Wilson escorted her to the backstage.
It was a cramped room of less than twenty square meters, where three or four dozen young and pretty car models had to do their makeup and change clothes. With other staff members coming and going, the room was crowded.
Emily frowned. It seemed like today's work was destined to be challenging.
"Jackson is here," Wilson whispered.
Emily turned around, finally getting a good look at Jackson.
He wasn't dressed in a suit and tie. Instead, he wore just a black leather jacket over a black vest, tightly hugging his chest and abs, perfectly outlining his muscular physique. Below, he wore loose jeans with a skull emblem painted on the pockets.
He didn't look like a boss.
But he was the one who signed her paychecks. Emily touched her nose, lowered her head
