The Critic's Mistress and My Hot Mic

Julia's POV

"Cue the main stage lights," Greg ordered through my earpiece.

"Lights are up," I replied.

"Standby on audio, Julia. Bring up the house mix."

I pushed the master fader forward. The worn plastic slider scraped against my thumb. Beyond the soundproof glass, Marcus strode toward the center stage.

"He looks good tonight," Greg said over the comms.

"He does," I said, my voice flat.

Marcus adjusted the cuffs of his bespoke navy suit. He walked right past my control booth. He didn't turn his head. He didn't even spare a glance at the glass.

"Did he even check in with you?" Greg asked.

"No time," I said. "He's the star tonight."

Three years ago, he couldn't afford a tie for his first pitch meeting. I had handed him the entire fifty-thousand-dollar inheritance my grandmother left me.

"Take this," I had told him back then. "Make the studio work."

"I'll pay you back every cent, Julia," he had promised.

He never did.

"And now, please welcome the woman who helped our brilliant director rediscover the true meaning of love," David, the host, boomed over the PA system. "Give it up for Tessa!"

The crowd erupted into applause.

"Camera two, push in on the guest," Greg instructed. "We need a tight shot for the screens."

"Pushing in," I said.

I toggled the joystick on the monitor panel. The screen zoomed in. Tessa took the plush secondary chair right next to Marcus. A heavy, gold Van Cleef & Arpels pendant rested against her collarbone.

My fingers turned to ice against the metal console.

"Nice jewelry," Greg muttered. "Must pay well to be his assistant."

"Yeah. It does," I whispered.

I bought that exact necklace a year ago for our anniversary. I handed the velvet box to Marcus.

"Keep it safe until dinner," I had told him.

"It's too flashy for public display, Julia," he had said, shoving it into his briefcase. "We need to maintain a humble image for the investors. I'll lock it in the safe."

Now it hung around his twenty-two-year-old assistant's neck.

David turned to Tessa. "Tessa, working with a visionary like Marcus must be intense. How do you handle the pressure?"

Tessa leaned into her microphone. "It requires complete trust. Marcus and I share a unique bond. We anticipate each other's needs before a word is even spoken."

"A true partnership," David said.

"Exactly," Tessa agreed. "He guides the ship, and I make sure the waters are smooth."

David leaned forward in his armchair. "Marcus, your new film deals heavily with the strain of long-distance relationships. How do you define loyalty when two people are separated for months on end?"

Marcus brought the mic to his lips. "Loyalty isn't about physical proximity, David."

"Go on," David encouraged.

"The body might wander occasionally, but that doesn't mean the heart hasn't come home."

The audience murmured in awe.

"That's a very modern take," David noted. "Forgiveness over perfection."

"Exactly," Marcus said. "We are all human. We make mistakes. True commitment is returning to the one who grounds you."

Tessa smiled. She reached up and traced the edge of the gold pendant.

I dug my nails into the edge of the desk. Two years ago, I sat in our damp basement for three straight nights ghostwriting his breakout film review, The Abyss.

"This is brilliant, Marcus," I had said, handing him the pages.

"It's our work, Julia," he had replied. "But the industry needs a single face. The body of the work might wear my name, but the heart belongs to us."

"Profound," David said, pulling me back to the present. "Does your wife agree with that philosophy? We rarely see her at these events."

Marcus chuckled. "My wife prefers the shadows."

"She doesn't like the spotlight?"

"She stays behind the scenes, ensuring the foundation remains strong while I build the house. I couldn't do this without her quiet support."

"A true silent partner," David praised.

"Alright, roll the premiere clip," Greg commanded. "Mute the stage mics."

I hit the mute group button. The arena plunged into the dramatic orchestral score of Marcus's new film. The stage went dark.

"Check the noise floor for the Q&A," Greg added. "We got some feedback on mic three earlier."

"On it," I said.

I switched my headset to the backstage backup channel. It tied directly to their wireless lavalier mics, bypassing the main house speakers.

A sharp gasp pierced my right ear.

"Marcus, wait," Tessa whispered.

Fabric rustled. A heavy thump echoed.

"I told you to wear this," Marcus murmured.

"Someone will hear us," she giggled.

"The mics are off. Be good."

"Are you sure?"

"I saw Julia hit the mute button myself. She's trapped in that glass box until the event is over."

"You're going to wrinkle my dress," Tessa whispered.

"I'll buy you a new one," Marcus answered. "I'll buy you ten."

"What if your wife asks about the credit card charge?"

"She doesn't check the accounts. I handle the money. She just pushes buttons in the dark."

I stopped breathing. The cold air from the AC vent blasted against my neck, but I couldn't feel it.

"Wait until the show ends, and I'll take you up to the penthouse suite," Marcus said. "Julia's such a block of wood, she won't notice a thing."

"She really thinks you're working late tonight?"

"She believes whatever I tell her. Now, let me see."

More rustling. A soft moan.

I didn't rip the headset off. I stared at the mixing board.

"Standby for Q&A in two minutes," Greg announced over the main comms.

"Marcus, stop, they're going to call us back," Tessa whined.

"We have time," Marcus replied. "Just let me touch you for a second."

"You're terrible," she teased.

"You love it."

My hand moved away from the backup channel dial. I dragged my fingertips across the metal surface. I stopped at the master control section.

My palm rested flat against the red live broadcast fader. The switch that controlled the four massive line-array speakers suspended over the five thousand people in the audience.

I wrapped my fingers around the plastic knob and locked my eyes on the "On Air" indicator light right next to it.