotel rooms and bars to try and accomplish the tasks that everyone needed done but no one wanted to discuss. she was close. “and you’re being vague.”

the martini was set in front of her, lemon twist instead of olives, top shelf gin frosted to perfection and ready to be drank. she could downed it in one go, but there was no rush to finish a drink. if anything, her own fortune favored taking it sip by sip. she did like how the hotel bar did their martinis, and it always had a view of the entrance. in the past she’d used it to monitor clients and potential scandals, but it did seem that she was toeing that line closer and closer. still, there was no downside. there never would be one. she was good at her job.

finger tapped the counter in front of her instead of offering a card to pay for the drink. she was confident in many things in life, this was only one of the simple ones. she would not be paying for her drinks here, not when she could simply say the magic words. “he’ll get it.” she picked up her glass and tipped it towards the man who was entering the bar.