Lights… Camera… Kill Me Now!

Chapter 1

"ARTHUR!"

Not two seconds after the scream rang through the offices of NK Designs, a lanky gentleman with scraggly brown hair dashed into his boss' office, briefcase in hand, tie flying behind him. He stopped, panting, in front of his boss' desk and hurriedly smoothed the wrinkles out of his jacket. If ever a person cared about their employees' appearances, it was his boss.

"You called?" Arthur asked. His boss' chair was turned so that the back of it was facing him, something for which he was immensely grateful; from the sound of it, his boss was angry, and facing her eyes when she was mad… The mere thought of it made him shudder.

"You called, what?" A female voice, much younger than Arthur, hissed.

Arthur cringed. "You called, Madame Kabra?"

Natalie Kabra spun around in her chair, the picture of calm, if it hadn't been for the way her eyes flashed. Arthur gulped. "Much better," Natalie said, without even a hint of her usual smirk. Uh-oh. This was not good.

"Do you know why I called you here, Arthur?" Natalie asked, her tone sickly sweet. Arthur shook his head. "No? Hardly a surprise, you never were the brightest bulb in the batch. Well, then, I suppose I'll just have to show you."

She snapped her fingers, and the lights dimmed in the room. A projection screen lowered, and a line graph appeared on it. The line traveled steadily downwards, and Arthur instantly knew what was wrong.

"Ah," he said shortly, fingering his tie nervously.

"Exactly," Natalie snapped, her amber eyes narrowed at him. "You're the head of marketing, Arthur. Why aren't my clothes selling?"

"I- I don't know, Madame Kabra," Arthur stammered, "It could be any number of things. I know that we've advertised enough; we have posters, and television ads, all over America and the United Kingdom. Your clothes are available in every store that you deemed 'worthy'."

"Then why are my sales falling faster than your head would if I decided to cut it off thanks to your stupidity?"

"I-I-I'm sorry, Madame, but I can't tell you!" Arthur exclaimed, unnerved. "I don't know! We've advertised as much as we can! The only other possible reason is that no one knows who you are!"

Immediately, Arthur knew that this was the wrong thing to say. Natalie's amber eyes narrowed to mere slits, and she growled, "No one. Knows. Who. I. Am?"

Arthur did a silent countdown. 3… 2… 1…

"How dare you suggest such a thing! I am Natalie Kabra, daughter of Vikram and Isabel Kabra, the most successful art dealers in England! I come from one of the richest families in the entire world! And you dare tell me that no one knows who I am? You moron! You peasant! You bloody git! Who do you think you are? You are nothing, nothing, compared to me! I am Natalie Kabra, and everyone knows who I am!"

Natalie took her deep breath, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm herself. After a minute, she opened them; there was still an angry fire beneath them, and when she next spoke, it sounded like it took all of her self-control to stop herself from screaming again.

"That… outburst was out of order," she forced out, her nose scrunching up like she tasted something bitter. "Explain what you mean."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't going to kill him after all; not yet, at least. "You see, Madame Kabra, many clothing lines these days- Abbey Dawn, L.A.M.B., and RocaWear, to name just a few- were started by celebrities. Celebrities have millions of fans worldwide, if their publicity's been worked right, so when they start a clothing line, then all of those fans feel compelled to check it out. While several people know your name, Madame Kabra, not everyone knows who you are. You're not a celebrity."

Natalie nodded slowly. "Interesting theory, Arthur," she said. "So you're saying that if I want my clothes to sell, if need to become more famous? I need to become a celebrity?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that you needed to, but it would help, yes."

"So, I should just… get cast in a movie or something?"

"That could work," Arthur spoke, "but it's not as easy as it sounds. First, you need to find a movie that you qualify for. Next, you either need to get down to the studio and audition, or make a tape of yourself acting and send it down to them; personally, I would suggest the former, you might actually get someone to pay attention to you. Not to mention you need an agent, to help you with all of that."

"Alright then." Natalie stood up. "Arthur- you've been promoted."

The man nearly jumped with surprise. "I have?"

"Yes. You're now my official agent." Natalie smirked. "Now go get me in a movie."

XxxxX

"I don't get it, Matt," Hamilton Holt sighed, putting his head in his beefy hands. "Why won't anyone sign me? I did great in training camp!"

"You did a bit, er, too well in training camp, Mr. Holt," Matt explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "You injured nearly all of your fellow trainees."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean to!" Hamilton exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. "It's football! I was supposed to tackle them! It's not my fault they weren't as strong as me!"

"That may be so, Mr. Holt," Matt said, "but the fact remains that NFL teams do not want to sign on someone who could potentially injure their teammates."

"Great. Just great," Hamilton muttered. "I guess I'll have to become a- a security guard or something. Like my dad."

Matt couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for the younger- and much, much larger- boy. He had met Eisenhower Holt, he remembered, running a hand over his slicked-back black hair. He didn't want Hamilton Holt to end up like that.

"As your agent, Mr. Holt," he started, "I've been doing my best to convince a team to sign you. But all of them refuse to give you a chance." Hamilton groaned miserably, and Matt went on hurriedly, "However, there might be something we can do."

"What?"

"All teams want publicity. Good publicity, that is. It helps them get more fans, which makes them more money- and we all know how important money is."

"I know, I know, but what does that have to do with me?"

At this, Matt adopted a sly, crooked grin. "What better way to get good publicity than to sign a movie star onto their team?"

Hamilton's jaw dropped. "A- A movie star? Matt, you're not seriously thinking what I think you're thinking, are you? I could never be a movie star!"

"It'll only be one movie; two at the most," Matt assured his client. "Come now, Mr. Holt- playing NFL football is your dream, isn't it?" Hamilton nodded. "You should be willing to do anything to accomplish your dream."

"I am!"

"Then star in a movie. Just one. Then, your football career can get started, and we can forget this ever happened. Okay? What do you say, Mr. Holt?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Hamilton sighed resignedly, "Okay. I'll do it."

"Excellent," Matt grinned, his eyes glinting. "Then I have a few calls to make."

I really shouldn't be starting a brand new story, since I won't have time to update for a long while (so don't nag me about it, people), but I just had to get this idea out of my head. Plus, you know how I love my unusual pairings. :)

Hope you like it! Any plot ideas are welcome! Lastly- and most importantly- please, please, PLEASE REVIEW!

Thanks!

-Joelle8