He couldn’t get through that last episode.
It was killing him, which was killing me, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
He didn’t have any objections to outside input on the show – in fact, he welcomed the feedback.
Or would, once it was done.
Whatever tweaks or adjustments needed to be made, to make ODS wonderful, there wasn’t a single question in my mind that he wouldn’t be able to receive it, to accept the spirit of collaboration.
But before it ever got to that point, Pierre had that one requirement that was kicking his ass now. Even if it was a mess, even if it was going to be ripped down to the studs to be refurbished into greatness… he had to be the one to lay down that foundation.
There was no rush.
He could take his sweet time.
I just… wished he wouldn’t be so devastatingly fine while it was happening.
He wasn’t always this appealing – attractive, sure. Pierre was, undoubtedly, that.
There was, however, something about the brooding, tortured artist mode he’d slipped into that was really making it hard for me to remain professional.
I… kinda wanted to offer to ride all his problems away.
Thank God you know better though, right?
Yes.
Of course.
I prided myself on professionalism – in a role like the one I’d carved out, my reputation was my bread and butter. I didn’t want to be known for providing those kinds of services to my clients.
I just… really wanted to lay his head on my titties and rub his back and tell him everything was going to be alright.
“Would you like me to make you a cup of tea or something?” I offered instead, keeping my completely inappropriate thoughts to myself as Pierre looked up from where he’d been staring at a blank screen for the last few hours.
I’d been busy working out contracts, putting together casting calls and other things like that, preparing for when things could move forward. Once he was done, we’d be able to hit the ground running with rewrites and storyboarding, scouting locations, casting talent. I couldn’t – and wouldn’t – just sit around all day watching him write, when I could work out the other details, things that hadn’t yet even crossed his mind.
It was the cornerstone of my job.
“What?” he asked, pulling off the headphones that had become a constant fixture, either over his ears around his neck, ready for duty at a moment’s notice.
“I asked if you wanted me to make you a cup of tea or something – before I leave,” I added, calling his attention to the time. “It’s after five.”
His eyes went wide, dropping to his watch to confirm my words before scratching his head. “Damn. The day got away from me.”
“Happens to all of us sometimes,” I smiled. “I can go chamomile if you wanna relax, maybe a matcha if you want a boost of energy…”
He shook his head. “Nah, no tea. Thank you though,” he said, lounging back on the couch to stare up at me. “Actually… I’m hungry, I think.”
“You barely touched lunch, so that makes sense. I can order something for you, have it meet you at home. Or have it delivered here.”
Sitting up again, he weighed those options, then stood. “Actually, I’m thinking I should go somewhere to sit down and eat. Maybe a change of scenery will help me.”
I nodded. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”
“Cool. Where you wanna go?” he asked, flipping his laptop closed, and pulling his headphones completely off as I stood there with my brow furrowed, confused.
“I’m coming too? You’re wanting to talk through the story with me or something?”
“Hell nah,” he chuckled, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “That’s the last thing I wanna do. I don’t want to think about this shit at all, as a matter of fact.”
“Then… what do you need me there for?”
He smirked. “I need something pretty to look at while I force-feed myself and wallow in self-loathing. Is that not obvious?”
“Oh, well, when you put it like that.”
That was how we ended up at Sucre Noir, a swanky little French-African fusion restaurant off the strip that I adored. I wanted to do something a bit exclusive, but still low-key that would make the meal as breezy as possible for Pierre, who was still pretty recognizable even though he kept a low profile.
And honestly… for me too.
It also didn’t hurt that Les had hated this place, and would always bitch about it when we went, even if it was my turn to choose where we ate.
Bastard.
I’d been lucky enough that he either called himself still letting me stew, or he still hadn’t realized I blocked him. Whatever it was, I hadn’t had to talk to him, and hadn’t yet had to experience the inevitable blowback of deciding our relationship was over.
For now, I just felt free.
“I hope you don’t mind if this becomes my spot now,” Pierre commented to me from across the table, taking another bite from his dish. “This is bomb.”
That made me grin - such a different reaction than I’d gotten the first time I brought Les. For him and his family to be so supposedly high class, the man’s palate was limited as hell.
Boring as hell.
“No, I don’t mind at all. This is one of my favorite places,” I told him. “You’ve never been here before?”
Stopping to take a sip from his water, Pierre shot down my assumption. “Nah, I’m actually not very familiar with Vegas at all, past the strip.”
“How did you end up here then?” I asked. “The house you’re in, you own that right?”
“Yeah, but I bought it when I was a kid. To come out here and party with my friends instead of getting hotel rooms all the time. Trying to be slick, avoiding the cameras and all of that. That house has seen some wild fucking times.”
“Wow,” I laughed. “You bought a whole home in Vegas to... what? Gamble, drink, fuck?”
“All of the above,” Pierre chuckled. “To my credit though, I’ve outgrown most of that. Now I only do one out of the three.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Is that so surprising?”
“For a young, good-looking man with money? Hell yes,” I replied. “If not for the drinking, fucking, and gambling, why on earth would you choose Las Vegas over beautiful ass LA?”
Shaking his head, Pierre speared another piece of chicken onto his fork. “LA is small. Too small. So many people know my name, my face. All the shit I used to be into.”
My eyebrow shot up. “Must’ve been some pretty bad shit if you felt like you needed to run from it.”
“I wasn’t running from it,” Pierre denied. “I’m just not interested in letting that shit swallow me up again.”
Now, we were getting somewhere.
I’d been wondering why ODS seemed so intensely personal to him, and now, learning that he didn’t drink… my mind was spinning, trying to put together the pieces of that particular puzzle.
Did he have personal experience with that?
“Let’s add that to the list of shit I’m not trying to talk about,” Pierre spoke up, while I was still contemplating what he’d already said. “Your Pops get in your ass about wrecking your car or nah?”
“Or nah,” I laughed. “He doesn’t even know it happened. My friend I sent a picture to does, but only about the accident. Not…anything else.”
He smirked, leaning in to say, “Anything else? That’s what you’re calling it in your head?”
“Would you prefer something else?”
“Yeah, maybe…nigga drove me home after I busted his shit for that wet ass—”
“Oh my God shut up,” I shrieked, too loud, then burst into laughter. “Can you… not?”
“Tell the truth?”
My forehead wrinkled. “You’re telling me that’s the truth? That you planned on us having sex when you offered me a ride?”
“Nah. You were way too buttoned up for all that.”
Unbidden, my head drew back in surprise, and I frowned at his words. “I was in pajama shorts.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You said I was too buttoned up, but I was literally the opposite of that.”
“Logan…” he chuckled a bit, shaking his head. “What I’m saying doesn’t have shit to do with what you were wearing, and everything to do with… who you are.”
“What’s wrong with who I am?”
“Nothing, to my eyes. All I’m saying is, I was shocked that you were even down with something so risky. Let alone being the one to suggest it.”
I reached for my water, suddenly very thirsty. “Maybe I just… needed to do something out of character. Switch things up, since I’m so easy to read, apparently,” I replied, forcing brightness into my tone. “And I don’t recall you having too much objection to the offer – if I remember correctly, the fact that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing was pretty much the deciding factor for you.”
“Yeah.” He settled back into his chair, not even a little shaken by my attitude. “Uncertainty and self-doubt is basically my slogan, shorty. In that moment, I could relate, and shit… I felt bad for you.”
My eyes bugged wide. “Wow. Wow. So it was pity sex, is what I’m hearing?”
“Only because you’re looking for a reason to be bothered, because that’s not what I said.”
“That sure is what it sounds like.”
“Ay.” Pierre sat up, reaching across the table to grab my wrist, tugging me out of the crossed-arm posture I’d assumed. “Cut the bullshit.” His probing gaze locked with mine. “If I’ve gotta spell this out for you, fine – I know what the anxiety and insecurity feel like, and its not… good. I didn’t want you to feel like that, so if you needed some company to get you through it, why the fuck not? You could’ve asked me to play cards or something, and I would’ve been good. It didn’t have to be about sex. You made it about that. Which I was good with too, because I mean… look at you.”
I pulled my hand from his.
Partially because I was so flustered by the unfamiliar sensation his words had sparked in my chest, partially because I didn’t want us drawing any undue attention. I dropped my hands to my lap, out of his reach, peeking around to assess just how much privacy we had in the open restaurant before I ventured a smile in his direction.
“Fine. Not pity sex. Just… sex.”
“Decent sex,” he corrected, tucking back into his plate. “I didn’t know you like that to do everything I wanted.”
My eyes narrowed. “Um… you got to put your dick in me, I’m not sure what else…?”
“You’re kidding, right?” He stopped, his fork hanging from his hand in mid-air for a moment before he put it back down. “I didn’t get to taste your pussy, I haven’t had your nipples in my mouth, haven’t had my dick in your mouth, haven’t felt you with nothing between us, haven’t—”
“I get it!” I held up a hand, stopping him from continuing to list things – counting them off with his fingers for extra effect.
No, we hadn’t done any of those things, and of course I understood the value they added to the sexual experience, I just… hadn’t been thinking about any of those things.
Especially not that night, when I didn’t even really know who he was.
Now though… it was definitely on my mind.
Yes, I’d thought about having sex with him again before now, but my little fantasies were centered on what I’d already experienced – protected sex, just me and his dick. Special guest, his lips.
Maybe that was a little unimaginative but considering the fact that I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him like that anyway… it was more than enough.
Had been more than enough.
His words had taken me somewhere else now though.
Just the regular, very normal action of him licking his lips after putting another forkful in his mouth had me thinking about him licking my lips, while eating something else, and I couldn’t keep it out of my head.
Which was why coming to dinner with him had probably been a bad idea.
“You’re not a prude are you?” he asked once he’d swallowed, his eyes glittering with amusement.
“No,” I denied. “It’s just… not very appropriate, because of our professional relationship.”
He nodded. “Got it. So if you weren’t my executive concierge, there wouldn’t be a problem with me asking you to come back to my spot after dinner, so we can do some of those things we didn’t get to the first time around?”
I ran a hand through the soft hairs at my nape, smoothing them down. “Honestly… no. Probably not.”
“Cool. You’re fired.”
I giggled at that, shaking my head. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”
“Right into it.”
“Well. I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t hire me, huh?”
He had no reply for that – just a smirk before he went back to his plate, and I went back to mine, but I… kinda felt bad. By no means did Pierre give me long-term boyfriend or possible husband vibes for anybody, let alone for myself.
But under different circumstances?
He definitely could’ve been a nice break from my norm – the consuming, passionate, likely toxic sort of affair I’d never experienced.
Not that what I had experienced – the constant search for monogamy among men with the right pedigree, the disappointments in bed and otherwise, the heartbreaks, the pressure from family… none of it was particularly desirable.
At least being around Pierre felt good.
With him, the only pretending I had to do was convincing myself it wasn’t a good idea to sleep with him again.
It was refreshing.
So refreshing that when he asked if I wanted to split dessert, I agreed, even though I was stuffed. Just to get a few more moments.
When we were done, we paid – well, he insisted on paying, and I didn’t care enough to argue – and headed out. I was feeling good about it, ready to get home, shower, grab a glass of wine and reflect on my day.
Then I heard my name, in the most annoying possible way.
“Luuuh-giiin!” Nikki called out, pulling my attention in her direction almost as soon as we stepped out of the restaurant. It was in a plaza-type area with a few other restaurants, boutiques, and salons, so there was really no telling where the hell she’d come from.
I just wished she’d take her ass back.
“Nikki, hello,” I greeted politely, since I had no real reason to give her a different energy. My presumptions of how she felt about me were pure conjecture – nothing concrete behind it.
She definitely wanted Les though.
I wasn’t imagining that.
The thing about that now though was… she could have him.
“Who is thiiis?” she asked, with a little shimmy and a grin in Pierre’s direction. And damn him for immediately turning on the charm, gifting her with his beautiful smile as he extended a hand in her direction.
“Pierre Perry,” he answered her question as she eagerly accepted the gesture. “Logan is doing some of her unparalleled concierge work for me. Saving my life, probably,” he added, with a fake ass laugh that Nikki and her breasts, currently spilling out of her top, ate up.
“Oh so this is a work thing,” Nikki mused, nodding. “What is it that you do?”
“I work in TV, over at WAWG.” He was smooth with it, replying without really telling her anything. “How do you and Logan know each other – and why didn’t she tell me she had a friend this beautiful?”
This bitch isn’t my friend.
I tried to tell him that with my eyes, but one look told me he’d already picked up on that.
“Well, I work closely with her fiancé, Leslie Moore, over at Moore Insurance and Wealth Management.”
Pierre’s eyes went wide. “Fiancé? Leslie? From Moore is Better?”
“Oh! You’ve seen the billboards!” Nikki gushed, clapping her hands together. “I was the one who designed those.”
Of course she did.
“I helped Leslie with his business cards too – Les is Moore. Get it?”
“He’s not my fiancé,” I interjected into Nikki’s self-congratulatory announcement, before she subjected us to any more of her world-class wordplay.
“Oh!” she put a hand to her mouth. “I hope I haven’t said too much. Les told me you two were going through a bit of a rough patch, but then he showed me the ring, and I just thought…”
“You thought wrong,” I corrected her. “Anyway, it was...” Ugh. I stopped myself from telling the lie that it was good to run into her, instead going with, “You have a good night, Nikki. I really need to get home.”
“Oh… well… okay then,” she called after us as I grabbed Pierre’s arm, urging him to come along. At first he didn’t move, despite my tugging, making sure I understood when he did budge that it was only because he wanted to.
“What was that about?” he asked, laughing at my frustration as we reached where we were parked next to each other.
Shaking my head, I unlocked my car so I wouldn’t set off the security, then leaned against my window. “That was my ex’s annoying ‘coworker’,” I said, offsetting the word with air quotes.
“You think they were fucking?”
“I think it’s a possibility, where I didn’t before. Until he asked me if she was the problem between us without me bringing her up.”
Pierre cringed. “Yeah… that doesn’t look good.”
“At all.”
“You didn’t tell me I was breaking up a marriage though. You and Leslie,” he added, in the corniest possible accent, barely keeping a straight face.
“He was not my fiancé,” I insisted. “We were never engaged. It was just… inevitable. I broke it off before he could ask.”
He nodded. “Would you have said yes?”
“What?”
“Would you have accepted the proposal,” he repeated himself, even though I’d heard him just fine. “If he’d asked… a week before you broke it off. Or two weeks? A month?”
“Maybe six months ago,” I answered, shrugging. “I probably would’ve then. Maybe four, but I wouldn’t have felt good about it. Two… I would’ve said yes in public to spare his feelings, then privately broke it off.”
“Damn. Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”
I ran a hand through my hair and nodded. “Yeah. I have. I’ve thought a lot about what a disaster it would’ve been. Thanked my lucky stars I finally had the sense to get out.”
“What was holding you back?”
“Expectations. Resignation. Family honor.”
Pierre let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled out his keys, using the fob to unlock his own vehicle. “On that note, I think I should head out.”
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked, confused.
“Nope.” He pulled his door open. “It’s just… the last time I started relating to you a bit too tough, I ended up in your bed, inside you. And since you’ve made yourself clear already in that regard…”
“Got it,” I laughed, moving around to the driver’s side of my car. “See you tomorrow?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. Goodnight.”