Free B009R9RGU2 EBOK by Alison Sweeney

account—tights, costumes, and all—becauseit was a chance to prove myself. I’m shocked that even Priscilla could be so shortsighted. She should be nauseously kissing Elle’s ass for the opportunity.
    “Really? Elle, I too am very busy right now. Don’t you think this is something Jeff could handle?”
A junior publicist? Is she kidding?
    “I would have thought you’d be jumping at the chance to step up.”
    Go, Elle! Way to call her out.
    “I
am
stepping up. In fact I was just emailing you about the new strategy I’ve worked up for the Jones and Jones account. And I am trying to cross-promote—”
    “I know everything you’re working on, Priscilla. We’re
all
busy here. I’ve discussed this with Sophie and you’re going to handle American Wrestling. Sophie will fill you in on where the account stands today, and if you have any problems you can always ask her. But it’s your responsibility now.” Elle doesn’t change her volume, but her tone tightens up and I’m glad she isn’t looking at me. “Thank you, ladies.” And we are dismissed.
    Priscilla glides out the door ahead of me and struts to the elevator bank. I follow and automatically press the down arrow button even though it is already lit. We ride the elevator one floor down in silence. I’m not feeling triumphant exactly, but definitely vindicated. I replay Elle’s words to Priscilla in my head as I stare blindly at the polished elevator doors. When the
ding
announces our arrival, my eyes refocus on Priscilla’s reflection. I see complete and utter hatred in her eyes for thesecond before the doors open and her face disappears. It almost makes her unattractive.
    The sheer venomous look catches me so off guard that I hesitate for a split second as Priscilla calmly steps off the elevator and disappears around the corner toward her office.
    All of a sudden my self-preservation radar goes off. As I head back to my department, I do the math on everything I’ve heard about Priscilla and decide I’d better watch my back. Well, in the immortal words of Kirsten Dunst,
Bring It On
.
    Billy climbs into the back of the stretch limo as I switch seats to give us a little distance. While I hire limos and car services for celeb clients all the time, I’m very rarely in them myself. It’s a huge vehicle. An entire prom entourage could fit back here, but this ride it’s simply Billy Fox and me. Tonight he looks the part of a movie star—perfect and absolutely gorgeous in a slim silhouette Paul Smith tuxedo. I had arranged with the Paul Smith people to lend him the suit for the benefit event, but knowing it was coming did nothing to prepare me for the full impact of Billy Fox in evening wear.
    “Hi, Billy. You look great.”
And the Understatement of the Year Award goes to… Sophie Atwater
. I clear my throat. “Everything go okay at the fitting this afternoon?”
    Billy leans forward, and for a split second I hysterically think he’s going to grab my shoulders and kiss me like in some old forties movie. But he doesn’t. Instead I hear “Thanks” as he brushes his lips on my cheek, getting a corner of my mouthby accident, and then continues the forward motion to reach into the mini fridge for a bottle of water.
    “It was easy. They had some great suits to choose from. I feel very Sean Connery in this.” He offers me a bottle too, but I shake my head. Retreating back to his seat, he stretches his long legs out. I use this move as a desperate excuse to scoot farther back in my facing seat.
    Swallowing a completely inappropriate giggle, I randomly remember a silly email forward that went around several years ago about which urinal in a row a guy should choose under different circumstances. Like if there’s a guy already at one end, you have to take the farthest urinal away. Because guys don’t want other guys to think they
want
to be near them. Or something weird like that. Anyway, that’s how I feel in the back of this huge car. With all this