“I’m sorry to have been so cagey with you, Logan,” Nubia started, once we were seated and the hostess had stepped away. “But I didn’t want to give you any real details until I was sure Pierre wasn’t going to go all moody artist on me.”
My gaze skipped to Pierre, whose expression was guarded as he studied me, then back to Nubia as finally, real understanding dawned. “Oh. So… you’re saying that Pierre is…”
“Yes,” Nubia agreed. “You’re going to be working with my baby cousin.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
When I got the call from the Nubia Perry, that she had a project she wanted me to work on, I’d been excited beyond belief. I’d worked with other execs at the network before, at varying levels, and had even done some liaison work directly for Nashira Drake.
That was probably how I’d landed on Nubia’s radar in the first place.
I’d signed the non-disclosure and contract without the full details, without blinking.
In my line of work, that wasn’t uncommon, and all protections in the contract went both ways – I required it. In my executive concierge capacity, I wasn’t required to do anything that contradicted my morals or beliefs, and I wasn’t yet in a place to be super exclusive with my clientele.
I’d work for pretty much whoever could pay my premium fees.
At our meeting, just yesterday, Nubia had explained what she needed from me – a right hand person for a freshman showrunner. At no point had she alluded to being related to the showrunner in question, but when I thought about it, I also hadn’t gotten very many details about the show itself – just that I needed to be prepared to help in whatever capacity was necessary.
The mystery of it all was intriguing, and this was Nubia freaking Perry, and… working on a TV show just seemed cool. All of that in combination with her offering a bonus equivalent to a third of my fee?
It was a no-brainer.
I just hadn’t realized, when I was digging my fingers into his shoulders nine hours ago, that Pierre was going to basically be… my boss.
Wonderful.
“I see the look on your face,” Nubia gushed, reaching across the table to grab my hand. “And I know, you’re probably thinking, what have I gotten into, I’m about to be working for some spoiled brat whose auntie-cousin got him a job.”
I let out a dry laugh. “I… promise you, I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
“Okay, but it’s true – I am getting him this job, and he is a bit spoiled – sorry P – but he’s actually talented, and I know he’s going to do the work,” Nubia swore, beaming in Pierre’s direction.
He’d finally stopped looking at me, staring at something in the distance as he cringed his way through Nubia’s embarrassing words, but when he felt us looking at him, he reconnected to the conversation.
“P, tell her about the show.”
Instead of speaking immediately, he ran a hand over his waves, doing unnecessary smoothing, since his cut was impeccable. The action made me flash back to last night – this morning – when I’d almost hoped that hat was hiding a fucked-up hairline. Something on this man to count as a physical flaw.
That didn’t exist with him, apparently.
“Uh… so, the series title would be One Day Sober, which—”
“It’s a play on words,” Nubia gushed, too excited to avoid butting in. “It’s a running count, and a goal, and a lament, and—”
“So you’re gonna explain it then?” Pierre asked her, smirking across the table.
“My bad.” Nubia was grinning as she tossed her hands up. “I’m just really excited for you. Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” he teased. “Yeah tho… everything she said, about the title,” he told me. “The main character is navigating a struggle with alcohol abuse, a difficult relationship with his father, overwhelming pressure to join the family business, and the rigors of his upcoming last year of college. This first season would take place over the course of the summer before senior year.”
“Wow. That sounds great, actually. I would watch that. There’s a love story too, right?” I asked. “There’s always a love story.”
Pierre’s eyebrows shot up, like my question had caught him off guard. “Uh… yeah, I guess. I haven’t really written that far yet.”
It was my turn then for lifted eyebrows. “Oh, you’re writing it yourself? So you’re a writer then?”
“I… yeah. Yeah, I guess I am,” he said, as if it were a revelation. Or maybe he was just uncomfortable.
He’d likely never expected to see me again, and yet… here I was.
“You do a lot of guessing – I can help you develop that into certainty,” I explained, earning widened eyes from both Perrys at the table.
“Well,” Nubia grinned, gathering her bag. “With that said, I’m actually going to leave you kids to it – you don’t need me for any of this, so I’m going to get some rest before I have to be ready to start hair and makeup for my signing tonight. You’ll be there, P?”
Pierre nodded, giving his “auntie-cousin” a warm smile. “Fa’ sho.”
“Alright. Thank you again, Logan,” Nubia said, rising from the table. She offered me a wave, but Pierre got a stain-free kiss on the cheek that had me wondering exactly what kind of lipstick she was wearing.
It wasn’t the time for that, though.
Very recent history aside… this was a business meeting.
I could be professional.
“Let’s get out of here,” Pierre suggested, giving me a look from across the table that made it clear he wasn’t even a little interested in the same. “My place is closer than yours.”
“I’m going to have to decline,” I told him, keeping my tone as perfectly polite as I could. “It’s important for us to use this time to establish a baseline. From there, we can parse exactly how my services can be best utilized on a continuing basis.”
He bit down on his lip, studying me for a moment before he shook his head. “I don’t need an assistant, Logan.”
“I disagree. If this is your first time creating a TV show, or even being part of its development, there are going to be things you don’t know, and things you can’t do alone. I can ease that transition. Besides that, I can help with managing your life outside of the show – keeping your personal affairs in order, so you don’t have the added stress of those things, in addition to work.”
“What if I don’t have any stress?”
“Then I would say you’re probably ignoring or neglecting a large amount of the responsibilities that come along with being a productive adult,” I answered, honestly. From the way his expression shifted though, I got the clear impression he didn’t like my answer very much.
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Logan,” he told me in a low, aggressive tone I’d never heard from him before. “I don’t know – or care, frankly – what Nubia told you, but this ain’t me – aiight? I’m not interested in this shit.”
Instead of feeding into his sudden swing in energy, I smiled, trying to remain upbeat. “You don’t have to be interested in my services for them to be valuable to you,” I explained. “Often, when I’m referred to people, they don’t really understand what it is I do – until they see it in action. Give me a week to work with you, to help you set the foundation for your series. If you still don’t see the benefit, we can discuss a dissolution of contract with Nubia. Fair?”
Usually, that little speech – the personalized variations of it – was enough to get a reticent client off the fence. And they always saw the value after the week.
Typically, it didn’t even take a full day.
Pierre though… seemed confusingly unmoved, just giving me a blank ass look until again, he leaned across the table.
“Listen to me, shorty… the only thing I want from you, is for you to let me strip you out of your little preppy professional clothes, and stroke all of this bullshit off either of our minds. If you can agree to that… we’re golden.”
I blinked several times, lips pressed together to keep myself from speaking until I was sure I could do so without cursing him out.
Well… certainty would have taken too long.
I had to settle for maybe not telling him to kiss my ass.
“I’ll meet you at the studio tomorrow,” I told him, gathering my bag, glad that this had all happened so quickly our server had never made it back to take our order. “Every showrunner at WAWG gets at least a temporary office space, so I’ll consult with Nubia about yours. Enjoy your lunch,” I told him, standing to walk away from the table, and ignoring the sound of my name coming off his lips as I blinked back sudden, frustrated tears.
My feelings weren’t hurt.
Not at all.
More than anything, I was baffled that the same lowkey dude who’d given me a ride home – and on his dick – had swung so drastically into… whatever the fuck that was.
It was inconsequential though.
The facts were that I’d signed a contract and had every intention of fulfilling it. If he wanted to be an asshole – for no good reason – he wouldn’t be the first or the last, and he wouldn’t be a failure on my resume.
When it came to this career I was carving out?
I’d never lost.
And I wasn’t about to start with Pierre Perry the Third.
***
Knocking at my door woke me up.
I wasn’t really supposed to be asleep anyway, but the events of the night before, a day spent researching and a second glass of red wine had all worked in concert to have me knocked out by eight pm.
I sat up from where I’d passed out on the couch, retrieving my laptop from where it had slipped to the floor. The screen was filled with the tabs I’d been using to look certain things up, and my favorite notepad was open to a vast to-do list I’d been drawing up for One Day Sober. I marked my page and closed it, then closed my laptop to answer the door, since now whoever was there was ringing the bell, making it echo through the whole apartment.
I’m coming, I’m coming, I muttered to myself, but didn’t yell out loud, in case I didn’t actually care to see whoever was on the other side.
When I looked through the peephole, I quickly determined that really was the case, but… I still opened the door.
“What can I do for you, Les?” I asked, unmoved by the sight of my ex-boyfriend at my door, still obviously dressed for work. I couldn’t front on Les – the man made a suit look good, and this beautifully tailored olive-green thing he had happening was no exception.
Attractiveness couldn’t overcome the fact that as a partner… he left much to be desired.
“You can talk to me, for starters,” he said, slipping past me uninvited, into my space. “I called you last night when I realized you were gone. Several times.”
“Several is a pretty severe understatement.” I pushed the door closed, but didn’t lock it, because as far as I was concerned, he’d be leaving soon. “Not to mention those bullshit texts.”
Les sighed, his pretty hazel eyes offering something masquerading as remorse. Or hell… maybe it was genuine, but it damn sure wasn’t about what it should be about.
I didn’t believe he was actually capable of that.
“I can own up to getting upset, and texting some things that were regrettable,” he said, walking up to take my hand. “But you didn’t have to leave like that. In the middle of the night, then not answering your phone? That was fucked up Logan, and your ass knows it.”
Pulling my hand away, I tucked them against my body, arms crossed. “I was just giving you back the same energy you’d given me. You don’t give a shit about hurting or upsetting me – why should I give a shit about you?”
Les sighed, running a hand over his smooth-shaved chin. “Is this about Nikki?”
My eyebrows shot up, because… no, it wasn’t. But… “Should it be about Nikki?” I asked, referring to one of his coworkers or “peer” or whatever the fuck they called it at his family’s company. I wasn’t particularly pressed about her, but had always gotten the impression she had an issue with me.
Maybe I was right.
“What?” Les blinked. “I don’t… no,” he insisted, shaking his head. “It shouldn’t be about anything, because I don’t see a problem. Just you inventing reasons to be upset, like always.”
I smiled. “Oh. Of course. That’s definitely it,” I agreed, dropping my arms to head over to the door. “Let me exacerbate it – goodbye.” I opened my front door, motioning for him to step out, but… obviously that would be too easy.
Instead of exiting, he moved deeper into the apartment, his eyes landing on where I’d been working from my couch. Specifically, on my empty glass. “Is this why you missed lunch with my mother and I today? To play on your laptop and drink wine?”
Annoyed, I pushed the door closed again. “I missed lunch because I wasn’t fucking speaking to you, Les. I’m not sure you’ve quite gotten that message. And besides that, I told you I had a meeting with a new client come up, and asked you to reschedule, but accommodating me… that would just be too much for you, right?”
“I’m sorry that my mother, the woman that gave me life, holds a higher priority to me than your little… assistant thing.”
I laughed. “Little assistant thing. Wow.”
“You have a fucking law degree, Logan. Your whole family does. Your cousin is Desiree Byers. Don’t act like I’m wrong for not understanding what the hell you’re doing, when your own father doesn’t either. This “business” you’re insisting on sacrificing your future for is… beneath you. You have to know that, right?” he asked, with such conviction that I knew this wasn’t just cruelty, even though it felt like it.
He really believed that shit.
“We discussed the engagement today,” he spoke again, while I was still considering exactly how to curse him out. “She’s not happy about it, especially after you stood us up today, but… she’s going to give me the heirloom ring.”
Once upon a time… those words would’ve taken my breath away. To say that very sentence would’ve made me happy was a gross understatement.
I would’ve been over the fucking moon.
The heirloom ring in question was the seven-carat solitaire that his father proposed to his mother with – the same one his grandfather, and great-grandfather, had given their brides. Before my disillusionment, I’d actually fantasized about wearing it, finding the whole thing so wonderfully romantic.
Hell, even now, I felt a little pang, thinking about the fact that gorgeous ring would never be mine.
I was not prepared to tolerate being married to the man it came with.
“Les… I’m sure some woman is going to proudly accept that ring from you, but… it won’t be me.”
With those words, all his bravado – the infuriating arrogance he’d walked in here with – crumbled. His brow dipped in a confused frown.
“Logan… come on. What are you talking about, babe?”
I smirked. “Oh. I’m babe again now?”
“You’ve always been that,” he insisted, approaching me again. He didn’t bother with my hands this time – he wrapped his arms around my stiff body. “Seriously… I don’t know what’s going on with us, but whatever I’ve done to upset you… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get it.” I slipped away from him, shaking my head as I strode to my kitchen for the wine bottle I’d been drinking from.
“You’re damn right I don’t get it,” he spoke up, following me. “Just… explain it to me, Logan. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Everything,” I told him, snatching the already-removed cork from the bottle without the aid of an opener. I took a swig, then shook my head. “You talk down to me about my career, you take my presence for granted, you don’t listen, you’re condescending… do I really need to go on?”
Shaking his head, Les propped his hands on his hips, staring at me with that same confused expression, as if nothing I was saying made sense.
“None of this is making any sense to me,” he confirmed, and… I just took another drink to keep from either laughing in his face or throwing the damn bottle at his head. “I thought we were good?”
I let out a dry laugh. “We were good, Les. Until we weren’t. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want to get over it anymore. I don’t want to try anymore. I’m just… done.”
He pushed out a deep sigh, just standing there looking stupid for a long moment until he nodded. “I hear you. I hear you, okay babe?”
“The fact that you just called me babe…”
“I think maybe we just need a little space,” he said, like I hadn’t said a word. He approached me, trying for a kiss that I easily dodged. A few times, actually, before he gave up. “I’m gonna call you in a few days, once you’ve had a chance to cool off. Then we can talk.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, you do that,” I encouraged, knowing his number was, and would be for the foreseeable future, blocked.
He took it as a positive sign though, shooting me a grin before he headed off.
Idiot.
We hadn’t even really argued, but I still felt hot and flustered as if we’d had some knock-down drag out thing.
As such, I finished off that bottle of wine, took a long ass bath, then settled into bed… still pissed.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, if I’d at least had a successful lunch meeting to think back on – instead I could only muse about how utterly wrong I’d been about Pierre.
There I was, thinking I’d hit the one-night-stand-with-a-stranger jackpot – good sex with a decent guy I could fantasize about, since my real life was so… not the same.
But no.
No such luck.
And the worst part of it all, was that I could ignore Les.
Pierre though?
I still had to work with his ass anyway.