“Okay… I have to give it to you. This is actually amazing,” I told Anthony, once I’d swallowed my mouthful.
Across the table, he grinned at me. “See? I told you I could make the best short rib you’d ever taste, and you didn’t believe me.”
He was right. I hadn’t believed him when he made that claim because nothing about him said this is a man who can cook. There was, however, plenty that said he would do whatever it took to impress me.
I hadn’t decided yet if I thought it was bad or good.
For now, I was legitimately enjoying myself with him – including the time spent in his gorgeous kitchen, where he’d insisted I sit down and watch. I was so relieved that him inviting me over while he cooked hadn’t actually been some backwards ploy to see if I could cook that I didn’t even mind the fact that the food had taken a long ass time to cook.
He was good company, so I hadn’t found myself bored.
There was still time for this invitation to turn into him trying to get into my panties though.
We’d see.
In the meantime, I was just gonna enjoy it.
“Where in the world does a Las Vegas lawyer pick up a skill like this?” I asked. “Seems very specific.”
He chuckled. “Well, he makes a claim that he absolutely does not have the ability to back up, and then he frantically googles and practices and wastes a whole lot of expensive meat in the two days before he’s due to back up the shit he talked.”
My eyes went wide. “Seriously?”
“When I open my mouth, I really try to make sure it’s the truth coming out,” he chuckled, as I shook my head.
“You know what… that sounds very much like my kinda energy, so I’m not even mad,” I admitted, laughing. “Not to mention, you were honest about it, so… kudos to you.”
I wasn’t about to say this out loud, but backing up shit talk was very high on my list of non-physical qualities that made a man attractive. Really, Anthony had a whole lot going for himself, and in terms of a first time back in the saddle… I could do a lot worse.
He was incredibly easy to talk to, and look at, which was a one-two punch that had me at his house well past my intended hour. It wasn’t until he was offering me another glass of wine that I decided it really was time for me to go.
“I can’t have that last glass. I need to be nice and clear-headed for my drive,” I told him, using it as an honest excuse to decline. “I really have enjoyed myself with you though. I’m glad I let you convince me.”
He didn’t pressure me about staying longer once I made it clear I had every intention of not being at his house all night. I did get a hint of disappointment from him, but that was understandable, so I didn’t really mind it. Especially since it wasn’t like he was pouting about it.
He walked me out to my car, where he gently grabbed my hand, holding it up.
“Is this a gift from somebody I need to be worried about?” he asked, referring to the bracelet that was a new addition to my typical wardrobe. “I don’t mind a little healthy competition for your attention, but at least let me know to expect it.”
I grinned. “Well, Anthony… I look like this, so you should be expecting competition at all times,” I told him, teasing. “But this in particular is a gift from a group of teenage girls, and I am not a creep, so no. They are certainly not any type of romantic rival.”
“Okay, I follow you there but… I need some more information on that. Why would a bunch of teenagers give you something like this?”
“They saw it and thought it was elegant,” I shrugged. “And… that’s a word I guess they associate with me. Rowan Bishop, Reid Bishop’s wife? She runs this community center.”
“Yeah, The Cartwright Center. I know exactly who you’re talking about.”
“Right. Well, I volunteer there sometimes, and there was this group of girls who’ll be graduating high school really soon. When I could, I had been spending time helping them with their college applications and preparing resumes, their introduction letters, helping them study, all kinds of stuff like that. I had plenty of time because I hadn’t chosen a new client yet. But, since taking on Pierre, it’s taken away most of the time that I would have been spending with them. Which bothered the hell out of me. So to assuage my guilt over not being able to give them as much attention, I gifted them scholarships to assist with them getting their higher education. This,” – I held up my arm – “was their way of saying thank you. It was a few days ago, and I’ve just been wearing it ever since.”
“Ahhh,” Anthony groaned. “I see what you doing right now,” he said, chuckling as he took a step back.
My eyebrows went up. “I’m doing something? What am I doing?” I asked.
“Trying to make me fall in love with you on the spot,” he told me, inciting a peal of giggles before I could stop myself.
“Wow. That was…”
“That was pretty corny, I know,” he laughed. “But that is what you bring out of me. I can’t even be smooth anymore. You’re beautiful, smart, successful, and you’ve got a big heart? What am I supposed to do with all of this? With all of you. I mean, come on.”
“Well, you count your lucky stars that the last guy didn’t play his cards right. And you hope that you do.”
Anthony’s eyebrow shot up. “The last guy?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “A six-year relationship, which ended… two or three months ago. Something along those lines. He was... like you. Handsome, gainfully employed, no kids, big dreams for the future, all that stuff that checks off the boxes. Except a couple really important ones that I did not realize were that important.”
“What were those boxes?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Those boxes are down for maintenance,” I said, then laughed at myself for that ridiculous imagery. “I’m not even presenting those boxes for checking right now. Which is to say that I’m not trying to jump right into another big thing so soon. Not opposed to it, but I just want us to be on the same page when it comes to what’s happening here, or what could happen here. I know you and your boxes are of that age when men start to realize they want a wife. But I’m not looking to be that. And I hope that doesn’t come across as harshly as I feel like it sounds.”
Anthony shook his head. “No, not at all. I appreciate the transparency. And I also recognize an opportunity to just be cool and play my position when I see it, so understand that nothing you said is even in the realm of scaring me off.”
“I didn’t think it would be.”
For whatever reason, he took that as an opportunity to take that final step closer to me, basically pinning me against my car. I knew the kiss was coming and didn’t back away from it. This was only the third time we’d been out, in as many weeks, but I had accepted that this step of letting a whole new person put their lips on mine was coming soon.
With Pierre, I hadn’t even thought about it, and maybe that was part of the appeal.
There was no time to anticipate it, no time to think about what might go wrong, or how I really feel about it. It had just happened.
Anthony, on the other hand, was not getting the benefit of such a clean mental slate from me.
He did fine though.
His lips held the perfect level of moisture and they were soft. He didn’t try to do anything weird with his teeth, didn’t try to force his tongue into my mouth, no craziness.
Just… a nice kiss.
Just nice.
How… disappointing.
It wasn’t something I’d used to write him completely off, especially when we didn’t know each other that well quite yet. Maybe a little more… oomph, a little more spark would come later.
But for now, I gifted him with a smile as we gave our final parting words and I got in my car for the drive home.
Anthony should have been on my mind.
Dissecting every moment of our date, thinking about what I’d tell my friends, wondering what might be up for us next. Instead… the route home led me along a familiar area I hadn’t driven in months.
The same route where I’d ended up quite literally running into Pierre for the first time.
So he ended up dominating my thoughts.
I was still baffled by this thing with Sienna.
It was bad enough knowing that he was trusting her with his already flawless script.
Sleeping with her though?
That was something else.
I’d called myself doing the right thing – the direct thing – by simply asking point blank since even the possibility had me worried about him. I remembered him speaking about how getting away from the people he’d hung with in LA had been this necessary thing for his sobriety. And now here his past was, right back in his face, while he was already stressed about making sure he got the show right.
It was a disaster waiting to happen.
I could admit to being a bit obsessed with winning when it came to my career.
I loved all the little corny sayings and adages.
Logan Byers doesn’t lose.
Logan Byers doesn’t miss.
I was self-aware enough to know that part of my concern about Sienna’s presence and what it meant for the show was rooted in my desire to be a part of the ODS success. Not to have my name on it, or anything like that, because that wasn’t the norm for me anyway, and wasn’t a thing that mattered.
The personal satisfaction was more than enough.
But deeper than that – more prevalent than that – was my concern about Pierre’s mental state. And honestly, his sobriety. Yeah, he’d said it was none of my business, and he’d been more than a little cold over the last few weeks. But neither of those things could make me just a flip and switch and not be worried about him.
Not when I considered him a friend.
Even though I was a bit unsure he felt the same way, which… I didn’t even know what to make of that. I’d briefly wondered if it was related to Anthony, but he’d started up with Sienna before Anthony even formally asked me out, so maybe not. What the reasoning was, I wasn’t sure – I just knew he’d been more distant than usual.
Just yesterday, he’d been adamant about not needing me there for the Sugar&Spice shoot, insisting that I could be off handling other things. Which was fine, because I could, but… it just felt a little strange.
Like he didn’t want me around.
If I was on my usual three-month contract, this wouldn’t even be a problem – I’d have already moved on to the next thing. But because a major part of what Pierre needed was help with the show, I was contracted through the end of production or six months – whichever came first.
So I was here for the long haul, in a situation that had become unfortunately awkward.
Yay for me.
In front of my building, I sat in my car an extra few minutes to check my messages and everything before I got out. As if I’d thought him up, one of the messages in my email inbox was from Rashad Martin – the Sugar&Spice photographer, who’d flown out from Blackwood for this thing with Pierre. Apparently, he thought since I wasn’t there, even though I’d been the one to coordinate, I’d like a sneak peek at the shots.
Damn right I do.
I wasted no time tapping into the attached photos – there were just two, but each took my breath away, for different reasons. Nubia had served as his stylist, and I hadn’t been privy to anything beforehand, but… goddamn he looked good.
One shot was him in a beautifully tailored tuxedo, but… undone. He was seated, his tie draped around his neck, shirt unbuttoned, jacket tossed nearby. His eyes were closed, the image taken in a way that dripped with mental and emotional fatigue, as if he were all dressed up to receive an award – to reap the benefits of his work – and now, it was done.
I loved it.
The other was more playful, and to me, sexier. He was dressed down, in sweats and a tee shirt, but otherwise ready to impress. Fresh haircut, neatly trimmed beard, spotless sneakers, diamonds on his wrist, in his ears, designer shades. He was hanging from the seat of his vehicle, outside somewhere so the sun was hitting just right, the dark ink of his tats making a beautiful contrast against his brown-sugar skin.
And then… there was his mouth.
With the ODS fronts I’d gifted him on full display.
I really tried not to make things mean more than they did, but…
Did that mean something?
I was sorely tempted to just hit him up and ask, but directness hadn’t worked in my favor last time.
So… I wasn’t about to lose any sleep over it tonight.
My first table read…
And maybe… not the last one?
The more I worked on ODS, the more my mind wandered, about shifting my career focus from this more generalized approach I’d been on to something more… specific.
Like TV-specific.
This was… everything.
I got a chance to take one more proud look around at my work before anyone else was due to arrive. Instead of just stuffy, uncomfortable chairs around a conference table, I’d commandeered an empty space and had lounge chairs brought in, with a big coffee table in the middle.
The table was loaded with healthy – and a few not-so-healthy – snacks, each seat had bottled water and a little personal side table at the ready, with a fresh notebook and working pens for anything they might need or want to write down. Right up front, when they first entered, I had everyone’s scripts printed in book binding, ready and marked with their parts. I also had tablets for the main actors, so that the writers – Pierre and Nick – could send them changes on the fly.
Kettles for hot tea and coffee, a bowl of throat lozenges.
Hell, I even had blankets in case somebody got cold, and personal electric fans if they got hot.
I was ready for anything.
Except Sienna walking through the door with a sour ass expression, two minutes before we were due to start. Everybody else, down to the smallest part we’d brought on for today’s read, had gotten themselves there early.
And then here her ass came, breezing in like some diva, with the definite air of someone who thought we’d been just waiting on her to arrive.
“What is this?” she sneered, looking around at what was obviously not the typical-looking table read she’d expected.
Before I could speak, Nick was beside me, hooking an arm over my shoulder. “It’s dope, right? Logan took the time to make sure we’re prepared for all contingencies, make sure everybody is comfortable, and fed if necessary, all that.”
Sienna scoffed. “These people are actors – they aren’t eating that food. Now if you’d put out a couple lines of cocaine…”
“Plans have already been made for any extra food. There’s a shelter just around the corner, expecting me this afternoon. I’ll be there to donate the extras to their dinner service and drop off a check on behalf of this production, and we’ve already made arrangements for donation of any future extras from table reads, as well as from craft services once filming starts. And since this show is literally called One Day Sober, and the creator takes pride in his own sobriety… I’m a little unclear on why you’d ever even make a joke like that?” I asked, digging in unnecessarily because… really?
“Girl, if you don’t get your goodie-two-shoes ass outta my face,” Sienna snarled, and I… stood my ass right where I was, because that bitch didn’t run me and my ability to remain “professional” with her was running out.
Fast.
When she realized I wasn’t going anywhere, she stomped off, flouncing over to where Pierre was seated, looking through the printed version of the script.
“Damn,” Nick chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody handle Sienna quite like that.”
I shrugged. “She doesn’t intimidate me, on any level. And if it came down to it, I’m pretty sure I could beat her ass. So, there’s no need for me to give her back the energy she gives me. I stay cool, she looks crazier.”
“That is very calculated, Ms. Byers. I like it,” Nick said, holding out his fist for me to tap with mine before we joined the rest of the cast by taking a seat.
And then we got started.
The interactions between Jason and his father ran through beautifully. To the point that no one else in the room could even hide it on their faces. We were right there with them, reacting to the arguments, getting angry, all that. It was awesome.
And then… it was time for Elodie to portray Tracy, and…
It was awful.
There was no getting around it.
It wasn’t on Elodie either – she was trying her best with what Sienna had made available. But compared to the poignant, superbly rendered scenes she hadn’t touched, it didn’t even feel like the same show.
Nobody could hide that on their faces either.
“What makes you think you can understand me, huh?” Jason demanded, staring across the space at Elodie as Tracy. “You see me walking the casino floor a couple times, you know who my father is, and what? You know me now?”
Tracy bit her lip, smirking. “You don’t know shit, nigga. I stroll up in this place like the bad bitch I am, and you think you know me, but you don’t.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Yes it is. Period,” she snapped. “I’ma get my family up outta here, watch. Everybody that doubted me is gon’ see it.”
“Tracy—”
“Fuck you!” Again, she smirked. “You and your daddy, ain’t nothing but tricks anyway. And you gone keep tricking, generation to generation. Every summer, til I get outta here. Watch. Period.”
Jason cringed. “Why just the summers? Why not year-round, save up?”
“Duh,” Tracy said. “Cause I’m at school, nigga. The same one as you.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She grinned. “Nope. Up there hustling they bougie asses too. I don’t even go to those lil bullshit classes, and guess what? I’ll still have the grades.”
“So what is this really about for you?”
“Securing a bag, what else? And don’t you fuckin’ judge me for it either,” Tracy snapped. “You think you and your people the only ones? Nah, fuck that, I’ma get mine – I’m sorry,” Elodie said, breaking character to drop the script into her lap. “P, really? This is what we’re doing now?”
Suddenly, it was all eyes on Pierre, who’d been very quiet since the scene started. This was the same one Elodie had auditioned with, that had been so great in the moment. The girl trying to pay her way through school to get out of the hood was by no means an original character arc, but the way Pierre wrote her, she’d had depth and heart, neither of which were betrayed by her penchant for a potty-mouth.
Under Sienna’s pen… Tracy was a caricature.
Maybe he hadn’t been able to see it before, maybe he needed to hear it out loud, but there was no possible way Pierre couldn’t see what was so obvious.
That woman’s input was not an improvement.
It was a fucking tragedy.
Pierre was wearing a hat, and had it pulled low over his eyes, arms crossed. Since he hadn’t spoken yet, and still seemed to be in deep thought, Sienna took it upon herself.
“I don’t really see any familiar faces, so I’m going to guess this poor attempt at a table read is many of your first,” she said, standing up. “You should feel honored to have been invited on the journey of something my hands have touched, and you should probably remember that. This is not a community project – you’ve been hired to do a job. So get it done – I’ve got places to be.”
“So go then, girl,” Elodie snapped. “Who even are you?”
I knew, for a fact, that Elodie knew exactly who Sienna was. I also knew it was a perfect question to accomplish Elodie’s goal of getting under her skin – she had no loyalty to this woman, and with her family and bank account, it wasn’t like Sienna could “do” anything to her.
It was perfect.
“I’ve written and produced three hit shows, little girl.”
“I bet they were some bullshit. Niggas get impressed by anything with some current slang thrown in these days.” Elodie waved her off and pulled out her phone, giving her the energy only a twenty-year-old socialite could do so very well.
I couldn’t front.
I loved this.
But I knew Pierre was probably ready to sink through the floor, so I couldn’t let it go on.
“So I think what’s happening here,” I spoke up, over the hum of voices starting, “is that everyone who signed on here, did so with the expectation that this was going to be a certain show. But now, with the changes to the script, it’s feeling like something else. Nick, Pierre, would you two be open to us going back to your script before the most recent changes, and let our actors read through that to see how it feels?”
“Why the fuck would they want that? Are you trying to say something’s wrong with what I wrote?” Sienna snapped at me.
“I think it’s quite clear your changes aren’t working, so I’m offering a suggestion.”
“Which I happen to think is a good idea,” Nick spoke up. “I didn’t think there was a problem to begin with, but these changes… if I’d seen these before today, I wouldn’t have signed off on it.”
“Because it’s not up to you and your wannabe highbrow eyes,” Sienna countered. “You show me something better, since you’re a critic now.”
“Respectfully… I believe Pierre already has shown us better.” I looked down just long enough to tap a few buttons on my tablet. “Our Jason and Tracy now have the scripts pulled up on their screens – their original scripts. We can go through that same scene right now, and everyone can see the difference.”
Frustrated, Sienna turned to where Pierre still hadn’t said a word. “If you do this, I am outta here. And I still want every dime you owe me for my time in this God-awful place.”
“I guess we should say goodbye then,” Pierre told her. “You’re welcome to stay, since I invited you here for your voice, and wanted you on this team. But this is, has always been, a collaborative effort. And if you’ve got a problem working with others, I’m not going to beg you. We’ll make sure you get your check, though.”
I fully expected her to storm out, furious at not having gotten her way. Instead, she crossed her arms, a self-satisfied smirk on her face as she returned to her seat. “Fine. Let’s see this in motion, so you can see – I know what audiences want. I know my shit. And you’ll see it. Let’s do it.”
I returned to my seat wearing a smirk of my own, because I knew what was coming next – one of my favorite scenes. The way Sienna wrote it, it completely changed Tracy’s motives and trajectory. But to me, the way she connected with Jason in the moment was a masterpiece.
I’d already seen the whole conversation about working over the summer, the family legacy, all that, in audition. It was beautifully clear in my mind.
Jason took a deep sigh, scrubbing a hand over his head. “Why just the summers? Why not year-round, to save up, and get outta here?”
“Duh,” Tracy said, wearing a sly smirk. “Because just like you… when it’s not holidays or summers, I’m off at school. At your school. You walk around there like your shit don’t stink too.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She grinned. “Nope. The same hard ass classes, difficult professors, high ass tuition as you. Only, I have to pay it myself. And then I come home for the summer and work myself like a dog at the mercy of some rich assholes, and have to listen to my parents, my friends, and everybody else encourage me not to fucking bother, cause nobody thinks there’s anything more out there for me than working at this goddamn casino. So… you know what… you’re right – I don’t understand you.” A dry laugh pushed from her throat, and she shook her head. “And really… you suck. So why the fuck would I want to?”
What came after that though, I’d only ever read, so I was excited to at least hear it.
“If you’re not trying – don’t even want to understand me, what is this conversation even about, Tracy? Why even bother, if you think you’ve already got me figured out?” Jason asked, meeting her gaze.
“Because I’m hoping it’ll get you to figure yourself out. You and your whole family… you walk around with your noses in the air while you build your fortunes off the backs of locals. You don’t care how many parents aren’t there to help their kids with the homework, or who are too stressed because money is tight to have the necessary patience to show them grace, and love, and what actually being happy looks like. You’ve never known the life of having to get your siblings ready for school in the morning cause your parents are dead tired from an overnight shift, so they can’t. But you think the shit is okay because y’all toss your spare change at a charity every once in a while. You think you’re the ones who couldn’t bear the suffering of a child to ensure your own livelihood, but no. Y’all are not the ones that walked away. You stand there and watch and then go right back to your castle,” Tracy said, disdain clogging her voice as she sat back, done.
“What does that shit even mean!” Sienna interrupted, before Jason’s next line. “It’s just word salad, trying to sound deep!”
“It’s a reference to The Ones Who Walked Away From Omelas!” I informed her, shaking my head. “You were going on about how much you know, yet you don’t recognize something most people pick up in freshman level lit classes?”
Her eyes snapped over to me, filled with fire. “I’m about sick of you!”
“Honey, the feeling is mutual. Can we get back to this, please?”
“What-the-fuck-ever,” Sienna screeched, ripping herself up from her seat to storm out.
“I’ll make sure your check gets to you!” I called after her, then brought my gaze straight to Pierre, who’d finally pulled that damn hat up. “Shall we finish this table read now?”
Without Sienna’s interruptions – or her awful script – the rest of the read went beautifully. There were minimal changes needed, which meant next week’s shooting date – pushed back to give some breathing room around the script and more time to perfect the sets – was secure. I could schedule the reads for the next episodes, as well as get the appropriate crew to build out shooting schedules… all kinds of things were unlocked now that this was done.
It was going to be a lot of work, but… it was work we were excited to do.
And I couldn’t wait.
I did, however, wait until we were alone in his office to broach the elephant in the room with Pierre – one of them, at least.
“I’m glad you were able to see the beauty in your own work,” I told him, as we were packing up to leave there, done working for the day. “I know seeing it shot and edited and all that will be a whole other level, but in the meantime… I hope you were able to see what we see.”
He stopped what he was doing to look up, meeting my gaze. “You don’t have to be nice about it, shorty. You can say it plain. I was bugging and was about to let this turn into some bullshit because I… couldn’t just believe that I could do it.”
“Everybody has to be reminded sometimes,” I shrugged. “Sienna’s invoice isn’t cheap, so that uncertainty is gonna cost you, but… things are back on track now. So… there’s nothing to sweat anymore, right? It’s fine.”
Pierre smirked. “Why do I feel like you would’ve made sure it ended up like this?”
“Cause you know I’ll do what it takes for you to win?”
The smile slipped from his lips, but he nodded. “Yeah. That’s it exactly. And I appreciate it.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” I assured, dropping my eyes so I could flip the heart charm on my bracelet from the uncomfortable spot where it had gotten lodged.
“You must really like that bracelet, huh?” he asked, and I nodded.
“I really do. It’s not my typical style, but it means a lot, so… here I am,” I laughed. “Am I messing with it a lot? I know I am. I just don’t want to happen across any of the girls and not have it on – which I know is ridiculous, but still.”
When I looked up, his brows were pulled together, confused. “Girls?”
“Yeah, remember? Or maybe I didn’t tell you, since I haven’t had any time with them since we started. Some seniors I met down at The Cartwright Center. I put some money into a trust for them, for college, and this was their way of thanking me.”
“Oh. Oh. Wow.” He shook his head, letting out a dry sort of chuckle I didn’t understand. “I… thought it was from Anthony.”
“What?!” I laughed. “You know, it does look like something a man would buy for someone, but… no. I absolutely would not have accepted jewelry from him, this soon. We haven’t even… nevermind. Just… no.”
Pierre raised an eyebrow at me. “You bought me jewelry though.”
“That was different.”
“Nah, I think you did it cause I’m easy. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Stop it,” I laughed. “Um… speaking of… Rashad Martin sent me a couple pictures from your shoot. I saw you wore the grill.”
Pierre smiled, and nodded. “Absolutely. Had to represent, right?”
“Yeah… I guess so. You looked good.”
“Did you doubt I would?”
I giggled, shaking my head as I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, glad that for the first time in a while, it felt like we were parting on a good note. I was getting out while we were ahead.
“Nope. Never.”