Behind the Scenes

by Christina C Jones

  What the fuck was there to move on from?

  That was the question I couldn’t answer and it was bothering the fuck outta me. Why was I so pressed about this shit when my focus was on making this TV show happen, and figuring out what the hell I was doing with my life, and… other things that weren’t remotely related to dating a woman who hadn’t wanted anything serious.

  From jump.

  She hadn’t lied, hadn’t led me on, hadn’t given me a single shred of false hope, and yet… somehow… her dealing with this Anthony dude felt like a betrayal.

  The answers I needed weren’t located in the depths of Sienna’s pussy though.

  And even if they were, that was just one Pandora’s box I refused to open because of what might come with it.

  “I appreciate you helping with the script, Sienna, but… that’s really gonna have to be it,” I told her, stepping back. “Logan is ordering some grub if you wanna hang around before you head out.”

  Sienna rolled her eyes. “No thanks. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Okay well, I’ll hit you up about the script meeting later,” I said, not bothering to hide my annoyance either because goddamn.

  I wasn’t in the mood for managing other motherfuckers’ moods in addition to mine.

  She let out a huff and stomped off, leaving me to do what I’d come up here to do, which was get myself together so I could actually work.

  Which… meant facing Logan again.

  Fuck.

  That look she’d given me after I told her whatever was happening with me and Sienna wasn’t her business… that shit was etched into my brain.

  I’d hurt her.

  And didn’t even understand why I’d done that shit.

  17

  Logan

  “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 s
ounds.”

  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, lo
oking 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.