Authors: Raven St. Pierre
My stomach flipped, nerves kicking in at the thought of working with someone of Pete’s caliber. And for him to be willing to take a chance on me? A rookie? Unbelievable. Cliff hadn’t tried to take any credit here, but I had a feeling he’d put his feelers out on this one, put a bug in someone’s ear. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m as confident in myself as the next guy, but I never would’ve thought to go after something this big on my own. Leave it to Cliff, though.
I smiled big, so I’m pretty sure he knew what I was thinking before the words even came. “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you!”
He nodded, still being modest and tight-lipped. “And the schedule won’t clash with what we discussed earlier, a continuation of your documentary. Pete will actually be filming pretty close to your hometown—just an hour-long flight; already checked into it. So, assuming we find an angle for you to shoot footage of your family that you’re comfortable with, that
they’re
comfortable with, you’ll be bi-coastal for a while, but mostly you’ll be back home in Lindmore. You cool with that?”
I’d be busy, but I’d make it work. There was no way I was turning this opportunity down. Besides, being closer to home was an added bonus. My family was there. Brook
was there. “When will you know? About working with Pete, that is.”
Cliff winked an eye. “All he was waiting on was for you to say yes.”
Un-freaking-believable. I didn’t know what to say to that. “Yes!” was what came to mind.
Cliff reached across his desk and shook my hand. “Then the job is yours. You’re officially production manager to Pete Nelson.”
*****
I drove home in a daze, my mind reeling from information overload—there was the news about working with Pete and the pressure of trying to find a suitable angle to work on a continuation of the documentary without exploiting Nick’s situation. Then, on top of that, before I made it out of Cliff’s office, he sprung it on me that I’d been invited to a private screening of a newly released film coming up early next week. He thought it’d be good PR and an opportunity to mingle with
‘people who are on the level’
. He’d said that before, that I should start rubbing elbows with some of the people trying to rub elbows with
me
. He hadn’t come out and said it, but I knew he mostly meant the female population.
During our conversation about the private screening, he slipped it in that there were a few
‘socialites’
who had their people contact him to inquire about my status, requesting that I escort them to the event. His suggestion was to pick the most recognizable face out of the bunch, the one most in the public eye, to get myself some more exposure.
‘Fame is contagious, kid,’
he’d said with a smile.
‘And apparently you’re some kind of freakin’ magnet for it.’
While I did want to be well-known, I didn’t want it to be because of who I was or wasn’t dating. I wanted it to be because people respect my work. Cliff meant well, though. I never explained to him why dating around hadn’t appealed to me as of late, but I had my reasons—a reason more commonly referred to by the name Brooklyn Rose James.
I intended to get home by five, but because of the meeting at his office—and don’t even get me started on this L.A. traffic—it was almost six. I pulled up to the house and couldn’t turn the engine off fast enough. My thoughts had been pulling me here all day, making it difficult to concentrate on much else. I took the porch steps by two and unlocked the front door as quickly as I could. Brook and I talked briefly after my interview, before I called Nick, but that was the most contact we had all day. When I left at the crack of dawn, she was still fast asleep behind the closed door of the guest room. Needless to say, I was anxious to get back to hang with her.
“Honey, I’m home,” I said with a smile, listening for a response, a laugh, something.
No answer.
I went to her bedroom door to find that she wasn’t inside. The bed had been made and she’d set a few of her things out on the dresser for easy access—a brush, a bottle of lotion, the scarf she wears on her hair at night. Nothing significant, but for some reason the sight of these items made me smile again. They were a sign of her being here, something to let me know I hadn’t dreamed it all up. This girl, the one who’s way more important to me than she lets herself believe, was here.
A light thud on the back porch caught my attention. The sound had come through her open bedroom window, so I walked in that direction. The sun was so bright, even at this hour, that the sand looked white beneath it, causing me to squint as my line of sight drifted toward the source of the noise. A thick book was swooped up by petite, light-brown fingers that yanked it out of view. The window sill wouldn’t let me see beyond it, but at least I’d found Brook. She was outside soaking up this California sun just like she said she would.
I made my way to the living room, headed for the loungers just beyond the French doors. But first, I doubled back to the kitchen to grab two beers from the fridge for Brook and I, thinking I’d join her and catch up on how her day had gone. I did that, grabbed the bottles and then continued on to the doors, but then, when I got there, the vision before me stalled my feet and I nearly dropped what was in my hands onto the tiled floor.
Look away, dude. Not cool. Look away.
But of course I didn’t; I
couldn’t.
Right there in front of me, resting on a lounger only six feet away, was a living, breathing wet dream if I’d ever seen one. That was the only way I could think to describe how good she looked. She lay there wiggling her toes to whatever music filtered into her ears through white earbuds with no clue she was being watched, no clue I’d even made it home, which was all the more reason I should’ve looked away, but…
wow.
A thin sheen of sweat coated her smooth skin, giving it a glow. Not one that had been manufactured; this was natural. All her. My eyes traveled from the high ponytail on top of her head, down to the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, and then her full, glossed lips. The sight of them had me wetting my own. I let my gaze slip lower, lower to her chest barely covered by the royal-blue bikini top. A flat stomach melted into the swell of a set of round hips that flared just below the string of her bottoms. Her thighs were full and shapely, having the appearance of being pillow soft.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
Clearing my throat, I suddenly remembered how to walk, taking the last few steps to the glass door. The second I stepped out onto the porch, Brook caught sight of me through her blacked-out sunglasses, snatching her earbuds from her ears quickly.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she said, a gentle laugh slipping out as she clutched her chest, covering her cleavage when she did. “I didn’t even realize you were home,” she added, taking the beer I offered her.
I didn’t say a word as I forced thoughts of baseball, work, really anything non-sexual that would help derail my train of thought. When nothing else worked, I went for an image of my mom and that set me straight immediately. For her own reasons, Brook had labeled herself off-limits to me years ago when this friendship started. Because of that, it wouldn’t benefit me to let the fantasies play out in my head.
“Thank you,” she said as she set the bottle down beside her chair, reaching for the thin, black cover-up hanging on the back of it. From the corner of my eye, I saw her tie the belt around her waist in a loose bow.
“You’re welcome,” were the first words I’d spoken to her.
“So… how’d things go? With the interview,” she clarified.
Settling into my seat, I tipped the bottle to my lips before answering. “Fine. Same old, same old. The questions are usually the same: What was it like filming my family? How was the connection made between Granddad and your grandmother? What am I working on next? Stuff like that.”
“You know… that’s a great question,” she cut in. “What
are
you working on next? I mean, I know you’re already super busy, but I’m talking about
personal
projects. Matteo Valente originals,” she teased.
I grinned at the words, but stared out at the water while I thought. Glastenburg’s proposal came to mind again. On so many levels I wanted to tell him
‘Yes, I’m in’.
It would mean more time spent in Lindmore with family and friends, and
Brook,
but in order to do that I’d have to find a way to convince him that we didn’t need to include Nick and Mel in the footage for it to capture the audience. I mean, after all, it was Luke and Lissy who really made the film interesting—all they overcame together, the things they learned about themselves and each other, discovering the link between our grandparents. That was what people were most interested in. However, I knew this industry well even though I hadn’t been on the big-business side of it all that long. The bottom line is: people also love drama, love to watch tragedy in order to feed their own morbid curiosity. For that reason, I
also
knew people would eat up a firsthand account of Nick’s fall from grace—especially seeing as how the general consensus when it came to him was overwhelming: people thought he was a dick. He was the douchebag everyone who saw the film loved to hate.
The feel of Brook’s fingers lightly grazing the back of my hand brought my attention to her.
“You just gonna ignore me?” she asked playfully.
“No, just thinking,” I said back. “I have a few ideas for more social experiment-type projects, but those are really just in the conceptual stage, notes in a notebook. Cliff did, however, spring it on me today that someone is looking to work with me. Actually, I pretty much have the job once the contract is signed and all the paperwork is complete.”
Brook pulled her sunglasses down her nose a bit so she could glare at me. “I don’t get a name?” she asked with a smile.
“Pete Nelson,” I clarified. “It’s an action film. He wants me to be his production manager.”
Brook was squealing before I even finished explaining. “OMG!! Matt!!” The term made her sound like a teenage girl and I had to laugh. “How do you come in the house all cool and laidback with news like that?” She was sitting up in her seat, smiling big. “I’m like…
beyond
proud of you. There’s not even a word to describe how much. Gigantenormous,” she said, deciding to just make one up.
This, hearing her say those words, how proud she is of me, was the highlight of my day. Not the news about Glastenburg; not working with Pete Nelson.
This.
Something else dawned on me. “And apparently I’ve been invited to a private screening.” My gaze went to hers and I couldn’t help but to smirk when I asked, “Wanna be my date for that, too?”
I hadn’t gotten to see her face when I asked her a similar question in regards to Mara and Dean’s wedding, but I imagined her cheeks hinted at red then just like they were now. The wording clearly made her uncomfortable. She didn’t react to it, though. “Um… sure! Sounds fun,” she answered.
My eyes lingered on her longer than they should have, but she didn’t notice. She was still smiling to herself, still thinking about my invitation, I assumed. As far as I was concerned, we’d talked enough about me. It didn’t make sense to share the Glastenburg news with her yet because I wasn’t even sure it would happen. Maybe we’d talk about it later.
“How was your day?” I asked. “Talk to anyone from back home?”
The liquid inside the brown-tinted bottle she held swished from side to side as she thought. “Yeah, Lissy called to complain about Dallas.” She laughed and then went on. “Apparently, he’s getting on her nerve being needy. He’s used to me holding him all the time, so he’s following her and Luke around the house meowing, trying to get attention.”
“You should’ve brought him with you. I wouldn’t have minded.”
Brook shrugged. “I didn’t think of that, but maybe next time.”
Her words made me freeze with the bottle halfway to my mouth.
Next time—
I liked the sound of that.
“He’d love it here,” she added with a smile.
I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess all this sand would be like heaven to a cat. One big, giant litterbox.”
Brook’s slap stung my arm when she burst out laughing. “Shut up! Dallas is a civilized dude, I’ll have you know. He only uses his box. Thank
you
very much.”
I got lost in the light, airy sound billowing from her throat. I’d missed hearing it in person. Over the phone or through video chat hadn’t done it justice. As I watched her finish the last of her drink, a thought hit me. It’d been hard enough missing her, but I imagined that feeling would be amplified after having her here and then having to see her leave. Clearing my throat, I pushed the thought aside and decided to revel in the present, in having her close for a while.
“Hungry?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not really, but I should probably eat just so I’m not starving later. But um… just as a heads up, I kinda polished off quite a few things in your fridge today, so… yeah. There’s that.”
This girl
… I smiled and hoisted myself up as my stomach growled again, the result of not eating anything all day.
“You should just go shower and change,” Brook suggested. “You’ve been working all day. I can cook tonight.”