Boss Girl. Nic TatanoЧитать онлайн книгу.
were an idiot to complain. And then half of those called me wanting a job here."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Just keep Madison happy." (And I know she's happy from her note that read, "Thanks for the leftovers.")
"Just Madison?"
"Yes. Madison is a great gal with a rockin' body and you should consider yourself lucky that I don't make you sleep with Carla the producer."
His face tightened and I could tell the image of the overweight troll in a state of undress was flashing through his mind.
"Now go," I said. "Do your job, keep Madison entertained, and we'll keep you posted on the network gig."
He got up, turned and shuffled out of my office without saying a word.
Men.
* * *
The term "meat market" is a throwback to the eighties, but never seemed more appropriate as we occupied the corner table in the back of one of Manhattan's trendiest bars. The electricity in the place sent a charge through my body, while various expensive colognes and perfumes made the room smell like a walk through the Bloomingdales fragrance department where the Stepford girls spritz you. In reality, our hunting expedition tonight wasn't much different than trying to pick someone up. The men and women in the bar were looking for someone attractive to sleep with, and I was looking for someone attractive to sleep with, under thirty, who could read a teleprompter and knew that Ted Kennedy had never been shot. I sipped my Bailey's and tried to unwind as the cream with a bite ran down my throat, but things were getting too exciting. Tomorrow New York's top modeling and talent agencies were going to fill our office with male models and actors. (I know, I have such a tough job.)
"What time do we start tomorrow?" asked Rica, not looking at me but scanning the crowded uptown bar for any hot prospects. One attractive man in his forties smiled at her, but was repelled by the force field of her death stare. He bounced off, shook his head, and headed out the door, letting in the sound of New York's heartbeat: car horns and police sirens.
"Nine o'clock," I said. "We'll do a preliminary screening, then call back the ones we like for reference checks."
It was wall-to-wall people and noise but one man at the bar somehow managed to connect with Jillian across the packed watering hole. "Oooh, I just got a shiver," she said.
"Which one?" asked Rica, trying to follow Jillian's line of sight.
Jillian nodded toward the bar, her eyes still paralyzed by the man's stare. "Sitting at the corner talking to an older guy but looking right at me. Gray pinstripe vest. Dark hair. Light eyes. Five o'clock shadow."
Rica glanced around, trying to look through the wall of people. Finally she spotted him. "Damn, he's cute."
"He's even beyond exponentially cute," said Jillian, suddenly possessing Neely's dreamy-eyed look. "It's a whole new level of cute."
Rica turned to me. "Waddaya think, Syd? Should we go talk to him?"
I was about to answer "yes", when the man hopped off his bar stool and headed across the floor to the men's room. I finally got a good look at the total package and my smile faded.
He was short. And I mean really short. Five-three, five-four tops.
"Aw, dammit," I said.
"What?" asked Rica.
"He's just a little thing."
"So?" asked Neely. "He's an exponentially cute little thing. We just sit him on a Manhattan phone book and tilt the camera up at him when he's on set."
"You're missing something. That plays havoc with our plan to have our anchors stand during part of each hour," I said.
"No, you're missing something, Syd," said Neely, just as our waitress arrived.
"Another round, girls?" asked the tall, slinky brunette in the short black spaghetti strap dress.
"Make it so," I said.
The waitress, who looked around thirty, wrote our drink order on her pad, shoved a pencil behind her ear and was about to leave when Neely touched her arm. "Excuse me, can we ask you a couple of questions?"
The waitress shrugged. "Long as they're quick," she said. "I got a lotta tables."
Neely looked back at the men's room just as the man emerged. "How tall are you?" she asked.
"Five-eleven. About six-two in these heels. Why?"
"See that guy walking to the bar?" Neely pointed at him. "Real cute, dark hair."
The waitress craned her long, slender neck around the crowd and squinted. "You mean the little guy in the dark vest?"
"Yeah," said Neely.
"What about him?"
"Would you ever consider going out with him?" asked Neely. "I mean, being as tall as you are, do you find him attractive?"
"I'd do him in a New York minute," said the waitress, licking her lips. "He'd make a great Friday night snack."
"You don't have a problem with a man that much shorter?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Hell, I date shorter guys all the time. Most of the ones taller than me are pretty stuck on themselves. The shorter ones try harder, they're more polite. Better personalities and sense of humor. And they don't try anything funny 'cause I'm bigger than they are." Suddenly she put her tray down on our table, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. "Plus, I'll let you in on a little secret. They obey."
"Excuse me?" I said.
"They're so afraid you'll ditch them for a tall guy they'll do anything you want. I guess I feel more in control with a guy like that. It's sorta nice being the man in the relationship, if that makes any sense." She looked back across the room at the man, dark eyes suddenly steamy with lust. "But yeah, I wouldn't mind bending him across my knee and spanking that tight little ass."
Interesting mental picture I hadn't considered.
"Thanks," said Neely.
"What's the deal?" asked the waitress, picking up her tray. "You guys taking a marketing survey or something?"
"We work in TV," I said. "Just keeping in touch with how women think."
"Let's put it this way. They're all the same height lying down," said the waitress. "I'll be right back with your drinks." She turned and headed back to the bar.
"Syd, we are really missing something here," said Neely. "If we want to convey the notion that women are in charge, why can't a few of our female anchors be taller than their male co-anchors?"
"She's got something, Syd," said Rica. "A lot of women wouldn't mind takin' that guy home, even if he is a munchkin. And look at Jillian. She looks so possessed I'm gonna have to call a priest."
I turned and saw that Jillian was in some sort of schoolgirl trance, which I might expect from Neely. But Jillian, I'd never seen her this way. The cool, always in control girl looked like she was in the ninth grade suffering from her first crush. "Jillian? Earth to Jillian?"
"Huh?" she said.
"Have you heard a word we've been saying?" I asked.
"Yeah. Sort of. Not really," she said, still staring at the man.
I looked up at the guy who had returned to the bar. He shook hands with another man who handed him an envelope, then paid his bill, picked up his drink, and headed for our table.
"This oughta be fun," said Neely, cocking her heard toward Jillian. "Woman hit by Cupid's arrow. Film at eleven."
"Someone reel in her tongue before he gets here," said Rica.
I elbowed Jillian who snapped back into reality just as the man reached our table. He stood between Jillian and Neely but it was obvious he had his sights on Jillian.
"Hi,