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ADAM

I step out of the car that Anna’s … agent? manager? someone anyway … sent for me and shiver with the cold. I stare up at the steel-and-glass building rising like a transformer from the sidewalk in front of me. Probably makes a ton of money . Riiiight . More than a ton, I’d say.

My gut is bubbling away. What am I doing here? I avoid women most of the time, apart from the ones who work with me. Why did I let Janus persuade me into this? He ribs me sometimes that I’m going to be a lonely old man, but I like my own company. I don’t need a woman who I’ve got to look out for; it’s bad enough looking out for myself. Me and a couple of cats—that would be perfect. Why should old cat ladies have all the fun? Let’s make a pitch for little old cat men.

When I enter the building, a man with floppy brown hair, a perfectly tailored pair of pants that finish at his ankles, shiny pointed shoes, and a tight white shirt is waiting for me. He’s holding a sheaf of papers in his right hand. His brilliant smile is blinding.

Is he wearing makeup?

He scans me up and down. “Perfect suit,” he says, as he starts to walk around me, lifting my jacket at the back. “At least that’s one problem solved,” he adds under his breath .

What?

His eyes drift up to the top of my head, and he sucks on his lower lip. “We’re going to have to cut it,” he mutters, “and change the shirt. Come,” he says, beckoning to me with his hand.

I’m almost too scared to ask what’s wrong with my hair, never mind my shirt, but not totally.

I run my hand over my short, tawny-colored waves. “Is something up with my hair?”

The guy eyes me over his shoulder as we head toward the elevators. “Have you ever been to a red-carpet event before?”

I shake my head as we step into the elevator, and he scans a card and presses a button that says penthouse. Janus is having a laugh about that money thing. He knew. Of course, he did. Perhaps one day I’ll own something like this . The idea makes me want to chuckle. I resell Chinese electronics to the American market and design little electronic kits. How would that ever make me rich?

Mr. Floppy Hair types frantically into his phone. “Well, let me tell you …” He puffs out his cheeks and taps on his screen a few more times. “They will dissect everything .” His eyes veer toward my crotch. “Including whether your boxers are visible through your pants. It’s my job to make sure they concentrate on Anna, the awards, the movie, the sport …” He waves a hand. “Whatever it is, not some faux pas we could have seen coming.”

“Doesn’t that make it all a bit boring?” Personally, I love all those stories where someone shows some sideboob by mistake, or the dress is see-through.

He rolls his eyes at me. “You want the outline of your penis to be discussed on prime-time television?”

Okay, maybe I get it.

“There are celebrity bulge sites, if you get my drift.”

“Are you serious?”

He raises his eyebrows at me and then holds out the sheaf of papers. “Before I forget, I need you to sign this NDA. There’s some instructions on protocol in there, too. ”

I take the papers from him and start reading. No pictures, no posting, no discussion of anything that happens in the penthouse or at the event. Okaaaay . I feel like I’m running behind the curve: Everyone is taking this seriously except me. I turn my phone over in my hand and type in my text thread to Janus:

An NDA is required for drinks and dinner?

When the doors of the elevator open, another man in form-fitting pants, heels, pink hair, and red glasses is standing waiting.

“Serge,” my companion says tightly with a nod, and the air crackles. Hmmm, interesting vibe—what’s going on between these two? And Mr. Floppy Hair never gave me his name.

“Julio,” Serge replies, glancing at his watch. “It’s going to be tight.”

“But you’re a genius, darling,” Julio murmurs, before gesturing at my hair. “What do you think?”

Serge stares at my head. “Turn around,” he says, moving his hand in a circular motion.

I obey. Because, hey, with these two guys I wouldn’t dare do anything else.

“I think it would be fabulous with those instant highlights you did on Matt,” Julio says. “More blond, for sure.”

Serge’s eyes widen. “Yes. Oh yes!” Then he scowls. “But we’ll have to do his makeup at the same time.”

“Makeup?” I say.

Julio sighs and leans into Serge, saying in a low voice, “He’s very straight.”

Serge gestures down my body. “He actually doesn’t look that bad for a straight guy.”

Julio’s eyes bug out, and Serge claps a hand over his mouth, but I laugh as they both stare at me wide-eyed.

“Trust me, I’m very flattered that you think I look even halfway decent,” I say.

Julio rolls his shoulders as his eyes flick to Serge. “Don’t say too many inappropriate things to him. You know what happened last time,” he says, and then he gives me a wave and heads off down the corridor .

Serge beckons me in the opposite direction. “What happened last time?” I lean in to whisper.

He shakes his head and makes a zipping motion over his lips, and now it’s become my mission to find out what he said and who he said it to.

Half an hour in and I like Serge so much that, if I had any money at all, I’d ask him to come and work for me. He’d be an amazing additional marketing person. He has gossiped nonstop about actors, actresses, and the jobs he’s worked on. Matt, apparently, is Matt Damon, and I can’t believe I’ve got Matt Damon’s hairstylist doing something to my short locks. He won’t tell me what happened last time , but it wasn’t Matt who is “the cutest.” It turns out that someone complained about Serge coming on to him. “In all fairness, darling, all the indications were he was gay, and he didn’t give me the vibe he was going to be offended, like at all , if you understand what I’m saying.”

He tells me all this while slapping some paste on various parts of my hair, and I take in his leather pants, tight white vest, and dark chest fur with an interesting necklace dangling over his pecs.

“I like your outfit.”

He blinks at me and laughs. “Why thank you!” He leans forward and whispers, “I’m starting to think that you’re less straight than you’re letting on.”

I chuckle. “I’m sorry to say I’m definitely straight. I’ve just never been that good with putting clothes together. I’m more of a faded tee and jeans type of guy.”

He purses his lips. “I have a friend, a stylist to the stars. I could put you in touch with her.”

I laugh. “I don’t think I’ve got that kind of profile … or money.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re red-carpeting with Anna! If you didn’t have any visibility before, you will after this.”

“Is she that big of a deal?” I don’t mean this in the insulting way it probably comes across. “I don’t know much about tennis,” I add. “I’ve heard of her but …”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Do you live under a rock, darling?”

“Very possibly,” I mutter .

“My friend will cut you a deal. She’s brilliant at finding inexpensive classics. She likes working with people who are up and coming.”

Up and coming? I can’t help the snort that escapes from my mouth.

“I’m just a nerd, really. Look …” I pull out my phone and drag up pictures of me in my office surrounded by electronic components and kits and dressed in an old T-shirt and jeans.

Serge’s eyes go round. “You’re in tech?” When I nod, he takes the phone from my hand and zooms in. “You scrub up well, though, and once we’ve finished with you today, there’ll be no holding the ladies back.” He squeezes my arm. “It can’t be all sitting behind a desk. You look pretty fit to me.”

I’m not offended by his upfront assessment, not at all. “I do jujitsu to keep in shape.”

I don’t want to tell him I started it so I could defend myself at school. I was a skinny, small guy. I’m still not that big, but I fight better now. And once the bullies found out I could go head-to-head with them, they left me alone. More or less.

He blinks.

“I was part of my college team. I used to compete,” I say. “I still do a bit.” I scratch my cheek. Something about Serge makes me want to reveal all my secrets. “You know what I really worry about is whether I smell like burning rubber. It’s the solder.”

“The solder?”

“We melt it to connect wires on electronic boards.”

He bends down and sniffs, then squeezes my shoulder. “You smell fine to me.”

Before I can say any more, a sharp-faced woman appears in the doorway, nods at Serge, and holds out her hand to me.

“I’m Anita. I’m here to do your makeup.” Her voice is slightly accented.

She unravels a large roll of brushes on the counter and unzips a multi-compartmented padded bag. The array of small pots and colors is dizzying.

“Do I honestly need makeup?” I say. I’ll look like a dick, surely.

She nods. “The way they light up the red carpet for the photographers and the cameras? It’s actually like a stage. You’ll look strange in photos if you’re not wearing any. Don’t worry—you won’t be able to tell.”

“Really?”

She smiles. “Trust me. I’ve done hundreds of guys.” Serge meets my eyes in the mirror and bobs his head in agreement.

I watch her and my reflection as she rubs various creams followed by things with tints over my face. I can’t quite believe what’s happening to my skin: brighter, smoother, clearer. God, it’s impressive. This is why celebrities always look so polished.

At some point, Serge whips me off to wash whatever coloring thing he’s been doing out of my hair, and Anita threatens to cut his balls off if he messes with her work on my face. And then I’m back, being snipped and blow-dried and numerous products applied to my hair as Serge scrunches it.

A woman comes in with four shirts on hangers, all in slightly varying shades of dark plum.

“Ooh, nice,” Serge says, nodding. “Definitely his color.”

I have a color?

And in a final flurry, I stand up and the shirts are tried on and Serge and Anita do some extra things to my face. I think maybe they’ve finished.

Julio appears suddenly in the doorway. He raises his eyebrows when he spots me, giving me an approving nod. “Much better,” he says.

“How are they doing with Anna?” Anita turns to him to ask.

“She’s out of the shower,” Julio says, waving his hand in front of his face. “We’re running late. Stressful!” He does jazz hands.

“What do you think?” Anita asks.

The three of them gather together by the door and scan me up and down.

Julio smiles. “Masterful, you guys.” Then he gestures at my hair. “There’s some stray strands near his crown.”

If they’re worrying about the odd hair now, I’m not going to be able to touch anything on my body all night. Serge does something to the top of my head and turns me to a full-length mirror and I take in the total effect. I almost don’t recognize the guy staring back at me: Ostensibly it’s me, but at the same time everything has changed. My hair’s been transformed into a tousled mess, and somehow it works. The color doesn’t look fake at all; it’s like he’s just given my hair some natural variation by adding a bit of … interest, depth? Jesus, I’ve never thought about my appearance this much. The plum shirt with my dark blue suit is perfect. Who knew? I would never have put those colors together.

“Thank you, guys. This is perfect.”

They all beam, and Serge presses his hand to his chest.

Julio claps his hands. “Okay, I need you in Anna’s suite, pronto.”

As they go out the door, I hear Serge say, “He is literally the easiest guy I’ve ever worked with. I think I’m in love.”

And I laugh at my reflection in the mirror.

What do I do now? A woman with a headpiece appears and directs me down a long corridor to a seating area. And I’m just settling into a chair when another woman, this one wrapped in a huge fluffy bathrobe and with dark wet hair curling right down over her shoulders, slides out of a door that looks like it is part of a wall. With a start, I realize it’s Anna Talanova. She’s small, and her hands are clutched together in a deathlike grip. She’s nothing like the smiling, confident woman in the picture Janus sent me, or the player in her post-match interviews where she glowed with energy and drive.

“Adam! Hello!” She holds out a hand, and flustered, I take it. Her hand is surprisingly big, firm, and warm. “They told me they’d finished with you, and I wanted to come out and thank you for stepping in at such short notice and also to apologize for all the fuss. They employ professional teams for these events and then …” She waves her hand around.

I smile at her. “It’s been fun. I’ve had a lovely chat with Serge.”

She blinks at me. “Seriously? Oh! Okay. That’s great.” Her voice has a slight accent, but her English is perfect.

I grin. “It’s all good. No need to apologize. Just relax and we’ll have a fun evening, yeah?”

She frowns for a second and then a wide smile lights her face. “Yes, fun. I think I remember how to do that from third grade.”

I laugh. “I don’t have much fun myself these days, either. ”

“Your business sounds amazing. You’ll have to tell me all about it.” She turns with a wave of her hand and disappears into the door she came out of.

Women always say that, but none of them really want that conversation. It’s as boring and as incomprehensible as you might expect.

When I settle down in the living room, the security lady brings me a coffee and a plate decorated with some tiny canapes, which only serves to remind me how hungry I am. Did I have lunch? I don’t remember it. And I’ve only been sitting there a couple of minutes when there’s the sound of feet scrabbling on the marble floor and an odd-looking brown-and-white fluffy dog with big ears comes barreling into the seating area.

I instantly put my hand down and click my fingers. “Hello there. Who are you?”

He or she charges up to my hand, nudges my fingers, and then licks them. I give her a body rub as I bend down to subtly check the sex. Okay. Lady dog . She jumps up and her tongue swipes across my face.

“Oh Jesus, don’t do that. We’ll be in trouble with Anita.”

She cocks her head at me and races over the room to pick up something in her mouth, before trotting back and dropping it by my feet. It’s a … pink rabbit?

A very chewed pink rabbit.

Her big brown eyes stare up at me expectantly.

Hmm. I grab the rabbit as she circles around a few times and then crouches down, tail wagging, before I throw it across the room.

In a flurry of scrabbling claws and bouncing fur, she dives over and fetches it and drops it again at my feet. Okay then.

I put my hand out and ruffle her head.

“You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” I stroke her chin, and she whines a bit. Grabbing my phone, I snap a couple of quick pictures, even though I’m not supposed to. I’d like some pictures of tonight. Perhaps I can chat to Anna about it .

So, we play a game of fetch for I don’t know how long until a voice says, “Ah, you’ve met Pepper.”

As I raise my head, my jaw drops. Anna is standing at the entrance to the corridor in a red dress that clings everywhere, her chocolate-colored hair piled in heaped curls on her head, and her makeup dark and sultry. She looks nothing like the woman who said hello to me earlier.

“Fuck. You look amazing !”

She laughs. “I like you, Adam. You can come back.”

I grin at her. “Wow, what a dress!”

And what a person in it, I don’t say.

“Whenever you need a plus one, I’d be very happy to step in,” I add.

I wince. Am I coming across a bit strong? I’ve never been smooth, and my woman radar is a little broken.

She raises her eyebrows. “I might hold you to that.” Her eyes drift down my body. “That’s a very smart suit.”

I wish I’d thought to bring something for her. Some flowers, a gift, something that would make this … nicer , less transactional maybe. Next time . Ha. Like there’s going to be a next time for Mr. Awkward with a woman like this.

In times like this, I always think of channeling Fabian. But the problem is that, with his tattoos and long hair, he looks the part. So, he sits and broods and women fall all over him. I’m more like Pepper, sensible and loyal, and trying to appear cute so someone will play with me. The double meaning makes heat climb up my neck. It’s years since I’ve been with anybody, and there’s a good reason for that, I remind myself. I’m happy with my life the way it is, and I am never going back down that path.