âYouâve got a meeting with Elijah Kamski?â
It wasnât really Connorâs place to have been listening in, but the name was one he sort of tuned in to listen for whether he wanted to or not. Kamski was a big name in the industry. He was the producer of a very well-respected, long-running television show, had produced several films, and in as far as prosecutorial interest went, had never done anything illegal in his life. Connor had not had the money to sue him at the time Kamski offered him his first in into the industry (Connor had not taken it). When he did have the money, the statue of limitations had passed. It had never gotten any traction in the media.
So all he had was his word against Elijah Kamskiâs, and Connorâs word was typically overlooked. Still - Markus Manfred had a meeting with Kamski next week, heâd said. His agent was excited about it. They both were. Celebrating there at a bar, after a long day on set, which Connor had only dropped into for a single drink with the crew because he had an early start tomorrow.
He came to join Markus at the bar, now, in a lull between conversation. Markusâ agent had stepped away for the bathroom, or maybe to smoke - or maybe both. Connor wasnât sure. The lighting crew were currently yelling with each other about the answer to a trivia question none of them were right about. This was a rare moment of quiet neither one of them got very often, in the profession they shared.
Markus had not asked him for his opinion. Connor offered it anyway. It was information he deserved to have - whatever he did with it was up to him, but it was information he deserved to have. Connor swallowed whatever he had wavered on and redoubled:
âHe offered me a part in Cyberlife,â a fact. âIt would have been my first part. He wanted sex.â
Sliding the dish of peanuts on the bar carefully farther away (very allergic), Markus turned his full attention to Connor, sipping at his single drink of the night which he had yet to finish. He wasnât a lightweight, but he didnât believe alcohol mixed well with his early-rising preferences or with his general insistence on driving himself home.
âYes, at the end of the week.â He answered with a smile, though he felt there was more Connor wished to say even without asking.
Elijah Kamski was one of the richest producers in hollywood. The projects he touched were often a success, and having the opportunity to be in one of his projects (if Markus wanted the part, of course) was considered an honor. Though Markus wasnât fond of the that particular attitude - a man was a man, and his money had little to do with the character of his pictures - it would be good for his career.Â
Markus waited, because there was more, and he was listening, and what he heard made him set his drink down. Green-blue eyes staid locked with Connorâs brown for a moment, before they shifted away, a furrow working between them.Â
âSo, thatâs the kind of man he is.â Shocked would not have been the right word or feeling. Appalled, perhaps, in the way any what he considered sane man would be at hearing someone had solicited sex for a job. Rich men often thought they could have anything they wished because they were rich. It was the same reason they believed they could silence peopleâs voices. Heterochromatic eyes came back, clear and certain. âThank you, for telling me. Iâm glad you did.â
Markusâ agent emerged through the door, and Markus stood, âExcuse me, just a moment.â
He crossed the crowded floor to where his agent had paused to speak a publicist Markus didnât know. They stepped to the side, together, and whatever Markus told him heated the manâs voice. Markusâs tone neither raised or lowered, and though the music and chatter drowned them out, his posture remained resolute. His agent waved his arms (âFine, then.â) and Markus touched his shoulder, before turning around and coming back,Â
âCan I drive you home?â He offered to Connor as he slid his coat from the back of the chair.
