“Mr. Ibanez will see you now,” the platinum blonde secretary said, her bright, high-pitched voice sounding a perfect mix of bored and curious. The girl hadn’t taken her eyes off Erik from the moment he’d entered the offices.
Russell stood and motioned for his client to follow him into Martin Ibanez’s office.
“Welcome, welcome,” Martin said from behind his desk, sweeping a hand out to let the two men know they should sit down.
He squinted hard at one of the men, then squinted harder, so intently that he thought for a moment he might have a stroke. The younger man didn’t look quite right. He was too perfect, too blonde, too chiseled in all of his exposed places. Martin was sure the walking perfection would be twice as chiseled in all the right, hidden places.
“You like him?” Russell asked as he and his client took a seat.
“Sure, sure, is he the hot new kid on the block?” Martin asked, watching the blonde god awkwardly sit in the chair.
“He’s so hot, the sun would melt around him,” Russell said with an exaggerated wink.
Martin groaned. He’d never heard of Russell Hampton, but a quick check on the internet showed him that the man at least had proper credentials. He’d represented mostly C-list actors in Hollywood until he’d switched it up and went to Japan. A string of recognizable clients in Japanese slasher films had apparently put some money in the agent’s pocket, though the website’s translation was a barely comprehensible mish-mash of Engrish.