2. Tyler

CHAPTER 2

Tyler

A nger simmers under the surface as I run down a variety of scenarios where I can take advantage of this situation. Every scenario lands me in jail, but I know they'll feel good in the moment.

I give one last look into the large glass window of Radiant Talent Management where Natalie Logan sits in a leather chair she perceives as a throne to lord over her minions. Fuck her and fuck that job.

My car's parked around the corner and that's exactly where I'm heading when I practically collide with Anderson Shaw. He's like a carbon copy of a 90s boy band member, with surfer blonde hair that he keeps in a bun with a goatee to match.

"Hey bro, what's up? Where are you going? Office is that way," he says with a laugh.

"Not my office. The bitch just fired me." I bristle at the words, the argument, replaying it to see what else I could have said to make this any easier.

"No way. That sucks, man. Why?"

I shake my head. "The stupid shit from this morning with Chanel. That whacked-out fiend wanted me to leave her on set to find some coke. When I told her that wasn't going to happen, she told me to leave and to not come back unless I had what she wanted."

"Shit. Did you call Rodney?"

"Who the fuck is Rodney?"

"Rodney is one of the few dealers who works the graveyard shift for people like Chanel. You can usually grab him between three and nine in the morning. He'll even deliver for extra costs."

I let out a low groan. "Fuck. I wish I would have known that an hour ago. I just sat through a ten-minute rant about how I'm not cut out for this industry because I think too much. I just didn't want to get arrested. How does it look when someone like me just goes around looking for drugs to score?"

He laughs. "It looks like every other Wall Street bro looking for a bump before work. Grow up, Tyler. No one gives a fuck if you're looking for a few grams. Look, I'm going to text you a few numbers of some people I fuck with. I get great deals because I'm a regular."

"User or buyer?"

"Both," he replies with a side eye as if this is regular conversation. "Listen, man, I don't know how you get through your day, but working for Natalie as long as I have, there's no way you're doing this sober."

"That's the only way I've been doing it."

"Ouch," he replies. "No one should fuck with Natalie or any of her clients sober. I seriously don't know how you lasted this long. If it really bothers you to get shit for clients, you can always do what I do."

"What's that?"

"I lace their shit." He shrugs with soft laughter.

"What?"

"I … lace … their … drugs," he repeats slower as if I can't comprehend. The fact is, I'm shocked anyone would say it out loud. He huffs out a breath. "Look, if you're going to judge a motherfucker for making his job easier, maybe this isn't the industry for you."

"Wait a minute. Forget about me not fitting into this industry mold for a second and tell me how lacing someone else's shit makes your job easier."

"Alright, I'll spell it out for you in case you land a gig with another agency before Natalie gets on her shit to blackball you. Or shit, if you fuck around and start your own agency. Take Chanel. I just came from seeing Rodney and on my way to set, I'll stop to see my guy, Pete. I'll get some ex and some shrooms from him. I take that concoction and grind it up with the coke. Pink elephant coke will have Chanel hallucinating."

"Won't that fuck up her commercial shoot?"

Anderson shrugs. "That's not my fucking problem, is it? She shouldn't take drugs from strange men. I'm a strange man. She doesn't know me. She only knows that I work for her agent. If she's stupid enough to do hard drugs on set, then fuck her. That's not my problem. My goal is to make her happy. She's going to be so happy she'll forget she's on planet Earth."

"That's insane, man." I laugh.

"Not as insane as trying to find a job in this market right now. Good luck, man. Oh, and if you do decide to start your own agency, give me a call. I'll roll some of my contacts over to wherever you go if you hire me as a full agent rep."

I nod and extend my hand, which he shakes. "You got it. Thanks for the contacts, too."

"Drugs will be needed while you search for a new job. Take it easy. And don't worry. A good-looking guy like you is bound to get something quick. Just talk loud and brag about shit." Anderson walks away from me, winking with a pep in his step like he's not about to poison famed actress, Chanel Bell.

Our conversation stays with me for the rest of the day. As I sit home in my studio apartment wondering how many weeks I can go without calling my brother for a loan or something. Shit. I can't believe that bitch fired me.

I find myself flipping through apps and channels looking for some way to entertain myself while thinking of what the fuck I'm going to do next. That's when it hits me. Anderson said I should look into starting my own agency. One of Natalie's clients is a retired basketball player. I can probably snag him away from her since she doesn't know the first thing about landing him decent work.

The first problem I run into is when I scroll through my phone looking for his contact information to see I don't have it stored. It's on the tablet that I normally keep on my desk at the office. There's a ton of contacts and industry information on that tablet. If I can grab that, I'll be set and won't have to search for a job. I can cherry-pick clients that I know are tired of Natalie's poor management.

Determined to end this day better than it started, I glance at my phone to see it's after nine. No one should be in the office and the bulk of the retail stores are closed for the night. I can pop into Radiant, grab the tablet, and skip down to the bar down the street to enjoy my newfound success.

It doesn't take long to get back to Main Street where I stand on the corner near a bar to not seem out of place. I should go in and grab a drink. Or even better, text Rodney to get me something that will make me so high, I'll break into the office like I'm floating on a cloud.

Instead of going to the bar, I stick to my plan and make my way toward the closed office of Radiant Talent Management. There's no one inside and the place is as dark as the rest of the businesses on the street. After taking several deep breaths to psych myself up, I pull out my keys and thankfully, the lock turns.

I rush inside, hurrying to disarm the security system. The screeching alarm stops once I put in the security code that hasn't been changed yet. Another sigh of relief escapes my lips. I immediately move to my desk, unlock the drawers, and scramble to get the tablet I'm searching for.

I don't see it and wonder where it could be.

I turn around to see the much larger desk behind me where Natalie typically sits in judgment over me and Anderson. My feet move quickly to circle her desk where every drawer is locked.

"Fuck," I snarl as I try every key I can find, using the flashlight off my phone to look around. None of my keys work for the drawers. I refuse to leave here empty-handed. If this bitch thinks she can just let me go over not bending over for a stuck-up actress looking to make me some fall guy for her drug habit, she's dead wrong.

The gleam of a letter opener catches the light off my phone, giving me the idea to use it like a crowbar. It bends slightly when I jam it into the space between the drawer and the desk. A few jabs and pulls allow me to break them open.

There's a treasure trove of shit I can use to get back on my feet. The first thing I take is my tablet. Since I have it open, I might as well take my time to go through everything else. There are documents, files, and contact information for production studios, casting directors, and showrunners.

The sound of the door opening steals my attention. It's the last person I expect to see, and she's pissed.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here, Tyler?" Natalie shouts with her phone in her hand. "I'm calling the police."

I can't have that. It takes me a minute to hop over the desk and snatch the phone out of her hand. Natalie's face reacts with a mix of shock and fear. However, when she balls her fist, cocks it back, and throws a punch, all bets are off.