Read Complete Corruption (Corruption #1-3) for Free Online

access to them elsewhere. No one would admit they weren’t cool enough to get a meeting with Brad Pitt. Too bad the food there tasted like cheap wedding fare.
    “Your Monday three o’clock’s been cancelled,” Pam said.
    “What? Frances?”
    “Frances doesn’t have the clearance to cancel a meeting for you.” She pointed at a little double red flag on the time block. “Only Arnie’s girl does.”
    I checked my watch. “I’m going to see him. Hold down the fort.”
    “Held. I’ll set up the lunch.”
    I left her wrinkling her nose while she dialed Daniel’s number.
    ***
    In Los Angeles, windows separated the dogs from the bitches.
    Not my saying. My sister Margie said it, and when I told Pam, she believed it so ardently she repeated it regularly. When I was moved to the only office in accounting with a window, she called me a newly minted dog.
    Once.
    “Oh, Ms. Drazen, you know it’s a compliment.”
    “No one should ever repeat anything my sister says. She’s out of her mind.”
    That one window, which took up only half the room—while all the other executives had full walls of Los Angeles behind them—could have meant the world to so many. To me, it didn’t change a thing. I’d been born into four generations’ worth of money. I had a job because I wanted one, which meant I could leave at any time. My value wasn’t in my loyalty, but in my skill, which I’d take with me if I left.
    The two walls of windows in Arnie Sanderson’s office sat at right angles. Across from the north window was a twelve-foot-high mahogany shelving unit that housed antique tools of the agent’s trade. Typewriter. Approval stamp. Cufflinks. Crystal decanter and glasses. Photos of agents gladhanding household names. The only things missing were a collection of super-white dental caps and rolled up hundred-dollar bills coated with cocaine residue.
    “Theresa,” he said when I came in. His jacket pulled at the gut, even though it was custom made, and his tie was held by a gold bar so out of style, it would be back in style in six months. “You all right?”
    I assumed he was referring to the dark circles that screamed late night out. “Gene took some of us to see an act last night.”
    “Ah, Gene. I’m sure the bill will be of magnificent proportions. Sit.” His smile, which sparkled from his white teeth to his eyes, was the product of decades of asking for things and getting them.
    I sat on the leather couch. “It’s nice to see you.”
    Actually, it wasn’t. Being invited to his office meant something was wrong, especially in light of my three o’clock Monday meeting’s cancellation.
    “Can I get you something? Water? A drink? Hair of the dog?”
    Only half the staff came in half sober on Fridays. It was the life. As if proving my unmade point, he poured himself a drink as amber as a pill bottle.
    “I’m fine.”
    “I hear you’re on Katrina’s set. Michael’s movie,” he said.
    Agents and producers called talent by their first name whether they’d ever pressed flesh with them or not. Arnie, of course, was one of the few who’d actually earned the right that everyone else took for granted.
    “Script supervising in off hours. It’s fun.”
    “I imagine you’d be good at continuity. And you picked the one director we represent who’s a walking time bomb.”
    “She’s my friend.” I was suddenly, inexplicably, unusually nervous, as if he could see right through me.
    He sat across from me and crossed his legs, an odd gesture for a man. “She’s dangerous. She has entitlement issues. After that lawsuit with Overland, she’s poison, to be honest. Be careful.”
    “Have you ever known me to be anything but careful?”
    “You are famously vigilant.” He smiled, but it was reserved. He really didn’t want me working with Katrina; it was all over his face. “I wanted to thank you for getting so many of our clients off paper. Saves man hours and money. They love us for it.”
    “It’s what you