To See You (14 page)
Ricky then returned his full attention to the monitor but I continued to stare at the carpet, bitterly regretting coming down here and wishing I was back in my office returning my mom’s e-mail.
“Hey, Charli,” echoed in the office.
“Char,” Ricky whispered, snapping me out of my self-induced fog.
Dragging my gaze reluctantly back to the monitor, I said, “Hey, Layton. I didn’t mean to interrupt . . .”
Actually, I did.
Layton narrowed his eyes slightly and said, “Good to see you.”
When he leaned closer to the screen as if to see me better, I wanted to plunge into the depths of his eyes. I indulged myself by stepping a little closer but forced my hand to remain still and not reach out to trace his face.
Was that a slight tan? It suited him.
“Yeah, same. Honestly, I thought Ricky might be finished and wanted to debrief.”
“Did you switch to entertainment?” His eyes bored into mine, mesmerizing me.
“Um, no. I was just being a nice coworker.”
Ricky piped up, breaking the moment. “We’re going to see the movie this weekend. I know Char saw it, but I didn’t yet. I wanted to chat with you first, felt it would give meaning to it.”
“Cool,” Layton said with a tight smile. “Charli said she liked it, but you know, you can’t believe everything a girl says.”
A burning flush of shame scorched my cheeks. Embarrassment simmered in my veins, and I dropped my gaze again as I said, “Well, I did like it.”
I started walking backward, my feet barely able to move, let alone in reverse, as I stammered, “I . . . um, I guess I’ll let you two get back to it.” I prayed I didn’t trip in my heels.
I was such an idiot. Honestly, I might be this twenty-eight-year-old hotshot at work, but in real life I was an absolute stooge. My eyes filled and I quickly turned toward the door before either of them saw the first tear drop onto my pale pink sweater.
Boy, I was a sight. Little Bo Peep crying because of the Big, Bad Wolf.
“Hey! Charli,” Layton called out. “I’m sorry.”
I ducked my chin and waved a hand behind me, dismissing him and his hurtful words as nothing.
“Stop, seriously,” he insisted.
“Char!” Ricky hissed at me.
I turned back toward the monitor to see Layton was leaned so far forward he was practically sitting on his desk, his face filled with tension.
What was I doing, stringing along some dude in California? For what?
“I’m going to finish with Ricky,” he said, “and by the way, thanks for passing my info along, and then I’m going to e-mail you. I actually have another meeting back out there with a smaller label who’s trying to woo me to use their music. Maybe we’ll finish our dinner?”
I opened my mouth and froze for a second. Since nothing was quite making it out, I snapped my mouth shut and gave Layton a curt nod before I turned and got the hell out of there.
I
spent twenty more minutes chatting with Ricky but my head wasn’t into it. In fact, I couldn’t remember a fucking word I said to him; I could have told him we were using nursery rhymes in the next film for all I knew.
Christ
. I slammed my hand down on the desk, startling Harriette, who lifted her head off the dog bed and stared at me like the asshole I was. I was so mad that Charli had described me as nice, I’d subconsciously set out to prove her wrong. Or some shit like that.
I was fucking sick of being the nice guy when the arrogant pricks got all the great girls. I didn’t want to settle for the quirky girls anymore, the ones who read paranormal fiction and loved Luke Skywalker. I wanted someone different from me, not the female version of myself. My head and heart—and my dick—craved something more, something different.
Charli, to be exact.
I could have sworn I saw a tear drop from her beautiful blue-green eyes, a tiny droplet so uncharacteristic of her hard shell. The sight of it filled my heart with so much regret, it nearly split it in half.
“Fuck!” I brought my hand to the desk a second time and toppled a stack of discs, mesmerized a second by their spinning pattern on the hardwood floor.
Frustrated, I stood up and threw open my studio door. “Come on, Harri.”
I shoved my feet into an old pair of running shoes and snatched Harriette’s leash from the hook. We took another long walk through town and back again, stopping outside the coffee shop for water. Most people walked their dogs to exhaust them—I walked to exhaust myself.
And I couldn’t believe it, but after one week of walking, it was taking longer and longer to exhaust my fat ass. I needed to e-mail Charli like I said I would, but I couldn’t bring myself to hide behind my computer with kind words when I’d gone all asshole over FaceTime.
By the time I had my head on straight, I’d done two huge loops with Harriette and was drenched in sweat.
When we got back home, I dragged myself into the shower, dried off, threw on sweats, and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Only half of what I poured interested me, and I ended up spilling the rest down the disposal and snatching my laptop.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Harriette is disappointed in me
Charli –
Even my dog is hiding in shame from me. My actions today were not me. Asshole is too nice.
*Cue head bang into desk.*
And to think Ricky said you called me nice.
I would never call you a bitch. Yeah, I chose that song after our flight, but it wasn’t directed at you. I don’t know what I was thinking. Life’s a bitch, or some shit they print on a T-shirt.
Forgive me?
I really will be in NYC next week, staying in Columbus Circle. I have to go to dinner with the label on Tuesday, but was hoping you could join me for dinner on Wednesday. A makeup dinner? Even sushi? Anywhere you want.
Okay, I’m rambling . . .
—Lay
I attached a picture of Harriette hiding her snout behind her paws and hit
SEND
.
It had to mean something—me being seated in 2D on my way to Chicago and then again as I headed to New York. I slid into the leather seat and asked for a bottle of water rather than a drink; it was a Tuesday and I had to go straight to a meeting and dinner.
“Thanks,” I mumbled to the attendant and then squinted at her. I must have had something in my eye because I was pretty sure she winked at me.
At me?
“Have a good flight, and let me know whatever you need,” she said, and winked again. Maybe she had something in her eye.
Scrap 2D being lucky. It was making me crazy.
And then it got worse when a curvy redhead in a Princess Leia tee and hip-hugging jeans squeezed in next to me.
“Hey,” she said on a breath.
“Hi,” I muttered.
Ignoring her, I grabbed my laptop and headphones, busying myself with listening to some of the music repped by SoulTime Records, the label I was meeting with later.
“Ooh, I like that song.” She reached across the center armrest and pointed at my screen. Her arm was covered in bangles and a large Darth Vader tattoo. My type. Usually.
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, my eyebrow raised.
“Yeah. That song, ‘Loving Like a Hero,’ is the bomb.”
“Say it ain’t so?” I said, my voice condescending and gruff.
She crinkled her nose up at my rebuff. When did I become a dick?
“Yeah.” This time her response was muted, and I decided to never take seat 2D again.
Nothing good ever came of it.
My meetings were a blur of wooing, fancy food and beverages, and music. These SoulTime dudes meant business; they had a full roster of clients and they wanted to get maximum exposure. They’d gotten my name from a guy on a few movies back—that one had made the chick from reality TV famous, and I’d put her song in the credits.
Finally, back in my hotel room on Wednesday afternoon after twenty-four hours of being pursued, I sat down at the small desk, kicked off my Chucks, and opened up my e-mail. I’d purposely avoided checking it while in meetings. Mostly out of fear that Charli would cancel.
I had a few messages from the studio about filming updates and when they would be sending some footage, and there was the one I was both fearing and wishing for.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Re: Dinner
Hi, Layton –
Hope you are having fun here. I have a staff meeting until six, and then I’m free. How about Chowww? It’s close to where you said you were staying, and I can easily grab a cab up that way. I probably can’t get there until about seven. See you then.
—Charli
That was all she wrote, and I started to climb the walls trying to decipher what that meant. Curious, I googled Chowww and found it was a sushi restaurant.
Shit
. But I’d gone and suggested that.
It was hip.
Shit again
. All I had was T-shirts and jeans, and of course my Chucks.
But she hadn’t said no. That was a start. She’d agreed to a second dinner with me.
Pacing my hotel room, I found myself absently reaching for Harriette’s leash. Where was the damn dog when I needed her? And when had walking become a source of tension relief for me?
Where was the freaking minibar?
Oh, fuck it.
I grabbed my earbuds and phone from the desk, shoved them in my pocket, and stomped toward the elevators. Outside the hotel, I stuck in my earbuds and hit the pavement.
With a bundle of nervous energy in my gut like a high school girl on prom night, I crossed to Central Park and merged with a group of runners, joggers, power walkers, and narrowly avoiding a bicyclist.
People passed me on the left and the right, and I quickly was lost in the pack of pedestrians sweating it out in the park, but I kept walking. I passed an iconic rock, the reservoir, and the dormant ice skating rink. It was closer to summer than spring and the park was in full bloom, kids and New Yorkers getting their fitness on and roaming every nook and cranny of the park, dressed to impress in their brightly colored workout gear.
I stuck out like a sore thumb in my Converse sneakers, loose jeans, tee, and hoodie, but I kept going. Soon, I was in the Upper East and then Harlem. I went until the bend in the road and headed back toward where I came from. As I passed the Upper West, Central Park South came into view. As dusk fell on the city, I could see the rooftop of my hotel peeking out above the trees.