So, time to get you up to speed.

You've not experienced true humility until you've been forced to fill elaborate coffee orders for a group of self-serving, pretentious, talentless assclowns who are so far up each other's asses they can't be bothered to remember your name (even though they can remember twelve different ingredients to dump into their disgusting lattes). But that's the life of a studio PA at Paramore Studios.

My life.

Don't get me wrong. It's better than where I was.

My mom kicked me out right after high school ended. No surprise there. My dad and his latest wife offered to take me in if I got a "real" job. He'd warmed up to the idea of being a creative for a living after he'd seen my one play in high school, but he still insisted on a backup career, something to sustain me in case I never got a break. I was at least glad he was willing to take me in at all; usually, he cuts ties with anyone he has to call the police on.

Progress, right?

So, I tried to get what he considered a "real" job. It didn't go well. I wasn't made for a "real" job. Or any job where I have to answer to some pig that can't keep his eyes off my boobs for ten seconds while he bitches at me about how his customers "don't like being called brainless idiots."

News flash: if you don't want to be called a brainless idiot, don't be a brainless idiot.

That was the last time I'd ever bother working in a toy store.

The final straw was my boss, Dan, and his constant, creepy behavior. Staring at me like I was a piece of meat. I let it go for a while because I was hellbent on proving to my dad I could stick it out. Unfortunately, my silence led the creeper to think I was okay with his disgusting behavior and he started getting handsy.

You don't get handsy with me, or you won't have hands.

Only one person on this planet was ever allowed to touch me in any way.

Okay, okay, I already know what you're going to say and you're right. There have been two. But let's not go there, yet. Still getting you up to speed.

Apparently, explaining to Dan that if he continued to try and "accidentally" grab my ass with his fat sausage-fingered hand, he would no longer have said hand, is considered a "threat." I disputed that too. I told him I wasn't threatening him, I was politely notifying him of the consequences of his actions.

Guess he couldn't take a hint, since he fired me.

But it's cool. I hated working retail. I didn't like working for self-congratulating film execs much better, but at least it was in my industry. I took the gig because I thought maybe I could network, meet people, and possibly get someone to put up the money for my baby, my feature film that I'd written my senior year. Sadly, after a few months at the studio, it didn't seem likely that would ever happen.

Until the meeting a few months ago.

Les Valeris was one of the bigwigs at the studio. He was a disgusting, lecherous creep with an army of shirt-tucking yes-men whose sole purpose was to keep their lips planted on Les's enormous ass at all times. I'm not sure how there was room for them, because half the people in Hollywood were vying for a position at those ample cheeks.

Anyway, the meeting I'm referring to was with a small, new production house, Grim Productions. They had optioned what they felt was a great script from a respected writer, but they needed some capital to get it going.

These guys were right up my alley; they did mostly thrillers and horror stuff. I actually shelled out the cash to buy their entire collection of horror flicks. They're really well done. Smart, not schlocky. I like schlocky horror, too but what Grim did was a cut above.

The exec from Grim was Elizabeth Hannah. She was its founder and CEO, and she was a total badass. I liked her the moment I met her. She made eye contact, she was courteous, she treated me like I was a human being and not a nameless servant or a pair of tits and ass to ogle. I've got thick skin. I don't go home and cry when people are assholes to me. If I did that, it's all I'd have time for. Did you ever count? There are a lot of assholes out there. But when someone bothers to show a bit of respect in this industry, you tend to notice and remember that. I knew Elizabeth wasn't in her position because she fell ass-backwards into it, or because she was an entitled little princess whose daddy ran things. This was a chick who clawed and fought her way to where she was. In an industry dominated by entitled elitists, that was something I legit admired.

The course of the meeting bore out my assumptions, too. I got to sit in on this one to take notes for Les since his receptionist had called off that day. Let me tell you, I've never had so much fun in a board room. Elizabeth took no shit. None.

"I don't think you're hearing me," she said at one point. "If I could put up 60% of the budget, I'd have done it. This is why we're here."

"Look, sweetheart," Les said, reaching out and touching her hand. "You've gotta offer us something else here if you want us to cover 60%. You're an unproven production house and you're trying to fund a movie way outside of your wheelhouse."

"But the script is—"

"Yeah, yeah, the script is good. I've optioned three of his scripts myself. But if this thing bombs, we're the ones taking the bigger hit. We need to offset that risk. I'm sure you get what I'm saying."

He smiled and it made me nauseous. Elizabeth pulled her hand promptly away from old pervy Les. "I think I do," she said. "And you can kiss my ass. If you want something legitimate, some evidence we can handle it, then I'm sure I can provide that for you. But if you're implying what it seems like you're implying, you can go straight to hell."

Les's brow flattened. He looked like a toddler who got told no. I expected a tantrum (that man could pitch a serious fit) but he managed to piece together a shred of class for a few minutes.

"Fine," he said. "Bring me something else you've done, something that shows your little shithouse has the chops to handle something bigger. Then we'll talk again."

He stormed out, his yes-men right behind him, leaving Elizabeth and me alone in the room. I was ready to follow, but something told me to wait. I don't get that often, the whole inner-voice intuition thing, so when it did hit me I tended to listen.

"Um…excuse me," I said. Elizabeth looked up at me.

"Yes? Jade, was it?"

Holy shit, she remembered my name. "Yeah. I'm just an assistant here so I know it's not my place to say it...but what you just did kicked ass. He pulls that same crap on so many people and I've never seen anyone put him in his place like that."

"Really? I'm surprised no one's tried to smack that smug little grin off his face by now." She motioned for me to sit next to her. "Can I let you in on a secret?" I nodded. Her calm demeanor cracked a bit, and she let out a nervous, breathy laugh. "My heart's beating through my chest. I didn't think that was going to work! I thought for sure he was going to throw me out."

It felt significant to me, that she shared this. "It was a hell of a gamble," I said. "I think you might have made his testicles re-ascend."

Elizabeth laughed, loudly. Loud enough to draw some attention from outside the board room. "Thanks. I needed that." She looked me over then, but not in the leery, creepy way that most execs did. I felt like my worth was being measured by someone who was actually worth listening to. "You think the old bastard will mind if you take a lunch break?" she asked. "I haven't eaten yet today and I'm not real familiar with this part of town. And you're the only one in this studio that I don't want to punch in the face."

Oh, this woman. She was my people. I smirked at her, but it was one of my playful smirks. You know the kind. "I don't know, give me a chance and I might change your mind about that," I said. Another laugh. That was good. She had a great sense of humor. And given the kinds of movies her studio made, there was probably a dark side in there somewhere, too. "Actually, I could do with some food. How do you feel about robots?"