Behind the Scenes

by Christina C Jones

  “She’s family friends with an insurance agent, wow,” he chuckled.

  “It’s not even like that!”

  “You ain’t gotta defend shit to me, Logan – I’m just fucking around. Not trying to be in the car all silent and awkward and shit, you know?”

  “Yeah. I… I’m sorry,” I told him, shaking my head. “If I’m being bitchy. It’s just been a long night, and my mood is fucked, so… my bad.”

  “What’s got your mood fucked? Ol’ boy you blocked?”

  “Besides being in a car accident? Yes,” I answered, tracing my fingers along the edges of my phone as I stared out the window at my surroundings, noting the familiar landmarks that confirmed I was on the way home. “We broke up tonight.”

  “That’s why he’s blowing you up? Y’all got into it or something?”

  I smirked at the window. “Or nothing. I just got sick of it and left. So… yeah, that’s why I had to block him. He wouldn’t stop calling.”

  Pierre chuckled. “I’d be calling back to back like a bitch trying to see where your fine ass was too.” My eyebrows went up, and I turned to look at him – he met my gaze without backing down and shrugged. “Come on, Logan. You know you look good.”

  Blushing, I dropped my eyes to my lap.

  I mean… yeah, I did know I looked good, but I wasn’t really expecting him to say that.

  “What did he do?”

  “Who?”

  “Stop playing,” he laughed. “Your nigga. Must’ve been bad to have you out here in the middle of the night. I know he gotta be sick.”

  I pushed out a sigh. “More like… what he didn’t do.”

  “Which was…?”

  “Give a damn. Try. Make me feel wanted,” I explained, then shook my head. “I know it probably sounds dramatic, and you think I’m doing the most, but…”

  “Nah. That’s basic shit, and if that’s not happening… what’s the point?”

  It would’ve been easy – very easy – to simply agree, but the thing was… there were other points, other considerations where Les and I were concerned.

  To put it simply… he and I were bred for this. Our relationship and eventual marriage, house, babies, all that… were basically pre-ordained.

  It wasn’t quite as simple as just breaking up with him.

  At least, that’s what everyone would say.

  This wasn’t my first journey down this road.

  It was, however, the first time I felt so… done.

  And weirdly enough, that feeling was being cemented somehow, by what Pierre had said.

  You shouldn’t be fucking with a nigga you couldn’t call to come pick you up.

  Even with emotions high, the man I supposedly loved, who supposedly loved me… he should’ve been an option in my mind, right? But aside from just not wanting to see him, and not wanting to explain… I really couldn’t say for sure that he would’ve shown up.

  I mean, this time, when he was trying to win me back, yeah.

  He would’ve shown up in glittering armor.

  But any other time… any regular day… I couldn’t say for sure that there was any real level of concern for me.

  Not for my position, or status, and what I represented for his future.

  For…me.

  Against my better judgement, I navigated to my texts, looking at what Les had sent before I blocked him. It was full of why are you doing this, what’s your problem, why are you making me worry, this is bullshit, you’re so emotional, why is everything a big deal with you, why can’t you just chill, we’ll never move forward if you’re always doing shit like this, what do you think real relationships are like, I won’t tolerate this shit when you’re my wife, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you so dramatic, just come back we can forget this shit happened, what am I supposed to tell people. Nobody else would be bothered with you.

  Yeah…

  I was done.

  That revelation came as Pierre was pulling up to my building, making me freeze. I was fully aware that we’d arrived, that the vehicle had stopped and was waiting for me to get out, but I couldn’t make myself move.

  “This is you, right? This is the building you said?” he prompted, and I turned to look at him.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “I just. Um… do you wanna come upstairs?”

  I… had no idea where the hell that came from, and it must’ve caught him off guard too, cause his head reared back. He stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head, swiping a hand over his beard before he met my gaze again.

  “If I do… I’m still sending the bill for you busting up my shit,” he said, smirking.

  “I’m not trying to pay for the damage to your car in pussy,” I snapped, tossing my phone into my purse. “Nevermind.”

  “Nah, hold up.” He reached across me, grabbing the door handle to keep me from pushing it open. “You say you’re not pussy bartering… fine. What are you doing then?”

  With him leaning across me, his scent was even more potent – even more arousing than before – something completely different from what Les made me feel.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, and… I guess that was the right answer, because he smirked.

  “You know… that’s relatable as fuck.”

  He released his hold on my door handle and put the vehicle back in gear, whipping it into a parking spot instead of idling in front of the building. Without waiting for me, he climbed out, stopping in front of the car to raise his arms.

  “This is your spot, shorty, you’ve gotta lead the way. You coming or not?”

  Yeah.

  I… guess I was.

  I was climbing out of a stranger’s car, to show him up to my apartment… for sex?

  What am I doing?

  I really didn’t know.

  But I did climb out of the car, suddenly a lot more self-conscious about my sleepwear than I was before, and glad for the fresh pedicure I was sporting with my ridiculous furry slip on sandals.

  I was glad it was this time of night – Vegas aside, my building was nice and quiet, which meant no prying eyes or nosy neighbors wondering who my company was. I avoided his gaze the entire way up to my condo, let us inside, dropped my purse on the table just inside the door, and then…

  “You are scared outta your mind, aren’t you?” Pierre asked, chuckling as he helped himself to a seat at my kitchen counter. He was so cool, so comfortable, that it actually pissed me off a little.

  How could he feel more secure in my space than I did?

  “No,” I lied, walking up to where he was seated. With a smirk on his face, he opened his legs, for me to step between them, so I did. A million questions ran through my mind, does he have a girlfriend? Is he a criminal? Why was he out anyway? Who the hell is he? And I pushed them all aside, because… at this point, what did any of it matter?

  Before I could work up the nerve to say or do anything, his hands were at the backs of my thighs pulling me even closer. With him seated, it put our faces in what would have been perfect alignment for kissing, but there was no way he was about to—

  Oh.

  Yes, he was.

  Those nice, full lips I’d admired before?

  Now, I knew they were just as soft as they looked.

  His mouth on my mouth caught me by surprise, but I recovered quickly, kissing him back… until he brought his hands higher, gripping my ass as his tongue pushed between my lips, making this all very… real.

  Too real.

  I hadn’t touched another man like this since before Les, six years ago.

  And… really, we were only barely broken up.

  Maybe not really broken up at all?

  Like… was I completely sure about this?

  “What’s wrong?” Pierre asked, pulling back. He was looking at me like he already knew the answer, which was fine, since I couldn’t verbalize it anyway.

  Instead, I shook my head, taking a step away, out of his hold. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” h
e mocked, but not in a cruel way. Maybe just pointing out how ridiculous it sounded. “You’re thinking about ol’ boy, huh?” He stood up to approach me, backing me toward the counter until I couldn’t retreat further. “Worried about how he might feel?”

  I bit my lip, nodding as he leaned into me, his lips grazing my ear. “Yeah.”

  “But you told me he didn’t try with you. He didn’t give a damn. He didn’t make you feel wanted… right?”

  A rush of air pushed from my lungs as his fingers tangled in my hair, tugging until I tipped my head back, meeting his gaze. “Right.”

  “Okay. So… instead of worrying about his feelings… how about…” he smirked, then leaned in to finish that sentence right against my lips. “Don’t.”

  “Just like that, huh? You think it’s easy?”

  “I can make it easy as fuck,” he countered, pressing into me so I could feel his hardness against my stomach.

  Maybe he was right, because that definitely blanked my mind to anything else, and he took advantage of my speechlessness to kiss me again – longer, deeper than before. This time, when his hands dropped to my ass to grip and squeeze, there was no moment of panic, no stiffening.

  I just went with it.

  Instead of worrying about this, or that, or anything else, I gave myself fully to his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, his hands at the waistband of my shorts, sliding them down for more intimate access to me. Even when he showed me the condom he’d pulled from his wallet, I didn’t rattle – I nodded.

  I – inexplicably – wanted this.

  Wanted someone who wasn’t Les – who wasn’t anything like Les – inside of me.

  Pierre delivered.

  Impressively.

  Right there on my kitchen counter, he stripped me down to nothing and stroked me to the point of tears with my legs locked around his waist, fingernails digging into his shoulders, eyes squeezed tight. I came in a flood of sensation that left me feeling lighter than I could remember in… a long time. Legs numb, arms loose, toes tingling, all those sensations that I’d damn near determined out of my reach.

  Pierre had done it so… easily.

  He did it a few more times too, actually – up against the wall in the hallway leading to my bedroom, and then my actual bed, making a complete mess of my bedding and sheets.

  And then, when I finally peeled myself out of bed at damn near five in the morning to take a shower… he disappeared. When I got up for the bathroom, he was snoozing away, but by the time I came back, he was gone, leaving nothing but his lingering scent on my sheets.

  Which… maybe should’ve made me feel bad, but it didn’t.

  I felt the exact opposite.

  And I didn’t give a fuck, at all, about Les.

  I changed my sheets, and made arrangements for my car, since it was morning now. With that settled, I adjusted the settings on my window covering to block the sun out, set an alarm, and settled in the comfort of my own bed to catch a few hours of sleep.

  Once I was rested, I’d figure out just how badly I’d blown up my life.

  2

  Pierre

  “P-Three!”

  That unexpected disturbance snatched me from the welcoming jaws of sleep. I groaned in complaint, tossed a bit, but still didn’t open my eyes. But then, there it was again – the melodic sound of my big cousin’s voice singing up the stairs, putting an end to any hopes I could keep chasing slumber.

  Once she decided something, so be it.

  Truly, she was the only person who could get away with this shit from me – her, and maybe Elodie, depending how much trouble my little sister had recently gotten herself into.

  Anybody else would be told to kiss my ass and asked why the fuck they were in my house – not necessarily in that order. But, Auntie Nubz, as El commonly referred to her, had more than earned certain privileges around here – including the right to not be ignored when she showed up uninvited in my bedroom doorway.

  “Seriously, P? It’s almost noon.”

  Instead of responding, I turned over, sinking deeper into the comfort of my sheets, pulling them over my head as I went. My covered ears muffled the sound of Nubia’s groan, and a moment later I was back out in the open again, after she’d snatched them off me.

  “I don’t have the energy for us to have a thing,” she urged, bending next to my head. “And you just got here. So can we not?”

  I huffed, pulling my sheets from her hold as I turned over, tucking my hands behind my head. “You tell me – you’re the one invading my space.”

  “Because you’re not answering your phone – I was worried about you. And El is too.”

  “Man…” I sucked my teeth. “El is too wrapped up in that rapper nigga she’s messing with to be worried about anybody.”

  Nubia shrugged. “Fine. So just me then. I saw the back end of your precious car out in the driveway. What happened?”

  Shit.

  What hadn’t happened, was the better question.

  In the time it took to blink, the events of the last twelve or so hours came rushing back to me – not being able to sleep, going for a drive, the accident… Logan.

  “So…?”

  “What?” I asked, Nubia’s question reminding me that she was even in the room.

  She lifted an eyebrow at me. “P… you’re not…”

  “Nah,” I answered immediately, already knowing where her head was going. Even with my denial, her eyes narrowed in suspicion to the point that I repeated myself. “No, damn. I was out riding, and some chick clipped me. Can we not start with the bullshit?”

  “It’s not bullshit,” she snapped. “But… if you’re telling me you’re good… okay. I believe you.”

  “I didn’t say all that, but the accident wasn’t on me.”

  Nubia blinked, her brow furrowed as she considered my words. “So you’re telling me you’re not good? What’s going on?”

  Why did I say that shit?

  “Nothing. Just… the usual shit.”

  All the annoyance in her face softened, to the sympathetic shit I hated, but had learned to accept – from her, at least. “Do you need me to call somebody for you? We can get you an appointment with—”

  “I’m good now,” I interrupted, before she went too far.

  And it was true – I was good.

  I had a hellish, circular problem of migraines making it hard to sleep, but lack of sleep only worsened the migraine.

  It was why I’d been out last night in the first place.

  The whole reason I’d met Logan – who apparently held the cure to what ailed me between her legs – at all.

  “Are you sure?” Nubia asked, clear concern written in her eyes as she put a hand to my forehead like I was still the same little boy her mother had stepped in for, all those years ago.

  “I’m sure I want your ass to chill,” I chuckled, pushing her away from me. “And yeah, I also feel fine.”

  “Good!” she chirped, straightening to a stand. “Get your ass up then and get dressed. We’ve got a lunch meeting.”

  I squinted at her. “We do?”

  “Yes, we do.” She pushed out a sigh, crossing her arms as she pinned me with a suddenly thoughtful expression. “Do you… want to do this, P? This show?”

  “What? Yeah, I wanna do it.”

  “Okay then… I need you to act like it. I agreed to this and decided to give you space on the network because I believe in you. But you’ve still gotta prove yourself with this. So… seriously. Do you want this?”

  I blew out a huff of air, trying to get my head together as Nubia waited. One impossibly neat eyebrow was creeping up her face, a visual cue of her anger ramping up – justifiably.

  I was on some bullshit, and I knew it.

  Sitting up, I swiped a hand over my face, trying to carefully choose my words. Before I could though, she sat down at the edge of the bed, pinning me with the no-nonsense glare she always took on when she was done being cool with me, and ready to get
to it.

  “What’s up with the attitude, huh? Why are you playing with – and just fucking playing – me?” she asked, not breaking my gaze as she waited for an answer.

  An answer I didn’t really have.

  “My bad,” I said, reaching to grab her hand and squeeze. “I swear to you though… I wanna do this. It’s important to me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but…”

  A little sympathy crept back onto her face and she nodded. “I know. And I know it’s probably rough for you, coming into a role like this, that’s so reminiscent of—”

  “Chill,” I interrupted her, really not caring to go where she was about to take it. “It’s not even about all that. It’s just… a change of pace. And it’s new to me.”

  She smirked. “Yeah, joining the workforce after years spent being a recluse is definitely a shift. Which is why… I hired you someone who can help.”

  Frowning, I moved to leave the bed, glad I’d passed out in at least my boxers after showering when I got home. “Hired somebody?”

  “Yes,” she said, getting up and immediately moving to make the bed now that I was out of it – probably to discourage me from getting back in it. “She’ll assist you with getting into a schedule, household management, all that, while you transition into this showrunner role. She’s got experience with some of the execs at the station, so she’s capable of helping hire writers, crew, actors, she can crunch numbers. She even knows how the film equipment works, so she can help in that capacity in a pinch. She’ll serve as your executive assistant at the station as well. She’ll be at your side for whatever you need.”

  I stopped in the bathroom doorway, turning to frown. “She?”

  “Yes, she,” Nubia confirmed, running a hand over my comforter to smooth it out. “Her official role is executive concierge, and she’s one of the best in this city.”

  I snorted. “Sounds like some glorified babysitter shit to me. Executive concierge. That’s how you bougie niggas over in Blackwood get down? That’s the new hot thing?”

  “Real funny,” Nubia said, rolling her eyes as she straightened the pillows on the bed. “Considering that I’m surrounded by designer shit you ordered with a bottomless bank account. You’re just as bougie, and the role is not new. It’s what Mari has been doing for me for years. She’s only stopping now because she’s stepping into a new role at the network too.”