Fix me when i fall, p.1
Fix Me When I Fall, page 1
Fix Me When I Fall
Zoe Forward
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
10 RULES OF CAREER OVERHAULING
About the Author
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Copyright © 2024 by Zoe Forward.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
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Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Edited by Tera Cuskaden and Jordan Bailey
First Edition September 2024
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ISBN 979-8-9911298-0-0
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, recording or otherwise without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at zoe@zoeforward.com
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All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
We want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage for details.
http://www.zoeforward.com/fixmewhenifall/
Chapter One
MACKENZIE
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Rule #1: The client cannot be a friend, but he can be an enemy.
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People don’t stand me up. Not professionally. When someone does, his career dies.
I tapped my cell phone screen to check the time again: 9:20.
Twenty minutes late. Not even a texted excuse for his absence. What a colossal waste of my time.
“Breakfast alone, huh?” The bouncy, twenty-something waitress shot me a pity smile complete with a full lower lip pout. She placed sparkling water in front of me. “Eating alone isn't the worst. Last time it happened to me, it turned out my bestie got a flat tire on the way to the restaurant. I’m sure your date will be here soon. Shall we get him…or her a drink?”
The waitress’s bubbly chitchat reminded me of an animated movie character. I didn’t trust people this happy all the time.
“I’ll wait.” The sun blinded me from the panoramic window despite the haze clinging over the Los Angeles hillside. Another too-hot September day loomed.
Typically when my firm got referrals, the celebrity was on the edge of total career ruin. The client needed me to repair the culmination of several years of bad decisions. This project was no different. Ryan Brandt might’ve starred in two of this year’s multimillion-dollar action movies, but his personal messes spilled into his professional life. Repairing that didn’t daunt me. That came as part of the job. I excelled at dredging talent from the embers of disaster.
As a potential client, Ryan sparkled like gold in the middle of a mud pool, but he represented bad risk for me on a personal level.
My phone dinged.
Ian Killian: Your career is swirling the toilet. Fail this one and you’re done.
Not even going to respond to my boss. He didn’t fling termination threats at random. This was my last shot.
As the pioneer of the Hollywood image and career makeover, Ian knew the business better than anyone. If I couldn’t overhaul Ryan’s life, my time with his firm was done given my last two failures. Few knew about my huge successes. Part of our NDA with clients was not publicizing what it took for them to become famous and successful. We did it for them, not for personal gain. And for the paycheck, of course. No celebrity wanted it aired that they needed a makeover.
I needed a win. This was my last chance.
Maybe Ryan no-showing had an upside. Failure would be on him for rejecting help.
I’d assured Ian yesterday afternoon there wasn’t any potential rule breakage if I took Ryan on as a client. He had worried my history with Ryan violated rule #1: The client cannot be a friend, but he can be an enemy.
We weren't friends. Never again. The man eviscerated my heart years ago and destroyed my fledgling career as a publicist. I hurt him by accidentally implicating him in a homicide. In the middle of all the noise between us lurked a complicated death.
Ian Killian: What’s going on? Text me now.
Ian’s micromanaging bullshit had reached a new high. For the past few weeks, he’d monitored me like a kindergartener who couldn’t handle using the restroom alone. Did I deserve the oversight? Maybe I did. I’d screwed up what should’ve been a simple crisis spin for an actress last month. My split-second decision hadn’t panned out. For cripes’ sake, no one was perfect. To Ian, imperfection wasn’t an excuse. It was a weakness.
Ryan pushed through the front door of the restaurant.
My pulse sprinted.
Breathe.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
He slid his sunglasses up and into his deliberately messy dirty-blond hair. His wrinkled white button-down contrasted the tan he worked hard to maintain and emphasized his electric blue eyes. The sharpness to his cheekbones, however, might be striking on screen and set off his jawline and lips, but he’d lost too much weight. Sure, Hollywood wanted their actors thin, but his current role demanded a sculpted action hero.
His jeans molded the muscled length of his long legs. The man was still as disgustingly beautiful as he was toxic to me.
The stubble on his chin and shadows under his eyes hinted at a party gone one hour too late last night. He’d probably been high, drunk, and hadn’t slept alone. A knife twisted itself in my gut, filling me with jealousy. I hated this reaction. It should’ve died years ago.
The shame. The lust.
I still hated Ryan for what he’d done to me.
To keep from fidgeting I folded my napkin and put it next to my plate. With a glare, I waited for an apology.
His blue eyes almost looked black when they locked onto mine. “Kenzie…”
“Ryan.” I swallowed and dropped my gaze down his body. I needed to look away, but I couldn’t. He was so fucking handsome. His hair had been trimmed to a fashionable roguish buzz on the side and long on top. Tattoos peeked out from the V of his shirt where he had work done many years ago.
I almost held out a hand for a handshake, but that would make this even more awkward.
“I was…surprised to get your call.” He swiped a hand down the side of his face. Slowly, his eyes moved to meet mine.
My heart jumped in my chest just like it had the first time I’d solo skydived. This free-fall in desperate search for equilibrium would stop. It might take a few hours, a few days…or several long years.
Apparently, six years wasn’t long enough.
This never happened with other clients, even those who the press dubbed the hottest men in the world. It didn’t happen with men I dated.
Only Ryan Brandt.
He ruined my life…and might do it again.
I grabbed my water for a sip to prevent myself from staring more.
He’s a client prospect. The past doesn’t matter.
“Your hair is shorter.” That low and deep voice resonated in my stomach. His eyes assessed my cheeks and dipped to my lips.
“Sure is.” For a split second my inner teenager flared to life. That girl had worshipped this man and thought the world revolved around him.
“I liked it long.” The judgment in his tone had me grinding my molars.
The teenage girl inside me faded back into the ashes of the past. The grown-up, almost thirty-one-year-old me didn't give two shits about what a client like Ryan thought about me.
“Don’t call me Kenzie today. I’m here in a professional capacity.”
Now you’re getting back on your game.
An old cohort in our teenage escapades, JT, begged me to help Ryan. I refused. I had avoided Ryan for years and didn’t want to go through…this. JT went behind my back to ask Ian for his firm's help. I didn’t hold it against JT, a talented songwriter whose alternative band hit it big this past year. I understood JT’s motivation to help Ryan escape his downward spiral.
The waitress reappeared, tucked her ironed straight blonde hair behind an ear, and cocked her hip before addressing Ryan. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Guess it’s too early for a gin and tonic.” He flashed the waitress his famous grin. This was his press persona.
“He’ll have water,” I answered.
“I can bring you a gin and tonic.” A hysterical, high -pitched laugh escaped the waitress.
He shot me a fake glare. “Water works. Not the fizzy stuff. In an unopened bottle if you have it. No ice.”
“Of course.” The girl blushed. What came next was predictable. “Mr. Brandt, would you mind signing something for me?”
“Sure.”
The waitress flipped her order pad. She thrust a blank page in front of him and her pen.
“Who should I make it out to?” His tone came out patient.
She giggled. “Megan. Thank you so much. I just love your movies. I can’t believe you did the jumping and motorcycle stunts all by yourself in The Spy Seeker.”
“There you go.” He handed her the order pad.
“Can I get a selfie?” Megan’s face flushed scarlet.
“All right.”
“Gah, this is just…” Megan giggled and posed with Ryan. “I just love you.”
I never wanted to change this about him. To his credit he was good with the public. He shunned no fan. He always gave them his time. What he did need to change was his attitude on set and sometimes during more recent interviews when he lost his temper. We needed to work on that.
I wondered how he handled the crazy fans, the ones who wanted a piece of him, whether it was clothing, hair, or something else. Most who achieved Ryan’s level of stardom had a few nutso fans and stalkers, both online and in person. He didn’t have a bodyguard or personal assistant. He needed both. Putting them in place would be a top priority.
You’re already thinking as if you’ll tackle his overhaul. It’s not a done deal. Not yet. He needs to apologize first.
“I was kidding about the gin, Megan. Water is good.” He winked.
“Thanks.” Megan stumbled into a nearby chair. She waved. “I’m fine.”
“Whoa there. Maybe you should lay off the sauce.” He grinned at her.
Megan giggled and scrolled through her phone as she walked away, no doubt about to share the selfie with the world.
“Maybe I didn’t want water,” he whispered to me. His lips lifted into a cocky I’m-kidding smirk.
I resisted an eye roll. I wasn’t the infatuated college girl he used to be able to manipulate with a smile. That girl grew up, got betrayed, and moved on.
With practiced diligence, I concentrated on my breathing. Air in and air out.
Calm had been my mantra over the years in this business. I prided myself on my ability to remain in control when faced with all manner of shitstorms, whether juggling meetings with industry execs, news media sharks, influencers, or the unrelenting demands of my most dramatic clients. I could handle Ryan.
His smile fell. His fingers drummed on the tabletop as if beating in time to a tune in his head. His eyes darted around, jittery.
“Did you take something this morning? You seem amped up.”
“I took an energy boost. Gets me going in the morning for my workout.” His gaze swung back to me. The finger drumming stopped. “What’s this about keeping it professional? JT said you needed to talk.”
“He didn’t tell you why we’re meeting?” Typical JT to leave me to deliver bad news.
“Are you ready to finally apologize?”
“You owe me an apology.” I pointed at myself.
“For what? You almost got me charged with murder.”
“You killed my career in PR.”
“Didn’t seem to hurt you. You’re still doing PR stuff.”
“That’s not what I do.”
“You fix people’s messes. That’s PR.”
“It’s way more than PR.” I dug my nails into my left palm. Don't let him get to you.
“Do you need money?”
“No.” I couldn’t determine if he would help me if I did. I might not be great financially, but I didn’t need a handout from him. “Your agent and JT asked me to do an assessment of your career's situation.”
“My situation? What are you talking about?” His body stiffened. The movement strained his powerful shoulders against his shirt and brought into shadow the tattoos over his left shoulder.
“They’re correct to be concerned.”
“My career is great.”
The waitress returned with a bottled water for Ryan and a glass with a lemon perched on the rim.
“I don’t need your kind of help.” His eyes narrowed and cooled. The remnants of the charmer vanished, giving me a glimpse of the real Ryan. The man beneath the smile was harder, rougher, and complicated. His wounded core, haunted by shadows of a youth he wished to forget, still existed. “Maybe I need a new agent if he doesn’t believe in me anymore.”
Hearing his voice in that harsh tone made me feel as if I’d shatter inside all over again. This wasn’t the past. He wasn’t telling me he was going to marry my sister seconds after I’d blurted out that I had feelings for him.
This mental yo-yo had to stop. I couldn’t help Ryan without being emotionally involved—definite rule breakage. Ian’s rules were in place to prevent disastrous failure.
I fought to curb my hands’ shaking under the table and continue.
You’re good at this. This is work.
“You’re in trouble.” I tried to look him in the eye but settled on staring just over his shoulder.
“I’ve had some bad press recently. It’ll blow over. It always does.”
The worst of the cases I’d rescued from the downward slide to ruin started this way: denial.
I placed three celeb magazines on the table in front of him. Two featured sensationalized pictures of him and different women he’d partied with. The third had him in cuffs, arrested for trespassing after BASE jumping off an abandoned gas tower in the UK.
The return of his cocky smile made me want to snap at him.
He messed with his fork. “I had on full PPE for the jump.”
“Did the cops care about personal protective equipment when they arrested you?”
“You always used to be concerned about safety. The cuffs were a mistake. They let me go before we got to the station. We had permission from the property owner to be there.” He sat back in his chair and grinned. “Hey, remember that time in Mexico when we jumped?”
Skydiving, hang-gliding…yeah, I’d done some crazy things with him in my early twenties. I’d been terrified every time, but his obsession for anything airborne was infectious. Each time before we took to flight my legs would turn to jelly and I’d almost puke, but one flash of his killer smile and I jumped. Yet, he’d chosen my sister, the one who never went on any adventures with him.
“I don’t do that kind of insanity anymore. I have a job I take seriously, like you should. You need a publicist to spin this kind of mess. This—” I shook the magazine with him in cuffs on the cover, “is an image people won’t forget. This is you as a criminal.”
“Any press is good press, right?”
“No. Public perception and reputation are everything.” A chill shuddered through my shoulders.
My reputation is also on a Slip ‘n Slide into the shitter. I hate that I might need you to redeem me.
I lifted my fizzy water but paused before I drank. Something was missing. I glanced to Ryan’s water glass. Two lemons swirled at the bottom of his water, my lemon and his. Just like every other time we’d ordered and been near each other at restaurants. I didn’t like citrus with water. He did.
Had Ryan thought about the lemon, or had it been some sort of subconscious movement, as if he’d readjusted to being near me?
I pulled out a fourth magazine with an article featuring him in another police car. “You got arrested at Comic-Con for getting drunk and assaulting a man?”
