Greetings from La-La Land!

Hate to sound like a broken record—oops, make that a CD—but as I’ve said before, Hollywood politics are one huge yawn. Here’s why:

It’s the big day, right? My up-close, in-person interview with Damien? Not that I’m the kinda girl who sweats this stuff, but I have to admit, even I had a small case of the jitters this morning. Nevertheless, I arrived early enough to do some more of the bonding thing with my new BFF —y’know, the pregnant knitter obsessed with 18th century poets whom I hope to replace as Damien’s exec assistant. Then she sent me down to personnel where I filled out enough forms to kill a small forest before I zoomed back upstairs.

Finally, at about ten thirty (and thank God not a minute too soon because the BFF's BS’ing was seriously starting to make me nod off), she took me into Damien’s lair, er, suite.

Only he wasn’t there. (Note to self: Damien prefers his office to run like a medical practice—minus the sub-zero examining tables and the hideous open-backed gowns—meaning, he likes keeping visitors on deck.)

Which had its pros and cons, frankly. I mean, sure I didn’t relish yet another delay in the long-awaited meet, but on the upside, I got to scope out the office. Oh, yes. Not a detail escaped my scrutiny. From the masculine muted tones to the simple yet unspeakably expensive sports memorabilia. (See? A jock—new, potentially critical info!) I filed everything away in my Damien memory bank.

Finally…a pocket door slid open, and he stepped through.

Oh. My. God.

A smile more pricey than my BMW…the kind of blue eyes that blind you when they twinkle…I’ll confess. I had a hard time maintaining the infamous Sexy Sacha composure.

But rest assured, I did…which was its own reward because sure enough, as I placed my hand in his and let my lids lower just so, I heard his breath catch.

Is there a sound in the universe more gratifying? I think not.

He settled behind his desk to conduct the interview, beginning with small talk (which I expertly maneuvered to last week’s no-hit Dodger win.) Next we moved on to the job and what it entailed. Blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada.

Trust me. I aced the oral exam.

And just when I began dreaming of another kind of oral exam—


The freaking intercom.

With an apologetic glance, he picked up the phone, and listened a moment. “Tell George to wait. I’ll be right there.”

The damn union business again. I was sure of it.

Much to my dismay and annoyance, Damien ran off before I could seal the deal. Interviewus interruptus, if you get my drift.

But I’m not too worried. I know I made an impression. Sexy Sascha doesn’t fly under the radar.

I expect the call any minute.

Stay tuned...


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