KAGE (KAGE Trilogy #1) (9 page)

“In my room,” I said.

“You’ll need to use it for business, I guess. But stay on the hotel Wi-Fi, okay? Not the office network. It’s heavily monitored, so all of your embarrassing personal stuff on there…” He smiled mischievously. “Well, you get the idea.”

“Heavily monitored?” I gulped, feeling like I’d taken a job at the CIA rather than a Vegas hotel. “What makes you think I’ve got embarrassing things on my laptop?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

His smile was contagious, and I couldn’t help giving it right back to him. Of course, he was right. I did have embarrassing things on my laptop. Doesn’t everyone?

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he teased. “Anyway, you have fun getting settled in here with the natives. We’re just winging it, you and me, okay? I’ve never had an intern before, and you’ve never been an intern before, so let’s play it by ear. You figure out what you need to do your job, and I’ll make sure you get it even if I have to bust some heads. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” I said, still smiling.

“I’ll stop back by to get you for lunch, okay?” He looked down at his sweaty attire. “And I promise I’ll be clean.”

He left before I could reply, and I was left standing in a strange office, in front of a strange cubicle, surrounded by a bunch of strange people. I sat down in my chair and pulled out my cell phone to call Dr. Washburn. Getting some emergency advice was my first order of business.

“Dr. Washburn, I’m in deep shit.”

I heard the professor’s nasally chuckle on the other end of the line. “Hello to you, too, Mr. Atwood. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sitting in a cubicle,” I said, then dropped my voice, remembering Kage’s warning about being overheard. “I don’t know what to do, Dr. Washburn. I figured they’d tell me what to do, you know? Like an assignment or something. This is jacked up.”

Dr. Washburn chuckled again. “Calm down, Jamie. Think. You must realize this job you’ve accepted is largely an artistic endeavor. It’s not piecing together a car on an assembly line or making pre-prepped fast food burgers. You’re creating something from scratch. No one can tell you what to do, because you are the one who will be planning everything. You’re the expert. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” I groaned. “Oh, God. I thought I’d be putting together press packets or something. Calling places to arrange things.”

Again with the infuriating chuckle.

“Doc, could you please quit laughing at me? This is serious.”

“I know, Jamie. Listen, all of those things you just mentioned are legitimate things you may be doing. But you will be the one to come up with the plan. Essentially, you will be giving yourself assignments rather than waiting for someone else to give them to you. Autonomy is something you have to get used to in the working world. It’s not like high school or college. Who do you think comes up with the assignments to give to you in my classes?”

“You?” I asked hesitantly.

“Me. Not the dean or the school board. I have to come up with that stuff out of my own noggin. That’s what you’re going to have to do, as well.”

I paused for a moment, my heart beating fast, realizing I may have been in over my head. “So where do I start?” I asked finally.

“Do some research on the internet. Try to find articles or books about publicists, especially sports publicists, and find out specifics about what they do. Recommendations, pitfalls, anecdotes… Whatever will spark some ideas about the types of things you should be doing. Then get to know your client, Jamie. That’s the most important thing.”

“That makes sense.” I liked the idea of getting to know my client a lot more than doing research.

“Give it a couple of days, then call me and tell me what you’ve learned. Okay?”

“Okay, Doc. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And Jamie… stop stressing. That won’t do anyone any good.”

It was my turn to chuckle. “Says the man who freaks out if he’s one second late to class.”

I could hear the frown over the phone. “That’s different.”

BY LUNCH time, I was engrossed in an excerpt from a biography of a publicist who had represented a bunch of high-profile athletes. The trials he faced in making some of those guys look good had me shaking my head. Dog fighting, alleged murder, domestic abuse, cheating, and let’s not forget the ever-popular use of performance enhancing drugs— or PED’s as the media so loved to call them. You name it, these athletes had done it, and then turned around and hired someone to get them out of it.

Of course, it wasn’t all a desperate game of clean-up for the publicists of the world. Advertising campaigns, wardrobe choices, speeches, and public appearances were some of the other less dramatic things they dealt with on a daily basis.

Overall, I felt pretty productive for a guy who didn’t know what the hell he was doing. I was jotting down some ideas on a notepad that Catwoman Cathy had given me when Kage showed up for lunch. His approach was so stealthy I didn’t realize he was there until his shadow fell across my paper. I jumped and spun around in my task chair.

“Hi,” he said calmly, as if he had no idea he’d just scared the bejesus out of me.

“Hi.” I worked to slow my banging heart.

“You look different.” At my confused look, he reached up and tapped lightly on the frame of my glasses.

“Oh, yeah.” I quickly snatched them off of my face and set them on the desk. Then I flipped my notepad face down on top of them and stood up. “Will my laptop be safe here?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I don’t think anybody will steal it. You got anything on that pad of paper you mind someone seeing?”

“Paranoid much?” I regretted the question right after it cleared my lips, but Kage didn’t appear to take offense.

“Lotta nosy people around here,” he said. “They like knowing what I’m up to, and I like to keep a little mystery.”

I laughed. “You’re definitely a mystery.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, obviously pleased to have me guessing.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, Kage. I’m your publicist, and the first order of business for me is getting to know my client.”

“You’ll know me soon enough. In fact, you may be regretting signing on for this job in a couple of weeks. You’re gonna get sick of seeing me.”

For some reason, that comment made me feel awkward, and I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked away. I couldn’t come up with anything to say. All I could do was turn that thought over in my mind— spending time with Michael Kage. So much time I’d get sick of seeing him. I didn’t think anyone could get sick of seeing someone who looked like he did, but I did consider that I might need to take up drinking to calm my nerves around him.

He was so incredibly larger than life. I’d never met anyone who made me feel so insignificant, so lacking. Either he sensed my unease and purposely came to the rescue, or he was oblivious to it, because he continued on smoothly.

“Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

Again, everyone stared at us as we passed between the cubicles and exited through the office door. Kage led me on a winding path through the hotel lobby and the casino, down a hallway, and through a set of soundproof doors. I knew they were soundproof, because on one side of them the noise of the casino was deafening, and the other side was like putting my ear to a sea shell. Through the high-pitched ring of sudden silence in my ear came the tinkling of light music from the down the hall. Something ethereal like new age.

The music was coming from the restaurant, dimly lit and furnished in dark leather and wood. A gentle flicker of candlelight added a romantic flair.
The Grotto
was chiseled into a rustic stone sign above the arched doorway, which was hung with Spanish moss and twigs.

A young woman in a peasant-style dress met us at the door. Her hair was pulled severely back from her face, which was conspicuously clean-scrubbed. The unassuming style of her greeting furthered the impression of being served by a simple peasant girl.

“Do you prefer a particular table today?” she asked Kage.

“One of the private courtyard booths.”

She grabbed a couple of menus and tucked them under her arm, cutting her eyes up at him several times. I was ashamed to realize that I could totally relate. He just had the kind of face that you had to keep checking, to confirm that it was indeed as unnaturally handsome as you remembered.

And yes. Every time, yes.

“No menus, thanks. Just tell Enzo we’re here.”

She replaced them in their discreet holder behind the hostess podium and led us through the quiet restaurant, through a set of French doors, and onto a covered patio populated by wrought iron bistro tables. Some of the diners glanced up at us as we passed, then resumed eating from crude earthenware dishes that somehow looked more sophisticated than the finest China against the backdrop of The Grotto.

Booths were built along the back wall of the building, and the other three sides were enclosed by tall shrubs. Flowering vines crept along and through the shrubs, creating the impression that were had entered an ancient garden somewhere in Europe. The shrubs blocked out the high noon sunlight to the extent that it appeared to be twilight within the confines of the patio, an illusion supported by strands of twinkling lights that dangled from the rafters.

After the hostess had seated us and walked away, I studied our booth. It was roomy but intimate, crafted from heavy polished wood and granite. A hurricane lamp affixed to the brick wall cast a flickering glow across Kage’s face, and I regarded him with a mixture of surprise and awe. “Is this your restaurant?”

He leaned back in his seat, sprawling in a manner that was all man. “Nothing is mine, Jamie. This all belongs to my uncle.”

I turned his comment over in my head and weighed it. An odd way to put it, I thought— a sad way, really.
Nothing is mine.

“Well, you know what I meant,” I said, for lack of a better response. “This is amazing. It feels authentic. I mean, I’ve never left the United States, and certainly not the twenty-first century, but if I could imagine a really upscale medieval restaurant…”

“Thanks.” His terse dismissal of my compliment stung a bit. Had me wishing I hadn’t said anything about ownership.

I squirmed in my seat. “Um, so you said no menus. Are we… not eating? I can pay for my own if that’s a problem.”

That coaxed a laugh out of him. “You don’t have to pay for your food. I’m just ordering for you.”

“Oh. Okay.” I wasn’t sure what to make of someone else ordering for me. It had never actually happened before, not since I was a little kid and my parents forced me to get stuff I didn’t want off of the kid’s menu. To be honest, except for my parents, I don’t suppose anyone ever had a desire to order for me before. Maybe it was just that he was confident that he knew what was good at his own— his uncle’s— restaurant. They probably had a specialty or something.

It didn’t take long to find out. Within minutes, there was a stout, bearded gentleman standing beside our booth and beaming down at Kage. “So glad to see you brought a friend, Kage. Someone new I get to impress with my unequaled culinary skills.” He set a couple of water glasses down in front of us.

“Enzo has an ego on him, Jamie. But trust me when I say he can back it up in the kitchen. The man can cook his Italian ass off.”

Enzo beamed some more. “What can I get for you today, my darling? I’m thinking the salmon.”

“You do like fish, right?” Kage asked me, and from the look on his face, I thought no would definitely be the wrong answer. Besides, I did like fish.

I nodded, and Enzo hurried off to prepare our salmon.

Kage relaxed even more and offered me an apologetic smile. “I eat clean, so there’s not a whole lot of variety. But it’s always good food. Especially here, I know it’s the best ingredients, the freshest fish. All of the vegetables are organic and in season. I personally make sure of that. So if you order room service, you don’t have to worry about what you’re getting, okay?”

“I remember from the first time we met, you’re very serious about your eating. No hamburgers, right?”

“Right. Fast food is the devil.”

“Is eating like you one of my job requirements?” I asked, only half-joking.

Kage didn’t even crack a smile. “No, but you said you wanted to get to know me. What better way than to live like me? At least for a while. I figured I’d take you to watch me train some, you could maybe work out a little yourself.”

“Ordering for me, making me work out… If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to whip me into shape.” Again, I was only half-joking.

“You look like you’re in pretty good shape already.” Kage glanced away almost shyly, and for a split second I thought I saw a crack in his ever-present confidence. “I mean, you work out, right? Lift some weights a couple of times a week, maybe play a little sports. You keep your weight around one-fifty-five, and your caloric intake is decent at around twenty-five-hundred a day, but you’re getting way too many carbs. And you don’t drink enough water.” For emphasis, he picked up his water glass, raised it toward me in
cheers
, then took a swallow.

Dumbfounded, I picked up my water glass, returned Kage’s
cheers
, then killed half of it before setting it back down. “So how the hell do you know all of that?”