The Second Assistant by Clare Naylor, Mimi Hare Read Free Book Online Page B

the other side of the counter and held the door open for me. He had short, wheat-colored hair and wide green eyes, and he laughed louder than anyone I’d ever heard before, which gave him a warm, open air. “See you around.”
    “Thanks,” I said as I was swept out onto the street, somewhat dazed.
    Back at my desk, as I scrubbed the ink from my hand and left ear (go figure) with a Kleenex, I was hit by a wave of schadenfreude. Somehow, knowing that there were other people in this business who were as unhappy as I was made me feel a little better. And even though I got every single one of the coffee orders wrong and everyone looked at me as though I was the biggest lame-ass who ever touched down at LAX, I was feeling optimistic. I was a bright girl, wasn’t I? Everyone used to say so. I scored very respectably in my SATs. My school report cards said that I made friends easily, and I’d certainly impressed Congressman Edmunds enough for him to hire me on a top security part of his campaign. I couldn’t be such a sorry loser that I couldn’t handle the job as, let’s face it, second assistant to someone in the entertainmentindustry (for which read Ministry of Fun, Senior VP Mickey Mouse), could I?
    I got back to work on the list Ryan had sent. I’d dealt with the live girls, now how about the live birds? I called a man in Sacramento who owned an aviary and did a little deal on some birds of paradise and parrots. He assured me that they weren’t going to kill one another. He’d also offered me hummingbirds, but common sense told me that letting the smallest bird in the world loose at a party of Hollywood heavy hitters would mean it was only a matter of time before someone inserted one into an orifice they shouldn’t or snorted one up along with their line of cocaine. Daniel had decided that the theme of the party was supposed to be “Jungle Madness.” I saw it as my responsibility to provide the jungle part. Hoping that the madness would happen all on its own.
    Next I got to work on the sponsorship deal. I made a huge mistake to begin with by telling Piper-Heidsieck and then Veuve Clicquot that there would be no press allowed. I then tried to lie to Tanqueray and told them that I was almost certain that there would be press, but when the woman got pushy and asked me to sign a document testifying to this, I lost my nerve. But I did manage to pull off a coup with Jose Cuervo tequila, who promised me as much as my guests could drink. Who could argue with that? We could have margaritas and . . . well, margaritas. And of course slammers and shots and maybe even girls with guns. Or was that horribly nineties? Who cared—we could bring it back. As soon as anyone saw George with a pretty girl on his arm and a tequila gun on his tonsils, they’d all be dying to follow suit. All I had to do now was ensure that the invitations were hand-delivered. I pulled down the document with the guest list and began to fill in courier forms. Though when I reached about the hundred fiftieth, a shadow fell over me. I looked up and saw a man who I could only assume from Lara’s description yesterday was Ryan.
    “Elizabeth?” he asked tersely.
    “Hi.”
    “I’m Ryan. I just had a call from Cuervos, and they said you’d agreed to let them supply drinks for the party.”
    “Yeah, as much as we can drink.” I nodded proudly.
    “It’s not a frat party.” He narrowed his already narrow eyes and glared at me. Lara was right—the guy was practically oozing slime. Helooked like a weasel, and you just knew that he’d be mean to fat girls in bars. He was that type.
    “I’m well aware of that.” I tried to keep my cool. Think bigger picture, Elizabeth, think bigger picture. Which was what I’d begun to tell myself when I felt the tears prick at the inside corners of my eyes.
    “And you were aware, I suppose, that the liquor they are so generously offering to provide us with is Jose Cuervo tequila?”
    “Yes, yes, I was.” I even