Chapter Text
“Hey Napoleon!” came a shout from across the street.
Napoleon glanced over, sunglasses firmly on the bridge of his nose. It was no one he knew. He continued striding, eager to get to the gym before the lunch crowd. But he had hardly taken a few more steps before another shout of “Hey Napoleon, look over here! Give us a smile, Napoleon!”
It was a paparazzo, his DSLR going off every few seconds. Napoleon shot him a glare from beneath his sunglasses (not that he would see). Fine then. Give them what they want, or he’d be dogged by shouts all the way to his gym. A small price to pay for his hordes of fawning fans and a lifetime in the lap of luxury.
Napoleon began stripping off the ‘Catch Me If You Can’ T-shirt he was wearing, heedless of the pedestrians milling about. Let’s just see what the headlines would be this time. The ‘Hollywood Royalty’ angle was getting a bit old for Napoleon. Perhaps it was time for ‘You will never believe what Napoleon Solo did in the middle of a busy LA street! HOT exclusive pictures inside!!’ Napoleon smirked to himself. Victoria would get an aneurysm from the PR fallout.
A woman in front of Napoleon made a surprised ‘O’ with her mouth, and hastily put her hands over the eyes of her young daughter. Huh, what was so bad about abs, Napoleon thought, you would think the City of Angels was more liberal than this. It wasn’t until he got to the gym changing room that he realised his jeans were just a little too low slung.
After an hour at the gym and a shower, Napoleon checked his phone to find 8 missed calls from his agent Victoria Vinciguerra. Well that was fast. Maybe someone put the pictures up on Twitter.
As he was checking for texts, Victoria called again. Napoleon picked up on the first ring - “Ah, my favourite agent, Victoria. I am so sorry - I swear I did it because it was way too hot.”
“What have you done, Napoleon,” Victoria’s tone could freeze water.
Not about that, then. Oops. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. What news, Victoria?”
“We’ll talk about that later. I’m calling to tell you, you huge dork, you got the part in the latest Waverly film!”
“Awesome! Fantastic, um, agent-ing, Victoria. Remind me to talk to my dad for a raise for you.” Charm aside, Napoleon really was pleased with that particular job. It would be his breakout role for critical acclaim, he was sure of it. And with his good friend Michael by his side, the chemistry would be off-the-charts. Which reminds him to ask, “Who’s the other lead?”
“Uhh, surprisingly, not who we thought it would be. I have his name here, it says: Ill-ya Kur-ya-kin.”
“Huh.”
“‘Huh’ is right. I thought Michael was a shoo-in for the role after how he read with you. I’m just pulling up this Kuryakin’s IMDB - it says the only film he’s done as an actor is… a straight-to-TV fairy tale movie… called ‘Apple’.”
Now Napoleon’s tone was bitter, “Never pegged Waverly as a gambling man. Talk to you later, Victoria. Thanks for the call.” Wasn’t that just great. He’d planned out exactly how he’d approach the Hank William character with Michael opposite him as Douglas Edgar and he had been looking forward to discussing all his ideas with Michael over their lunch appointment the next day.
And now, some upstart usurps Michael’s rightful place. To think that Napoleon had been eyeing an Oscar nomination.