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embarrassing.
    I stumbled into the bathroom and let the shower ease some of the sudden tension in my shoulders. I leaned my hands against the cool tiles while the water poured over my head. It was soothing. And Rhonda – or probably Adelita – had left out some expensive-smelling bodywash.
    I didn’t know how long I’d been standing under the hot jets but I felt a whole lot better when I staggered out. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It wasn’t steamed up: Rhonda must have had one of those fancy, heated mirrors – not that I was planning on shaving today.
    Yeah, this place screamed serious money: like Jo-Anne’s place. The thought made me frown – and what did Rhonda want to tell me? If it was good news she’d have just said, wouldn’t she?
    Rhonda was waiting for me in her home office.
    “Miles, take a seat.”
    Her voice was clipped and cool. I wondered if agents practiced that. She waited, her face closed and unreadable, while I sat on the hard leather chair next to her desk. Everything was happening in slow motion, my career, my life, unraveling in bullet-time – cue the extreme close-up of my nervous twitch. Just to add to the impending humiliation, my stomach rumbled loudly, and I remembered I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten much yesterday – probably the memory of having to take my shirt off in front of Jo-Anne and Lilia.
    Rhonda raised her eyebrows but I was grateful she didn’t mention my gut’s audible interruption.
    “Sooo,” she said, stringing out the tension. Maybe the woman was a sadist. Maybe she had handcuffs in her drawer – with a basement full of whips and stuff.
    Automatically my eyes sank to the floor. I wished she’d just let the axe fall.
    “Jo-Anne called…” Get on with it . “She was very impressed with you.”
    What? I looked up, thinking I’d misheard.
    “She wants you for the part, Miles, and Lilia is championing you, too. Apparently the chemistry was… how did Jo-Anne put it… sizzling.”
    I stared at her open-mouthed. Is this a joke?
    “There’s just one problem…”
    Oh, here it comes .
    “The studio heads still need some convincing. They want to make sure you can sell the look. You know, clean cut – angelic.”
    She rolled her eyes when she saw nothing but a blank expression on my face.
    “Jesus, Miles! You’re scruffy, your hair’s a mess, your eyebrows need plucking, your teeth are obviously British, you’re gonna have to start working out and damn it, stop chewing your nails!”
    What? Crap! Was I?
    “Sorry,” I mumbled. God, I sounded pathetic. I think she took pity on me because she stopped yelling.
    “So, the plan is to get you suited, booted and beautiful, okay? But they liked the fact you’re pale. After all, whoever heard of an angel with a tan?”
    Yeah, and whoever heard of an angel with plucked eyebrows?
    “I’ve booked you in at a beauty salon the agency uses. They’ll take care of you.”
    I didn’t like the expression on her face – it all sounded… painful.
    “The car will be here to pick you up in 10 minutes. After the salon, I’m sending you to Bradley, my personal shopper. He’ll dress you…”
    Rhonda fixed me with her gimlet eye.
    “This will all come out of your future salary, so you’d better nail this, baby.” She softened slightly. “Later, you’ll be meeting the studio heads, casually, of course, at an event dinner – the Metron Awards. I’ll be there.”
    Then she handed me a folder.
    “This,” she said, slapping the flat of her hand onto the desk between us, “this is a list of the studio heads. Study their faces – learn their names. There’ll be a test later.” She frowned at the folder, then at me. “Don’t fuck up.”
    And I was dismissed.
    This was so bizarre. I didn’t know what to make of it all. I guessed I should go with the flow… like I really had a choice… and Rhonda was bloody intimidating. Even more so than Melody, and she was a double-hard, take-no-prisoners