#1 Muse

by T Gephart

  My phone beeped.

  Claire, I know you probably won’t read this, but on the slim chance you do, I’m sorry. x

  Ugh, God I wish I could go back to ignoring him. I pulled the phone into bed with me, hiding under the covers as I typed.

  Just do the part, Nick. Audrey is going to do an amazing job.

  This isn’t about the part.

  No, it’s not. Which is why you need to do it. I want this for us, even if the “us” isn’t together. Besides, think of the money. Jeremy is probably having a heart attack by now anyway.

  I don’t give a shit about Jeremy.

  I laughed, sending my response.

  Yeah, well, I don’t either.

  The little dots that jumped while he was typing had stopped, and for a minute I thought it was over. I held my breath as I watched the screen, not really wanting it to be.

  You looked beautiful tonight. Tyler’s a lucky guy.

  Even though I didn’t owe him any explanations, I didn’t want there to be any confusion.

  It wasn’t a date. He’s my lawyer.

  Still lucky, he got to have dinner with you.

  I rolled my eyes trying to stop the smile. God, he was charming.

  Aren’t you being rude by being on your phone? Go spend time with your brothers. I really like Roman by the way, tell him I said hi ;-)

  Firstly, no one likes Roman, so you might be the only one. And secondly, I’m crushed I didn’t get the winkey face. :-(

  You have to earn that.

  Tell me how.

  I shook my head, pressing the phone to my chest as I shut my eyes. Tell me how, God I wish I knew. I wanted to trust him again, to know that he would trust me. To know while we weren’t at the same level outside, when we closed the door, we were. And even if he said exactly that right now, I wasn’t sure I would believe it. Because I didn’t only need to hear it, I needed to know.

  My finger hesitated on my screen, thinking of what I wanted to say.

  Remember how you did it the first time. Goodnight.

  It seemed like forever ago, the night at his house when he could barely stand. And I had no idea if he’d even know who I was.

  Or that I would end up loving him like I did.

  Every time I closed my eyes I had the same reoccurring dream—Nick on the red carpet of his new series, looking amazing in a black suit. I was a few steps behind, wearing a stunning full-length gown, watching as the crowd screamed to him from the sidelines. They adored him, holding out their hands to touch him as he made his way up the carpet, posing for pictures as reporters asked him questions. I called out his name, wanting to see his smiling face and tell him how much I loved him. And right when he was about to turn—his hand about to touch me—I’d wake up, and Nick, his beautiful suit and smiling face were gone and I was alone.

  I hated dreams.

  Groaning, I pulled myself from my bed and got showered and ready for the day. I had been reading scripts for Marconi for a couple of months and things were going really well. He liked my notes and suggestions, and while it wasn’t the job I had dreamed about as a kid, it was actually pretty cool. I got plenty of time to get my own writing done, having finished the screenplay I’d started the first night at Nick’s and had already started another. And I got to read some pretty good pieces of work from my peers. Some not so great, but I was always honest.

  The back and forth of paperwork was usually done either by email or courier, but today he’d requested a meeting. I had no idea why he’d asked me to come to his office, hoping it wasn’t to tell me my services were no longer required.

  I tried to remain positive, reminding myself that I had done good work and there was no reason for him to fire me. But in case I was wrong, I dressed in my best power suit and made sure I wore waterproof mascara.

  “Sit down, Claire.” He was waiting for me, watching me as I took a seat in front of his desk. “How are you?”

  I adjusted my skirt as I tried to smile. “Good, really good, and you?”

  Small talk was never good in a business situation. It was stalling, filler, and someone like Carl Marconi, had no time for it. So why he was trying to inquire about my wellbeing was both worrying and confusing.

  “I’m doing fine.” The corner of his mouth curved up in what was a poor attempt at a smile. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  I was getting fired.

  All the talk of how I was feeling and whether I wanted a beverage, only useful to cushion the blow. So I didn’t tell everyone he was a heartless bastard when he handed me my walking papers. Goddamn it. Did I have to lose literally everything? It was bad enough I didn’t have the dream job or the dream guy, but now I had to give up whatever other happiness I had too?

  “Mr. Marconi, with all due respect, sir, you didn’t invite me to your office to offer me a drink. If there is something you wish to say to me, then I would prefer if you simply said it.”

  I mean, if I was getting fired anyway then why bother trying to draw it out? Might as well get it over with so I could go look at putting in my application at Starbuck’s.

  “There’s no bullshit with you.” He laughed, leaning back in his seat. “That’s why I like you; you read, give me your unfiltered opinion and then move on. You don’t try to sell me anything.”

  “It’s not my job to sell you anything, sir. If the script doesn’t sell itself, then there is nothing I can do for it.”

  He nodded, agreeing with me as his fingers drummed on the top of his desk.

  So I assumed by his admission that he “liked me” that I probably wasn’t getting fired, but I was no more enlightened either.

  “I heard a rumor about you.” He leaned in closer, waiting for my reaction. “You and Nick Larsson.”

  Fucking. Nick. Larsson.

  “Sir, it wasn’t a rumor, we were dating for a while. But it doesn’t have any bearing on my work, and of course any material you gave me was kept confidential and—”

  He held his hand up, stopping me midsentence with a single lift of his palm. “Heard you developed the idea for a new series starring Nick. Heard that the executives over at ShowPlace are creaming their pants, and the contract will probably be finalized later today. You want to tell me about that?”

  “Yes, it was my idea, and I’m expecting a contract in the next few days.” I took a breath trying not to sigh and show my disappointment. “But Audrey Rydell will be writing the screenplay. I’m sure she’s going to do an amazing job and of course Nick will be a fantastic lead.”

  He shrugged. “That piss you off?”

  “Yes.”

  I figured I hadn’t bullshitted him in the past, and I wasn’t going to start now. Besides, it felt good to say I was pissed off, and I was allowed to be disappointed.

  “Good, so give me something else.”

  I wasn’t sure what exactly he was asking for.

  “Something else?”

  “Another screenplay, Claire,” he clarified, his hand slamming down on the desk. “Let them have that series. Take their money and enjoy it. I’m not interested in television and neither are you. Give me your other idea, the better one, and let’s see if you have what it takes to be on the big screen.”

  My heart pounded in my chest, barely allowing myself to breathe as I asked, “How do you know the other one is better?”

  His grin widened. “Because you would have never have sold your best work and let someone else write it.”

  “I have something.” I couldn’t say it fast enough, wishing I had a banner and a parade for emphasis.

  “I know you do, so let me read it. Because if it’s as good as I suspect, the money you are going make on your network deal will be pocket change. And unlike those idiots, I won’t let the person who thought up the idea walk out my door.”

  “Won’t the fact I’m unknown make it difficult to sell?”

  Don’t get me wrong, the idea that he wanted to read my work was outstanding. When I’d started I hadn’t even hoped for it
, not daring to ask if I could even submit something. But I’d been encouraged before, only to have it ripped from my hands and given to someone else. That scar was still fresh, and I wasn’t looking for a matching one so soon.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Is that what they told you? You were too big of a gamble?” He shook his head in disgust. “Television, I don’t think you could find a pair of balls in those hallways if you tried. Send me the screenplay, Claire.”

  It wasn’t an offer, and there was no promise of anything other than him reading it, but as I left his office, I felt like I had wings. Years of trying to get my work in front of people and in the space of a few short months I had one being adapted into a television series and a big producer wanting to read the other.

  And I still had a job!

  Oh my God, I was practically swimming in good fortune, my Toyota not going fast enough as I drove home.

  “Scully!” I screamed, throwing open the door and thankful there was someone home to tell.

  She ran into the living room looking terrified. “What, what’s wrong?” Her groggy voice and glassy eyes hinted that I’d woken her from a nap.

  “Shit, you were sleeping?” I looked around, forgetting that loud announcements weren’t a good idea anymore. “I hope I didn’t wake Sebastian.”

  “He’s fine, I have the mobile with the music going in his room.” She waved her hands, trying to hurry me. “Now stop stalling and tell me before I pee my pants. And I’m not talking fake pee either.”

  “Marconi is going to read one of my screenplays,” I squealed, trying to keep my voice down as I did a happy dance.

  She joined me, happy dancing away as she grabbed my hands and squeezed. “Yay, I’m so excited! That’s huge news, and to think you thought you were going to get fired.”

  “I know, for a minute there I was worried.” I fanned myself. “What time does my little boyfriend wake up, we should go find Luke and celebrate.”

  Scully looked at her watch, her face pulling into a frown. “He just went down twenty minutes ago, I was hoping he’d sleep for a couple of hours. We can do dinner though,” she offered helpfully. “We can go out, anywhere you want.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we can do that.” I tried to not be disappointed. She had a baby for God’s sake, she couldn’t drop everything to be with me. “Dinner, we’ll do dinner.”

  “Why don’t you call Luke and see if he’s free? Maybe he can sneak out and you guys can go for midday martinis.”

  Guilt rocked me, feeling silly that I couldn’t wait a few lousy hours. “It’s fine, we can celebrate tonight. I’ll just stay home with you.”

  “Claire, go, I am going back to bed in the hopes of having a nap. And trust me when I tell you, that right now, that is waaaaaaay more exciting than a martini.” She hugged me, spun me and then pushed me toward to door. “Go find, Luke. Tell him to make reservations for tonight, he has an in everywhere.” Well, she was right about that.

  My arms circled her for a quick hug back and then I was back out my front door and into my car. I swear, when I eventually got paid, I was buying something decent. Nothing flashy, but nicer than my boring old Toyota, I think I’d more than earned it. I dialed Luke and then pulled away from our house, hoping to get him on the phone and meet him somewhere.

  “Hey gorgeous, what’s happening?” He answered after only the second ring.

  “The mission, if you chose to accept it, is to meet me at a bar of your choosing for a midday martini. Marconi is going to read one of my screenplays,” I screamed into the phone, the danger of waking babies no longer an issue.

  “That’s awesome, Claire. Shit.” I heard him shuffle the phone. “I’ve got a packed schedule and can’t get out of here until five. You want to do dinner? Tell me where you want to go and I’ll organize it.”

  My heart sunk, again, selfishly disappointed that I was celebrating alone. It was stupid. I had friends, good friends, and it wasn’t their fault they had busy lives right now. “Yeah, dinner is a good plan. I would really like that. And I don’t care where we go but make sure they are kid friendly. I don’t want Scully feeling unwelcome.”

  “You’re a good person, Claire.” There was a smile in his voice. “We love you and are proud of you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m so wonderful.” I rolled my eyes. “Now let me get off the phone so I can find a bar and have a drink on my own. See you tonight.”

  It wasn’t ideal, but I wasn’t going to not celebrate. Besides, who knew if the lack of company was going to be my new normal. Scully was a new mom and Luke worked a lot. And if he and Tyler did eventually go out, he would probably have less time to deal with his pain in the ass friend. Besides, being by myself wouldn’t be so bad, and if I couldn’t stand my own company, what were the chances anyone else would.

  Trying to remain upbeat, I parked near a restaurant I knew served cocktails and made my way to the bar. I would have my midday martini, toast my success and not have to share my French fries with anyone. See, there were benefits to drinking alone, you just had to find the silver lining.

  The draw back? You had no one to stop you from doing something stupid. Before I could stop myself, I’d pulled out my phone. And because I was curious, I decided to pull up Nick’s social media. I mean, there was no harm in only looking, was there?

  My finger flicked over to Instagram figuring it would be safest. I wasn’t strong enough to see if he’d changed his relationship status on Facebook, and I didn’t have the stomach for all the hashtags of Twitter.

  Oh my God.

  There were at least a dozen new pics, all taken in the last few hours. All of them with Nick topless, eating an ice cream, similar to the first photo I’d accidently “liked.” Man, he looked good. I swirled my drink, taking a sip as I contemplated my next move. My thumb swiped the screen and opened my text messages, our last exchange staring me in the face.

  This was a bad idea.

  Know if Roman is busy? I need a drinking partner. If I could have his number, that would be great.

  Sent.

  My phone beeped with an incoming message not even a minute later.

  If you are asking for Roman then you are already drunk and you should probably stop drinking. I make a very good coffee partner though, help sober you up?

  I smiled stupidly at his response. It changed nothing, but . . . there was no harm talking to him. Maybe we could be friends? Or maybe the drink was stronger than I thought and should take his advice.

  Boo, where is the fun in coffee? Guess I’m drinking alone. I snapped a selfie of me holding my glass and sent it with the accompanying text.

  Looks delicious.

  It’s okay, I’ve had better. I took another sip.

  I wasn’t talking about the drink.

  I sprayed whatever drink was left in my mouth all over the bar. Okay, so drinking and texting wasn’t a good idea. I grabbed some napkins, cleaning myself up and wiping the top of the bar, thankful it was early and the place was still empty.

  As I balled up the dirty napkins and put my drink aside—I think it had done enough damage—my phone rung, I picked it without even looking at who it was.

  “Delete my number.” Nick’s voice curled in my ear, stopping my heart.

  My hand squeezed the phone at my ear, remembering he’d asked me that once before. “What number? I already deleted it.” My heart thumped in my throat as I waited for his response.

  “Good, then you won’t be able to call and tell me not to come. I’ll be at your place in half an hour. Sitting on your doorstep. And in case you’re wondering, I will be sober.”

  “Wait—” It was too late, the phone going dead before I had a chance to tell him not to go. “Shit,” I cursed, leaving what was left of my drink and fries and tossing some money on the bar. If he said he was going to my house, then he was going there for sure. Which meant I needed to get home before Scully killed him.

  “Shit.”

  I DROVE MY TOYOTA LIKE I’d stolen it, pushin
g the speed limit to the edge of negotiation and running any light that wasn’t a hard red. I was probably risking a ticket, but I figured the fine was going to be less of a hassle than the jail time Scully was going to get when she murdered Nick Larsson.

  My brakes screeched to a stop as I pulled up to the front on my house, and already parked there was a silver Mercedes coupe. No prizes for guessing who it belonged to. I seriously needed a better car.

  I jogged to my front door finding Nick sitting on my stoop as promised. He not only appeared sober but he looked good, dressed down in denim and a T-shirt that did good things for his chest. “Did you fly here?”

  He glanced over my shoulder at my worn-out Toyota. “You know my car is faster.”

  “Yes, yes. It’s faster.” I looked around anxiously, ready for the front door to open at any second and my baseball bat wielding roommate to be on the other side. “Why don’t you show me how fast it is and drive us out of here.”

  His brow rose, probably not expecting me to suggest a field trip. “Okay then, let’s go.” He laced his fingers in mine without asking, leading toward his car and opening the passenger side door.

  Shit.

  I really hadn’t thought this through.

  Oh well, it might not be ideal, but getting out of the vicinity of my house was still the main objective. Without another thought, I slid into the car and waited for him to get inside, my eyes locked on my house the entire time, waiting for signs of movement.

  He hopped in the driver’s seat and started the ignition, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the curb. “I’m glad you called.” His voice pulled me from my view, my house disappearing as we drove. Phew, that was close.

  “I didn’t call. You did.” I reminded him, putting it on public record in case that was important later. I still wasn’t sure how it was all going to turn out.

  He turned his head and grinned. “Well I’m glad you texted then.”

  “Didn’t you read it? I was looking for your brother.” I rolled my eyes, pretending to be annoyed as I folded my arms across my chest.

  He laughed, reaching out and touching my knee ever so gently. “Claire, I love you, but his wife barely tolerates him. I think it’s time we got you professional help.”