Hollywood Hustle & Heart
Chapter 4 - Mike
Chapter 4 - Mike
Man, the sadness in Shorty’s eyes hit different. It made me want to wrap her up in my arms and let her know she wasn’t alone. But I knew better than to rush it. Healing takes time, and I wasn’t trying to play savior. I’m no expert, but I’ve done enough therapy to recognize real pain when I see it. That’s not the only reason I told her I’d help—but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t play a part. Truth is, I’d been praying about it, and it felt like God was making it clearer each day: she wasn’t just crossing my path by accident. She was an assignment.
What kept throwing me off, though, was the way my heart fluttered every time I thought about her. Yeah, she was beautiful—no doubt—but this wasn’t about love. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Right now, my focus was on Morris, one of my acting clients who just booked a major film overseas. I’d been pouring into him spiritually, helping him get grounded in Christ before he flew out.
But as I slid into my car and backed out the driveway, my mind drifted to Jenna again. Then my brother’s voice popped into my head—“It’s not like you’re intentional about dating.”
That hit. Harder than I expected. I wasn’t trying to blur lines between business and something more, but I couldn’t shake the fact that when he said that, Jenna was the first person who came to mind. We had a call scheduled later today to talk through a new opportunity. I knew she had just left her nine-to-five, and I didn’t want her stressing about money. I’d worked out a deal to bring her on as an intern—with a stipend—so she wouldn’t have to dip into her savings.
As I merged onto the 405, I decided to call her now. Something told me this was bigger than business.
“Hello,” she said, her voice groggy.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” I said with a soft chuckle. “Still in bed?”
I heard the rustle of sheets. “Yeah. Guess I needed more rest than I thought. I figured our call wasn’t until two.”
“It was,” I said. “But I felt led to check in early. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
There was a pause. “It’s okay. Just… been a rough night.”
Something in her voice tugged at me—sadness layered with exhaustion. And this was L.A.—9:30 a.m. wasn’t early for anyone chasing a dream.
“You sound a little down. Everything okay?”
She hesitated. “Just… personal stuff.”
The punchy, confident girl I met last week felt like a ghost. I didn’t want to pry, but I treaded carefully.
“Family drama?”
Another pause. “How’d you know?”
“Just a guess. Sorry if that’s out of line.”
I knew that kind of silence. The weight of something too deep to unpack in one breath. I’d been there—trying to smile through things you didn’t choose.
“I’m here if you ever want to talk,” I added. “No pressure.”
Even as I said it, I didn’t fully mean that part. I wanted her to open up. Bad. But why?
She sighed. “Unless you have a solution for an overbearing mom who thinks your dream is a joke and is determined to prove you wrong... I don’t know if there’s much to say.”
Ouch. That landed.
I couldn’t imagine my mom not having my back. Even when my dad dipped, he never crushed our dreams. He just... wasn’t present.
“That’s heavy,” I said, slowing my words. “For what it’s worth—I don’t believe you’ll fail. Actually, I was calling to talk to you about an opportunity.”
I wasn’t trying to dismiss her pain. But I didn’t want to lose momentum either.
“Really?” she said, her tone lifting—hope breaking through the weariness.
“Yeah. It’s a new reality show based on the book Legacy Real Estate with The Masons. Laura Mason—she’s the lead and now runs the family business—needs a stylist. And she specifically asked for a woman of color with a strong eye. Pays $200 a day.”
I switched lanes and muttered, “C’mon, man,” to the driver ahead. “Sorry—traffic. Anyway, it’s a solid gig. Eight weeks. I thought of you immediately.”
She was quiet, then I heard her exhale deeply. “Wow. Thanks for thinking of me. I figured with my lack of experience, they’d try to bring me in as an intern. I know reality TV budgets can be tight.”
I smiled. She knew her stuff.
“They did. It was actually $150 at first. I negotiated it up to $200. They figured it was lowballing compared to what stylists usually get—$1000 to $1500 a day—but I told them I had someone who’s hungry and ready.”
She chuckled. “So... does this mean I have to sign with you?”
She was still yawning, which normally would’ve annoyed me on a call like this. But something about it—something about her—made it feel... endearing.
“Yes,” I said, laughing lightly. “If I’m repping you, I need the paperwork to back it up. If later you want to go solo, no problem—I just take a finder’s fee.”
“How much?”
Dang. I was hoping she’d want to stick with me. Business staying business would be cleaner. Safer. Then again... why did that thought feel like a letdown?
“$500. You could pay it after your first week.”
I heard running water in the background.
“I think I’ll stick with you,” she said. “I’d love to see where this goes. How much is your monthly rate?”
“Well, we could do a six-month retainer at $500 a month, or the standard 20% of what I book for you. Your call.”
“And this project runs for eight weeks?”
“Yep.”
“So, you’d earn around $2200?”
I laughed. “You’ve got a good business mind. That’s right.”
“That’s not bad,” she said. “Send over the paperwork. I’ll have a lawyer look it over. I really appreciate that you locked something down before we even officially partnered.”
I felt myself blush a little. “That’s how I move. I’m all about showing—not just talking. For me, it’s not just about the money.”
“I respect that. So, what’s your day look like?”
The question caught me off guard. I rattled off my schedule—some client work, a property stop, then studio time later. I was surprised she wasn’t ready to hop off after the business was settled.
“What about you?”
She said she planned to rest and clean. Maybe start prepping to move once her lease with her roommates was up. I could relate to wanting her own space—but I didn’t offer her one of my properties. If she were my sister, I’d tell her to move slow, not to put all her eggs in one basket. She needed time. Space. Control.
“Whatever you decide, take your time. I’ll keep that in prayer for you,” I said. “I gotta run, but call me if you need anything, okay?”
Offering space felt better than trying to rescue her. She didn’t seem like she needed saving—just support.
“I will. Thanks again, Mike. This really means a lot.”
Her voice dipped again— grateful but still carrying the weight.
“Anytime,” I said, ending the call.
I hung up before I said something that’d make her think I was crossing a line. My mind was on business, but my heart? It was starting to care about her pain. And that’s something I didn’t take lightly.
One thing about me—I never made moves without God. I’d keep praying for clarity about what He wanted me to do when it came to Jenna. For now, I’d head to my home office, draft her contract, and get it over to her.
If nothing else, she could trust I had her back— especially in business. And that? That was a promise I’d keep.