4. PR Hire

Private Number: It will function like two separate jobs. One is the job you have on paper, the other is the job you do for me. Take RedViolet’s pay, and I will double it on the side.

Sevan Montego was out of his depth.

The packed airport, the streetside performers, the palm trees growing out of the concrete labyrinth of shoulder-to-shoulder buildings. Warm, dry weather, completely lacking the humidity of the South.

“That’s a Hollywood address,” the Lyft driver told Sevan. “Hollywood’s a neighborhood here in LA.”

“A neighborhood? Define neighborhood in this context?”

Then the billboard-size poster of Meikhyel Callisto hung side-by-side with other Hollywood faces in front of a corporate building prominently labeled: RedViolet Inc.

“Avis,” the nameless person behind the private number had named the person it wanted under surveillance. “Accept the RedViolet job offer you will be sent via email, and I will do the rest to get you proximity. I want the details of his every day, particularly regarding anything that seems off. Pictures, video when you can provide it.”

A reporter. A tabloid writer. Someone who thought there would be return on investment on the inside story. An obsessive fan or an equally obsessive hater.

Sevan didn’t really care who the person behind the private number was. Existing in LA long enough to find Lacey was all that mattered. The check to cover his moving cost had been real. The plane ticket was real. The “Level I Clerical Assistant” job paperwork he currently grasped in one sweaty hand had been real enough to pass the probation office’s careful inspection.

And yet, half of Sevan was still expecting to discover it was all a scam, even as he was escorted up a stairway with glass panel railing to an office on the luxurious second floor. The receptionist leading him knocked softly on the door.

A woman’s voice came from within: “Come in.” There were two women standing in the office as Sevan cautiously entered behind the receptionist. He was underdressed in his best black pants and collared polo. The stain from spilling bleach cleaning solution on himself at a previous restaurant job was mostly tucked into his pants, but his well-used clothing didn’t stand a chance with the pressed, perfect business attire even the receptionist wore.

“Sevan Montego,” one of the women greeted. She stepped around from behind her desk, her hand held out. “I’m Lara Dovan.”

And it was in that moment, staring at Lara Dovan’s perfectly manicured hand, held out for him to shake, that Sevan wondered if he might have made this decision in a fit of insanity.

Lara gestured to the woman beside her. “This is Julia Violet, Director.” She turned to the other woman. “Julia, this is our new hire, Sevan Montego. It’s his first day.”

Julia Violet. Sevan glanced down the stunning woman in red heels. A director. But her name suggested she might be some level of owner.

“Nice to meet you, Sevan,” the elegant woman responded. “Lara, put something on my calendar.” And she dismissed herself. The receptionist followed her out. The door shut.

“I trust your flight was bearable,” Lara spoke.

“Thank you. Yes, it was fine.” The words came out of Sevan robotically.

“Adorable accent,” Lara commented. “Welcome to RedViolet. So.” Her manicured hands parted in a gesture. “Let’s get started, shall we?” She motioned to a chair across from her desk.

What accent? Sevan wondered as he sat down. The large window behind Lara’s swivel chair distracted him for a moment. Palm trees. Palm trees that were as tall as some of the surrounding buildings.

“Here you go.” Lara cut his daze with the heavy thud of the paper stack she deposited in front of him.

He looked down at it.

“NDAs, babydoll,” Lara enlightened him. “We live and breathe NDAs in Hollywood. Do read them before signing.”

Skin beginning to crawl, Sevan focused his attention on the first page in the stack.

Thou shalt not speak to reporters.

Thou shalt not take forbidden pictures.

Thou shalt not post forbidden content on social media.

Thou shalt not share protected information.

Thou shalt not speak of anything relating to anything to others.

Sevan got the gist of the rules within the first three pages, and from there, it became repetitive. He signed the last page and passed the stack back.

Then there was more paperwork, this of an HR nature. Tax forms, direct deposit registration, various disclosures that Sevan went straight through and marked all the No’s on. $55.62/hr. A small studio apartment in downtown LA included in compensation. More than Sevan made with both of his Carmen, Mississippi jobs combined.

“Are you an Avis fan?” Lara was attending to other matters on her computer and did not look up.

Sevan’s eyes shot to her face and froze there for an involuntary succession of seconds. How does she know I’m here for something about “Avis”? And then: She’s not the person behind the private number, is she? He didn’t have time to dwell on the possibility before he was wracking his brain for how he was supposed to answer her question. “Um…not…especially...”

“Intriguing.” Lara still didn’t look up. Then, with the briefest lipstick smile flashed at Sevan, she reached out and touched a button on her desk telephone. “Samantha, would you please come up and show Mr. Montego to his station?”

It was a windowless space on a basement floor, laid out with a zillion cubicles.

Sevan was shown to a cubicle—complete with a desk, computer, monitor, and chair—and then the receptionist abruptly walked away.

“What?” Sevan asked out loud. He glanced across the floor, then turned a full 360 degrees. What the hell? Shouldn’t I be trained, or something? Sevan swallowed and took a breath. He stepped uncertainly into the next cubicle over. He approached a woman busily typing on a keyboard. “Excuse me.”

She had headphones on.

Internally abandoning his own body for a moment, Sevan reached out and touched her on the shoulder.

The woman gave a start and abruptly turned around. She snatched her headphones off. A piled, braided hairstyle with loc jewelry; dark skin tone; a purple button down and dress pants; green eyes as rare and displaced as Sevan’s blue ones. “Hello?” The woman gave him a puzzled look.

“Hi, I’m Sevan Montego.” A flush hit Sevan’s face, and he blinked. “I’m new. Um…I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”

The woman’s brow dipped, revealing a razor streak. “Baby, are you in the wrong building? Did you ask at the security desk?”

“No, I was signing paperwork a minute ago. I’m in the right building, just—”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you—” She broke off. “Wait a second…” The woman seemed to realize. Her green eyes swept Sevan up and down. She pushed backward out of her cubicle, rolling across the carpeted floor in her swivel chair. She pointed to the plaque on the empty cubicle beside hers, clearly displaying Sevan’s name. “That you?”

“Yes…”

The woman stood up and walked over to his desk. She took the mouse and clicked past the login screen, then opened a browser. Sevan watched as she tapped “ Youtube.com ” into the browser and hit Enter.

An error popped up on the screen: “Access to this site has been blocked by your administrator.”

“You’re a PR hire,” the woman concluded. She stuck out her hand at him. “I’m Jaq. You won’t be here long. ‘Sevan’? Is it ‘Sevan’ like the number?”

“What?” Sevan’s face went blank, pale. He numbly received Jaq’s hand and let her shake his. “What—What do you mean—I was hired as a ‘Level I Clerical Assistant.’”

“Baby, you’re a PR hire,” Jaq told him again. “You were hired to sign NDAs, okay?” She started back to her cubicle. “They don’t have any work for you to do. You’re here until you lose your mind with boredom and quit—or you stay too long, and they fire you for being unproductive.”

Sevan followed her back to the entrance of her cubical. “What—What do you mean, I was hired to sign NDAs?”

The woman was typing on her computer again, but she hadn’t replaced her headphones. “Well, you tell me,” she muttered distractedly. “You must’ve been somewhere, heard something, seen something…RedViolet offers you a position…you sign the NDAs…and now starts the countdown while they find a reason to fire you. PR problem taken care of.”

Unreal.

Los Angeles Homeless Shelters. Sevan typed the five words into the browser on the computer and hit Enter.

“Access to this site has been blocked by your administrator.”

So far, the only site that didn’t seem to be blocked on this computer was the email account in Sevan’s name with a “@ redviolet.com ” address that had received zero emails.

Sevan took out his phone and opened the text conversation with the private number. So the two jobs weren’t so unrelated. RedViolet was out to bury the suicide attempt in a pile of NDAs, the private number was…out to dig it up?

Was the person behind the private number someone within RedViolet, with the power to get someone hired—or at least know when a job offer was about to be extended? Lara Dovan was a real possibility, then.

Sevan’s fingers shifted across the screen of his phone, tapping out a new response.

Sevan: The job is apparently temporary. Also, I’m in a corporate building with no actual work. Don’t see how I can help you.

He switched text conversations. It was in his and Rick’s text history, that picture of the note Lacey had left on the kitchen counter of the little house she shared with her husband. Two months ago, now. Two months since Rick sent Sevan that picture.

“Bored yet?” Jaq appeared suddenly behind him, seated in her swivel chair, peering into his cubical.

Sevan gave a small start and quickly wiped a hand across his cheek, brushing his scar. “Very.” He smiled faintly.

“Boy, you’re just as jumpy as me.” Jaq smiled and started to roll back to her desk.

“Can I help you with your work?” Sevan offered.

“Do you have the prerequisites for content design?” She was out of sight already.

“Probably not…”

“You just answered your own question. Appreciated, though.”

“Content design? Like videos and things?” Sevan’s mind flashed across the image of Meikhyel that was hanging in front of the building.

Sevan’s phone vibrated.

“And things,” Jaq responded.

Private Number: Like I said, I will get you proximity.

Sevan’s fingers curled slowly around the leather string of his choker. “How many…performers…does RedViolet have signed?”

“Baby, that’s a question for Dev. Thirty-four mainstream artists. Probably around two hundred active on the roster.”

I don’t know who Dev is. Sevan hit the power button on his phone. How? How would this mysterious person get him close to “Avis”? The texter behind the private number was someone within the RedViolet company, then. Someone with power, unless this person was bluffing.

“Is Meikhyel one of the thirty-four or one of the two hundred?” Sevan asked.

There was a long silence on the other side of the cubical wall. Jaq’s swivel chair rolled slowly back out. “‘Meikhyel’?”

“Um. Callisto. Meikhyel Callisto. Avis.” Sevan blinked at her narrowed stare. His finger lifted in vague indication of the ceiling. “There was a banner with him on it outside. The long ombre hair…”

“Are you an Avis PR hire?” Jaq’s jaw looked like it was about to fall off. There was a look on her face like Sevan had turned into a unicorn, not accidentally revealed which celebrity he was hired to sign NDAs for.

“S-Sorry?” Sevan adjusted himself in his chair.

“His recent escapade. Were you involved in that?”

“No. What?” Sevan shrugged stiffly. “I don’t know him. I wasn’t involved in anything.”

“Oh— my god, ” Jaq breathed. “Did you fuck Avis? ”