Kiss me under the Hollywood sign

Chapter 5

The doorknob surrendered to my sweaty grip with a satisfying click. As I stood there, wiping my palm on my ill-fitting pants, I noticed the janitor had come through with his usual lack of care. A smelly mop bucket sat open by the water fountain, emitting its stink. But instead of bursting in, I had a better idea.

I threw the door open hard enough so they'd know someone was coming, but not so hard I had to see anything I didn't ask for. The effect was beautiful. Their strange duet came to a sudden end, and the air conditioning hummed on, trying to wipe the slate clean. This was my moment.

"Mr. Stevens?" I chirped, making my voice extra chipper, a nervous squeak disguised as enthusiastic professionalism.

Better they thought I was a dumb kid than guess what I really saw. Instant panic ensued. You could've heard a pin drop in that office - or more precisely, the rustling of clothes being hastily re-adjusted. I waited, savoring the moment. What secrets would be revealed next? My heart beat like a trapped bird. Ha! This was way more fun than math class.

A peek through the slightly opened door revealed a dishevelled scene.

Panic ensued as they scrambled to look presentable again. One tossed a throw pillow to the other, who tossed it right back in confusion. Really, just leave it on the floor - no need to make a bigger mess! At last, the silence broke, followed by whispered urgings of "You go!" and "No, you!"

Cautiously peering in, the scene was straight out of a bad porno. Just then, she whirled around with a start. And that's when I almost lost my little breakfast all over the welcome mat.

I blinked several times, hoping the vision before me would change. But no, it was Victoria Sinclair herself, looking just as flawless on the movie screens as disheveled in real life.  I have seen every one of her movies, some more times than I'd like to admit. While I didn't know Daniel Hunter that well since just moving to LA, I sure knew Victoria Sinclair was a living legend.

There was a brief spark of anger in her eyes as she brushed past, her perfume assaulting my nostrils with a potpourri of floral and earthy scents. Really, lady, a little subtlety next time.

The door remained ajar after her exit, leaving me face-to-face with the aftermath. Mark Stevens emerged a moment later, his tie loosened and his hair slightly ruffled. But unlike Victoria, he seemed relatively composed, with an air of nonchalance about him.

Don't know what I expected, but the man looked ready for his close-up. He flashed a smile that probably charmed billions, but seeing as I just witnessed where else that mouth had been, it had little effect.

I stood frozen, my brain short-circuiting. Mark Stevens, the manager who was supposed to be briefing me, had just been... well, let's just say his briefing methods were a tad unorthodox.

My mind raced with questions. Were office rendezvous part of the job description here? Would I be expected to participate for the sake of my career? This was Hollywood - where scandal and secrets lurked around every corner, and where even A-listers weren't above using their assets to get ahead.

My lips felt dry, and I knew I needed to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence that hung heavy in the air. But my brain seemed to have inexplicably deserted me at this crucial moment.

So, the only words that escaped my mouth were, "Oh god," spoken in a whisper.

~

"Ah, sorry for the wait, Ms...?" he said, pushing his glasses up his nose and squinting at me like I was one of those tiny words at the bottom of an eye chart. "D? P? Which letter am I looking at here?"