I’d never expected to run into my own celebrity fixations. Not at work. Certainly not on my first day.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
She tugged her headphones out of a tangled lock and shook out her curls. “Boyfriend’s on the road, and I was going batshit insane in that empty house. I thought I’d file these photos here.”
Right. Of course. I knew she freelanced for the Rock Paper, but I envisioned her working on a tour bus, at a concert, somewhere exciting. The juxtaposition of my imagination and this office-space reality threw me.
A second later, the detonation of the word boyfriend went off, and I realized she meant Micah—rock star in his own right. My eyes popped open even further if possible.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowed slightly. “Have we met?”
I stood flummoxed, unsure whether to reveal that I’d seen and loved her concert photography, or if I should praise Micah’s music, or if I should confess my involvement in the whole fan community. But I really didn’t want her to read my awkwardness as recognition.
Thankfully, despite my extreme social ineptitude, my solid Midwestern upbringing prevailed, and I stuck out a hand. “Hi. My name’s Layla Beckett. Sorry for the rude greeting. I’m new here, and I’m still a bit lost.” I clamped my lips together to shut up.
Jo had more grace than me and didn’t seem to notice that I was genuinely starstruck. “I’m Jo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She took my outstretched hand. “You’re new? What will you be doing?”
Her slight southern accent surprised me. I’d seen dozens of pictures of her, but I’d never once heard her speak.
“Social media. Web content. That sort of thing.” I tugged the sleeves of my cardigan over my hands, shrinking into myself, wanting to stick my head in a hole. “I’m hoping to get more experience with development, though.”
Jo’s bright smile seemed sincere. “Social media, huh? I used to work as paparazzi and had to practically live on Twitter.”
I bit my tongue to resist saying, “I know.”
“Now, I try to avoid social media altogether. You must know how to navigate the mine fields pretty well, I bet.”
That’s not why I was hired, but she was right. I’d never gotten sucked into an online war or been baited by trolls, except when I felt like it. I’d put out a lot of dumpster fires and quelled potentially damaging fan uprisings in my years at the helm, but I only got into a fight if I knew I could win it.
She didn’t need to know all that.
“Twitter can be a nightmare, but I try to see it as another tool. There are a lot of potential clicks that shouldn’t be ignored.”
Jo laughed. “Spoken like a social media master.”
“It’s kind of ironic honestly. I suck at the social part, but I guess I’m good at it online.”
She laid a hand on my shoulder. “You could’ve fooled me.” Her gentle encouragement made me feel less like a dork.
Several of the cubes had become occupied while we chatted. More people were entering through the glass doors separating the office from the elevator bank.
I remembered why I was bothering her. “Do you happen to know where the IT guys sit?”
“No, sorry.” Jo followed my gaze. “But let me show you around.”
She led me to the kitchen and then the mail room. Everyone wore T-shirts with concert logos, skinny jeans, and Converse tennis shoes. Jo had on a knit shirt and an infinity scarf, but otherwise, she fit right in. My heels made me stand out in more ways than one. I’d completely overdressed for the job.
But Jo put me at ease. I couldn’t help notice that faces lit up whenever she approached. She had good energy, and I genuinely liked her. Even though she probably had more friends than she needed, I hoped she liked me, too.
As we moved back toward the cubes, she gave me a quizzical look, and I realized I was smiling at her dreamily. “It was really nice to meet you. Thank you so much for showing me around. I’m just so happy to be here.”
Her smile matched mine. “Yeah, it’s a special place. The job I had before—” She shuddered. “You don’t even want to know.”
I knew more than a casual observer ought to. “It must have been a toxic environment.”
She grimaced with secret knowledge. “You can’t begin to imagine.”
That southern accent came and went like a subtle breeze, reminding me that she wasn’t who I’d always imagined her to be. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from originally? You have a slight accent. Georgia?”
“Yeah. Atlanta.” She exhaled. “Most people who ask me where I’m from are trying to figure out if I’m even American.”
“What? Why?”
She gave a little shake of her head in response, and I let it go. The answer came to me as an afterthought. It was common knowledge her father was Indian, but it had never occurred to me to ask about that. I just hadn’t read that she’d moved here from the south.
It would have been fun to divulge that information on the website. Fans loved gathering tidbits of hoarded knowledge. But I wouldn’t. I still hadn’t decided whether or not to mention to anyone besides Ash where I’d started to work. The demand for insider information would become unbearable if I let slip even this small detail. They’d want to know what she smelled like. People generally had no boundaries.
Jo paused by my desk. “And you? Where did you come here from?”
“A super small town outside Indianapolis you wouldn’t have heard of.”
“Oh, wow. This must be a big change for you then.”
“You have no idea.”
“No, I remember how overwhelming it is.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Thankfully, one of my good friends had already settled here, so he gave me a place to stay and helped smooth the transition.”
And then, you moved in with a rock star. “Lucky for you. I still need to tackle my housing situation.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Actually, I’ve got a hotel somewhere in Brooklyn. It’s on—” I searched my mind for the street “—Flatbush Avenue?”
“Oh, yeah? That’s not far from where I live.”
That didn’t surprise me. I knew Adam Copeland lived in Brooklyn. Not because I’d stalked him, but because the people on my website sometimes did. I encouraged people not to pry into Adam’s personal life or pester him on his off hours although I understood how hard it would be to refrain from asking for a picture and an autograph if you saw him sitting in a coffee shop. I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d have the will power to practice what I preached, but I hoped I could honor his privacy just like I would want if I were in his position.