My Life as Duke Starr's Assistant

My Life as Duke Starr's Assistant...[Part 6]

Italy was absolutely breath-taking.

Everything was so green and blue. The streets were pebbled, the stucco houses were expansive and white with red roofs. There were trees and bright Mediterranean plants all around. And almost completely surrounding us was sea. It was beautiful. I would have loved every minute of it, except at the moment, I was standing on set listening to Duke throw yet another diva fit.

"...can't believe you forgot my shirt in Hollywood! Are you good for anything besides failure?!" he was shouting. I had forgotten to pick up from the dry cleaners a shirt that he was going to wear to an interview he had in about two hours. Now he was throwing a hissy fit at me. I rolled my eyes.

"You have like fifty other shirts. Just wear one of those!" I exclaimed. He glared at me.

"That's not the point! I was supposed to wear that shirt! I was being paid to wear it! You've screwed everything up!" he yelled. I held my hand up in front of his face. He stopped yelling abruptly.

"You need to stop being so dramatic," I said calmly. "I'll find the same shirt here. We're in Italy and it was an Armani shirt, wasn't it? It can't be that hard to find," I added.

"Yeah and who's going to pay for it?" he asked.

"No one. If you're the big celebrity that you say you are, then they should give it to us for free," I answered. He flared his nostrils but didn't say anything.

"I don't care what you do. Just fix the situation," he hissed, his face dangerously close to mine. I poked him in the chest and pushed him away a little.

"Personal space. Watch out or I'll sue you for harassment," I snapped. His eyes flashed in anger and I walked away, takng my phone out and pulling up a Google search. I searched for a designer store and--just my luck!--there was one that was only a few miles away. I got into the shiny black rental Porsche and had the driver take me to the shop. I walked with authority, saying that I was Duke Starr's manager and needed a shirt right away. I described the shirt with as much detail as possible.

"...dark grey button up shirt with even darker grey thin vertical stripes. The buttons are the same color as the stripes. It's one of the newer shirts, so I don't know if you'd have it or not..." I described. The woman held up her hand.

"Tut, tut. Of course I have the shirt," she told me with a crisp Italian accent. I bet she was considered sexy by men's standards, with her long black hair and dark hazel eyes. By women's standards, she was just very pretty.

She went around the back and disappeared behind a door. I tapped my foot impatiently. One hour and twenty minutes until the interview...

My phone beeped, signaling that I had gotten a text message. I pulled out my phone, knowing already who the text was from without looking at the screen.

Duke: Where the hell are you?!

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

At a designer shop. The lady has your shirt.

A few seconds later, I got his reply.

Duke: Well hurry up! I'm already at the studio.

Chill out. I'm coming.

Duke: You're worthless.

You're ugly.

Duke: You're jealous ;)

Please. In your dreams.

Duke: You wish you were in my dreams.

Don't make me puke all over your expensive shirt.