News Flash | ONC 2024

Chapter 1 - William

I don't get paid enough, but in this economy, nobody does. But this job pays well, and I could have it a whole lot worse. In fact, I did at some point. For the better half of my early twenties, I spent my life as a struggling wannabe actor living out of my old, barely functioning, '98 sedan. Whether it was my failed acting career or struggling to afford food, slacking off was never an option. I've worked harder and harder to be in a place where I'm living comfortably, and while I can afford to splurge on an eight-dollar coffee every now and then, it's difficult to do away with old habits.

Like taking on more work than necessary or dealing with the accusatory emails against my young client, Gavynn Withers, the youngster that people either tolerate or hate.

As I send the newspaper another passive-aggressive reply to their nepotism claims for the umpteenth time, I tank the last of the office's bitter black coffee before slamming the cup down on the desk.

"I don't think that's very healthy," Amber, my cubicle-mate, says, peeking out from her computer monitor. She's assistant to one of our least problematic or, should I say, least booked actresses, meaning most of her days are spent here in the office admiring her nails or playing with her hair.

"Well, if they remember to stock the flavored K-cups, then maybe I'd actually savor it instead of taking it like a shot," I fire back, sending her my signature glare before skimming over the unread emails from this morning. She agreed before turning back to her desk.

A part of working hard meant lying and acting my ass off in front of my colleagues, especially Amber, who would rather die than mess up her pristine acrylics she gets done every week and a half. They didn't have to know that if it hadn't been for Benjamin Withers taking me under his wing and offering me to be his son's babysitter, I would've scrounged for some leftover coffee from a trash can. I wouldn't recommend it; I did it once and puked my guts out for a week. Then again, it was likely the gas station hot dog, but I vowed to have neither again.

Needless to say, I couldn't care less about whatever free coffee the company is providing. If I had any say, I'd settle for expired instant coffee.

Amber mumbles something, likely about a news article or a Tinder match she received, but my mind is already tuning her out. The latest articles on Gavynn's new role in the new reality TV and the subsequent backlash sit at the top of my priorities. They had started a few days ago, most speculating that his father had landed him the role or that his mother was close friends with one of the producers. The press assumes right off the bat that everything Gavynn's worked for is a result of his supportive parents when, really, he auditioned and prepped for it like everybody else.

As I browse the pages of unread and often unsolicited spam messages, one stands out right away.

GAVYNN       READ ME PLS🙏      Willy, don't ignore this message, please... 3:12 AM

I roll my eyes and pull out my phone, dialing his cell on speed dial. It doesn't take a complete ring for him to pick up. Before he can respond with his usual chipper voice, I say, "What did I say about calling me Willy?"

"Good morning to you, too," he snarks. "It's not fair; everyone else just calls you Will. I should be able to call you by a nickname. I am your client, after all."

"Doesn't mean you can call me whatever you want."

I can almost picture the annoyance on his face through the phone. "I'm assuming you didn't read the email either."

"Of course not. You know to call or text me if it's that urgent," I reply. "And what did I say about using your personal email?"

"That our network isn't secured and can easily be hacked," he mocks, lowering his tone an octave as if that's how I sound. "Yes, mom."