Description:

Madame Jess is three hundred feet of live-stream talent, and Reid is the tiny handler who is supposed to keep her jobs clean. After a quarry blast she still can’t hear, the calls from Gloria keep stacking: fines, court dates, sites that were never as empty as the sheets claimed. Can Reid make her see just how unprofessional she's been?

(300-ft giantess, size difference, destruction, giantess celebrity, dark giantess)

Excerpt:

The ringing hadn’t gone away.

Reid was already in the glam suite when Jess came in from the quarry job. She still had quarry dust in the seams of the jacket she’d worn for the last shot. She peeled it off, dropped it over the back of the chair, and sat.

The chair, like everything else here, was built for her. Three hundred feet of her filled the room. He had stopped being surprised by that a long time ago.

“You’re here early,” she said.

“I need you to look at this.” He held up the folder. From the floor it looked like nothing, but in his hands it had weight. “Gloria’s been calling. You haven’t been calling back.”

Jess leaned toward the mirror and squinted at her own ear, like the problem might be makeup. “Say that louder. Or come up here. One of the two.”

He took the lift. The scaffold shook when she shifted her weight. Up close he could see she was speaking too loud again, the same way she had been since the blast. She kept smiling through it, pretending all was well.

“I said Gloria forwarded a packet,” he said. “Fines. Two dates they wanted you in court. You’re lucky that’s all it is so far.”

“For what?”

“Collateral on at least five jobs.” He opened the folder on the marble ledge. “People were still on site, Jess. You didn’t tell me.”

She laughed once, then stopped when he didn’t laugh with her. “Nobody said anything to me.”

“They tried.”

“Then they should have tried harder.” She said it light, almost bored, and reached for a wipe. The quarry had left a gray film along her jaw. “We mark sites clear. You mark sites clear. If someone is still wandering around after that, that’s not on the talent.”

“You can’t hear a radio check.”

She touched her ear and made a face. “It’ll settle. That last drop was loud on purpose. That was the whole point of the piece. You were there. You heard it.”

He had been there. Clipboard, radio, same spot he always stood if he could help it—where a heel had room to miss him.

Other Info: 5,406 words

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