by Colet Abedi
When the end credits come up, I’m in for another one of his movies. But before I start it, I grab most of the leftover boxes from last night’s dinner and a bottle of wine, and I snuggle back in bed. I spend the rest of the day watching a few more of his films.
I am sad to say that I like all of them.
Really like.
His writing is smart, his directing style is edgy and modern, and he really knows how to capture a scene or mood, and that’s no small task.
It’s way past work hours when Kerri knocks on my door and enters without any prompting.
I try to flip off my television before she can see what I’m watching, but I’m too slow. I try my best not to look guilty.
“I thought you were done with him.” She cocks a brow.
“I am,” I reply defensively. “I’m just watching a movie.”
“One of the first ones he did,” she counters knowingly.
“It’s homework,” I say without batting an eye. “He’s directing a big movie the studio is producing.”
Kerri snorts. “If that’s how you want to play it.” She walks over to the bed and takes the container of pasta out of my hands. “I can’t believe you were going to finish this,” she says in annoyance. “It’s my favorite.”
She sits on my bed and starts to dig into the pasta.
“So how are you feeling?” Kerri finally asks.
“Fine.”
“I thought you were sick,” she says between bites.
“Clearly.”
Kerri gives me a knowing smile. “I think Jamie’s texted and called you a few times,” she says, and my cheater of a heart thumps in excitement. “He’s texted me too. He’s worried about you. It’s sweet.”
“Sweet?” I try to remain indifferent even though it’s hard to do. “It’s called guilt. He knows how douchey that was of him to kiss me like that in front of the world to see.”
“No, that’s not it at all,” Kerri says, shaking her head.
I wait for her to continue.
“It’s because you were crying,” she tells me with a shrug. “He has no idea how pissed you are. Remember, he’s a man. Clueless.”
I take a sip of my wine. “From what little I know of him, I don’t believe he’s as innocent or clueless as you think. He’s a smart guy. And I’m so mad, I don’t think I want to have anything to do with him,” I say rather dramatically.
“I don’t believe you,” Kerri says with a disbelieving laugh.
“He’s demeaned all of my hard work, and there’s nothing left to say.” I point out the obvious, annoyed that Kerri seems to be trying her hardest not to laugh at me.
“Demeaned your hard work?” Tony cuts in, popping his head in the room.
I throw myself back on my pillows, then lift my head up to ask the universe, “Can I not get a private moment in this house?”
Tony strolls in unfazed and picks up the container of leftover chicken parmesan.
“God, Wyld,” Tony says. “You’re so freaking dramatic. So what if people know you and Donovan are an item? You’ve got juice now. Use it. Be smart. I wish he’d date me.”
Kerri and I both stare at Tony, who shrugs.
“It’s a joke?”
“Is it?” Kerri asks curiously.
“Not even gonna go there.” Tony shakes his head, then looks right at me. “I love you, kid. Come and see me when you want to hear a man’s perspective.”
I try my hardest not to laugh at how serious Tony suddenly looks. “Thanks, Tony.”
He stands up with the container of food in his hands and heads for the door. He pauses before leaving. “But if you want my humble opinion? I’d go to work and act like nothing is different, nothing has changed, and it’s just another day. Reacting is the only way to fuel any fire. Just be cool. Be Wylder.”
Wow.
Tony actually has some good advice.
“And continue banging Donovan,” he says over his shoulder as he walks out. “Fuck ’em.”
Kerri and I burst out laughing.
She leaves me a while later to change into her pj’s and read some scripts she brought home. Kerri’s still trying to figure out what direction she wants to take in the business, and being an intern at the studio is a good route because you can see every part of Hollywood.
I look at my phone and resist the major urge I have to pick it up and check my messages. I realize the only thing I care about is reading any text message from Jamie.
“Get a grip, Wyld,” I mutter to myself and get up to grab my computer. I log in and click on Final Draft to open my script.
I reread the first five pages, and someone’s annoying voice pops in my head.
Maybe only four or five people will watch this.
I have to fight the smile that is threatening to break free. He is funny.
And super hot.
And a pretty great writer.
And director.
I pick up my phone and stare at the messages.
Holy shit. There are like fifteen missed calls. Five are from unknown numbers, some from Kerri, one from my mom—which is the last call I need to return tonight—and three are from Jamie.
He’s also sent a couple text messages.
I open them.
JAMIE: How are you feeling, Joan?
A giggle escapes.
He sent another two hours later.
JAMIE: Why do I have the feeling you want to send me the finger emoji?
“Ha!” I can’t even keep it in.
After thinking about it for a long second, I do exactly that.
Since he has the privacy setting on, I can’t tell if he’s opened it or is typing back. He responds quickly.
JAMIE: Anything else you wish to say?
I find the toilet and a poop emoji and send them right over. I feel like that about sums it up.
Jamie sends me a laughing monkey GIF back. So I send him another in return. And we do this for the next ten minutes like twelve-year-old children. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, I think about how I’m a grown woman sitting in my bed still in her work clothes—with what is probably the goofiest smile ever—communicating with a drool-worthy man through childish emojis like it’s the best thing in the world.
And it kind of is.
JAMIE: When can I see you again?
My heart stops.
See him again? I promised Kerri in the café I wouldn’t. I came home from work in an angry fury because I believed Jamie had ruined something I wanted to attain on my own, cursing the night at the club. I had only just reaffirmed my anger and disgust to Kerri less than an hour ago.
But then Tony said what he did…
And then Jamie called and texted…
And he’s just so witty…
And caring…
And he has a magic cock.
ME: Why did you kiss me in the café?
JAMIE: Because you looked so innocent and beautiful. I couldn’t help myself.
My heart soars, and I hate myself for feeling joy over his words. He sends another text when I don’t answer right away.
JAMIE: I know it probably wasn’t the best of moves. Don’t be mad. I just couldn’t help myself. It seems to be a reoccurring problem with you.
Lord. I close my eyes in pleasure. I so want to believe him.
Before I can think about what I’m typing...
ME: I need to know if you’ll be sleeping with other women.
I press send.
For one minute or what feels like one minute, there is absolutely no response. In that time period, I feel a rush of emotions. Horror. Mortification. Humiliation. Disbelief. Anger.
And finally…
Rock bottom.
I throw my phone away from me like it’s possessed, and before I fall back on the bed and scream like a banshee, my phone pings back.
I’m almost afraid to look at it.
“Oh shit,” I say out loud.
I pick it up and look at the screen with trepidation. He
has every right to tell me it’s none of my business, that I have no ground to even ask—which I don’t by the way—but my evil subconscious got the best of me and went there before I could stop myself.
JAMIE: Will you be sleeping with other men?
I swallow nervously before I type.
ME: Not yet.
His response is immediate.
JAMIE: I think we need to finish the rest of this conversation in person.
My heart speeds up.
ME: We can do that.
A second later, my phone rings.
“I’m relieved to hear you’re not mad at me.” Jamie’s husky voice echoes into the phone.
“I was,” I reply truthfully.
His voice deepens in desire. “I promise to make it up to you.”
My stomach drops.
“So we’re back to the question at hand.” Jamie continues on, unaware how he’s got me tied up in knots. “When can I see you again?”
“Next weekend is best,” I tell him, even though I want to see him right now.
I need to concentrate on my work. I need to focus, write more pages in my script, read scripts for research and study, and do my after-work drinks. I’m supposed to be networking.
I can’t keep getting distracted by him.
He sighs, and I can tell he doesn’t love my answer. The thought makes me breathless. He doesn’t want to wait so long to see me either, and that makes me happier than I’d care to admit.
“Next friday night?” he finally asks.
“Sounds good,” I reply quickly.
“I’ll let you know what the plans are that day.”
“Okay.” I feel shy. “I’ll talk to you then.”
“Good night, Wylder.”
“Good night, Jamie.”
––––––––––
Overnight I became the most popular intern at the studio and, frankly, around all the agencies as well. Who’s dating who travels like lightening in this town, and in the course of one day, everyone wants to set a lunch, dinner, or drinks meeting with me.
I do my best to ignore all the attention and concentrate on my work.
I’m going about my usual runs when I get a get-to-know-you text message from Jamie.
JAMIE: What’s your favorite food?
I quickly type back my answer—pasta bucatini with real, authentic Italian red sauce.
I’m compelled to ask him in return. His is much more basic—a good old-fashioned hamburger and fries. His favorite place to have it—a small pub in Cape Cod, the second Apple Pan in Westwood.
I secretly file that piece of information away, and I’m not going to acknowledge why. He continues to ask me more questions throughout the next week: where I was born, my favorite color, when I knew I wanted to be a writer, where my parents lived, etc. The questions are endless. And by him asking me, I’m able to return the same question to him.
Over the course of the week, I know more about Jamie Donovan than I’d like to admit.
I know he’s a beach bum and loves the ocean. He grew up in Cape Cod, and his entire family is still living out there. He has one younger sister, Fiona, who’s a doctor and his best friend.
My heart seriously melted when he told me that.
I shut him down when he tried to probe too deeply about my family. I’m pretty sure he knows my upbringing was nothing like his.
It was far from ideal, and I’d rather not relive it.
I can’t deny that I didn’t struggle the first few days when I got back. It was hard not to be resentful of all the attention I was now getting only because my coworkers assumed I was Jamie Donovan’s girlfriend. Like it even matters. But somehow in this town, it does.
I was suddenly seen as someone important.
An intern.
Kerri and Tony were the only ones who saw how much it upset me—how demeaning it was to have your worth measured by who you were dating and not how good your work was.
It was also hard not to have moments when I wasn’t mad at Jamie.
But then he’d send me a funny text, and our back-and-forth banter would return, and I’d find myself smiling goofily around the office for hours.
I felt guilty for enjoying him, guilty for wanting more of him.
For liking him.
He called me every night to wish me a good night or to see if I got home safely from my after-work plans. He acted concerned and caring, like he almost wanted more than just my body. Like he wanted a relationship with me.
And in the dark of the night, in my bed alone, I thought about how I wouldn’t mind testing the waters to see if I want more than just his body as well. I allowed myself to think about casually dating him. But then fear would take over and I’d tell myself to slow down and think about where Jamie and I had started, and honestly, with a beginning like that, where could we really ever go?
I wake up Friday morning a mass of quivering nerves. I still don’t know what Jamie has planned for us, and I’m seriously still debating whether or not I should go down the road or not.
I pull into the studio and park my car. My phone rings as soon as I open the door.
“A car will pick you up after work and bring you to Malibu,” Jamie’s sexy voice says.
My stomach drops to the floor, and my body makes the decision for me. “What time?” I ask. “And why can’t I just drive myself?”
“I’ll text you the details, but I don’t want you drinking and driving,” he responds quickly. “But that’s not even something we’re going to have to worry about if the evening goes like I fully expect it to.”
“How’s that?” I can’t help but ask.
“I expect to have you naked and tied to my bed all weekend long.”
I suck in a breath. “I can tell you right now that won’t happen,” I say, trying to sound normal. “I have plans on Saturday night.”
“What plans?”
“A Halloween party.”
“You don’t need to go to that,” he says huskily.
“I don’t?” I ask with a laugh.
“Baby, you and I are going to have our very own dress-up party,” Jamie promises. “And I promise it’s gonna be a lot more satisfying than anything you’d ever attend in this town.”
Chapter Eleven
I sit in traffic as the chauffeur-driven SUV drives slowly up PCH.
Thankfully, I am not as big of a mess as I thought I would be because I’ve been sipping on champagne the whole way, and seriously, Jamie is right.
The traffic getting to Malibu really sucks.
I’ve been sitting in the car for over two hours now. Two hours. Which is crazy considering Malibu is maybe only fifteen miles from my house. But that’s the thing with LA traffic. If it’s a crap day, a five-mile drive can take three hours.
At least I’m much more relaxed now.
When I first got in the car, I was nervous and debating about whether I wore the right outfit or not.
Kerri had helped me get ready. She’d practically dressed me, making me change into three different outfits until surprisingly settling on the most conservative one. She’d even waved goodbye to me at the door like a mother seeing her daughter off to prom.
Since it was getting chilly for LA standards—not Colorado or anywhere else in the country for that matter—we’d decided on a black turtleneck and black fitted jeans paired with black heels. Kerri had lent me a tan designer belt to wear to accentuate my waist. I left my hair down and put on light makeup.
Kerri said I looked hot. I hope Jamie feels the same way.
“We should be there shortly,” the driver finally says as he glances at me through the rearview mirror.
“Thank you,” I reply and instantly feel the hives come on.
I throw back the rest of my champagne, and the driver makes the left, turning into Jamie’s guard-gated home. We quickly get past security, and I’m grateful this time I don’t have to hand over my cell phone.
When the car pulls up in front of the hou
se, I’m surprised to see Jamie standing outside the glass double doors waiting for me. My mouth goes dry.
He looks impossibly handsome.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a faded navy, V-neck T-shirt that fits those muscles of his perfectly. Before the driver can come around and open the door, Jamie does.
When I see his boyish excitement, the feeling of trepidation I have immediately goes away. He holds out his hand to help me out of the car.
When I take it, he squeezes it, and an electrical current zips through my body. Our eyes lock, and something passes between us.
Without a doubt, there is an undeniable energy that connects us.
He knows it, and if I’m honest, I know it as well.
He gives me an appreciative once-over as I move to stand next to him. “Wylder.”
Before I can respond, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me until I’m breathless with desire. His tongue moves into my mouth, and I’m hit with the full force of his passion. I should be embarrassed the driver is still there to witness our intimate moment, but I’m not.
After a long minute, he reluctantly pulls his lips away.
“I missed you,” he says quietly and leans his forehead against mine.
I missed you too, I think to myself. My heart is pounding so hard; I know he can feel it. But I can’t seem to let myself say the words back.
Jamie sighs. “Your body betrays you,” he tells me knowingly.
Yes, she does.
I smile awkwardly and move out of his arms. Jamie doesn’t let me go far. He grabs hold of my hand and leads me into his house.
Entering Jamie’s home this time around is a completely different experience. Last time I was here, I could care less about where I was. Now, it’s a whole new ball game. This is his home, where he lives and breathes and does all the Jamie things that make him so special, and I’m seeing it through completely different eyes.
I take note of the pictures he has up this time, smiling faces of friends and family, snapshots from his travels around the world, all of it giving me a peek into who he is in his private life. I appreciate how he’s taken the time to make his home welcoming and not a cheesy bachelor pad, like many other men in his position would probably do.