Khloe ;inc.

1/ text file; "shop's down; business's up. get an appointment."

1/ text file; "shop's down; business's up. get an appointment."

I don't know how I ended up in this business. I really don't.

I'm a contractor, not that mafia-style informer shit, but basically, I just listen to unfounded/new artists new to the pop world rant about their life and how much it sucks and them listen to their albums (49% of those are about as bad as it gets) then try to pair them up with a recording company, or try to tell them that no one wants them and that they should either give up the Hollywood and Broadway dream and just be a normal, sane, un-obsessed with fame person.

Yeah, sometimes it doesn't work out all that well.

Elise Voluchbahich.

I roll my eyes, how do you even pronounce that?

See, this is a part of my job; dealing with dumb, moron secretaries. Colette, Bethany and Cordelie help me find possible candidates out of our— well, my, company's long ass client waiting list and then gives the files of all those potential candidates to me. But the problem, is we're all blonde (and to be fair, so am I but), but literally, that's where things go wrong—

You never know when someone gets a major brain fart and just becomes and idiot and gives you one of those people you just know isn't going to make it.

Like literally, if I can't pronounce it, then the probability of fans (if anyone even ends up listening or liking that hyena screech) can't pronounce it either, or even be able to spell it. So if they can't do that, her, Elise what's-her-face can kiss her ass goodbye those god-giddy teenage dreams.

Cole: so, what do you think?

Ah, so you're the idiot who gave me this file. Great-fucking-wonderful, you're the one that gave me even more paperwork. Colette Anderson was just one of those people.

Khlo; did you fall asleep while sorting? Because if you already told what's-her-face, then i need to waste even more time rejecting her

Cole: oh come on! she's such wonderful girl! you're so mean, Kou!!!!!!!

I roll my eyes and then pull out a bottle of hot pink nail polish.

Khlo; drop the exclams, will you? besides if i was all that nice, wonderful, giggly-rainbow shit, you wouldn't be getting a pay check at the end of the day

Cole: fine, fine! you're the boss

Khlo; of course i am, now scram

Cole: aye, aye, cap'n!

I sigh. One of these days, I swear I'm going to dye my hair brunette.

It was one of those days.

Another client was standing in front of my door that clearly said a big fat 'CLOSED' and screaming at Frank, the security guy with a fat gut but no actual guts or any balls at all, with a flushed face from exerting so much energy from trying to keep back the half-insane person.

"Shop's here, business's upstairs, it's seven o'clock in the morning, darling." I say for what was the probably the seventh-fifth time this month to clients who think they can just barge in. "Call during business hours if you want to try to get an appointment. No call, no deal." It's dawn and I don't even have the energy to be mean, so I just jab the key inside the locks and then open the doors and slip inside.

The 'no call, no deal' (or the NCD) has been a golden rule ever since Khloe ;inc. had started getting more clients than we could handle. To be honest l, the success of the company had been a huge surprise, but well. Sometimes life's a bitch and karma bites you in the ass, other times it's so fucking wonderful that it'll literally make you barf rainbow and drop meatballs from the sky.

I think everyone has an idea about how relatively satisfied I am with my life.

Well, I jinxed it.

It started with Colette crying. And for people that knew her, that was a huge problem and big no-no. Colette looks, and is your typical dumb blonde, but under that pretty face of hers, she could proudly say she's got some gut (unlike Frank) and feistiness.

And right now, even to some complete random stranger, with her mascara running down her face and lips bleeding and swollen from being chewed and clamped on by limps— in a bad way wobbling up the stairs blabbering.

"Col?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Khlo!" She blubbered and launched herself at me.

I paled, she better not have a runny nose. The sweater was cashmere.

"Beth!" I holler, and Bethany pokes her head from her office door with a curious expression that quickly turns into a concerned one seeing Colette sobbing into my stomach. "Tissue," I mouth and pointed at Colette, she nodded and scrambled off, I doubt she even needed me to tell her to get any.

I sigh internally. If only all my assistants and secretaries were like her. That would make my life so much easier.

Unfortunately, from my twenty-four years of experience of failing life and making sure other people don't fail their lives too, that doesn't just happen (if it did, I wouldn't have even gotten involved with the big screens, or the service and the music industry.

And that marked the end of my relatively satisfying life.

Wonderful.