What I was trying to do was impress the hottie with my suave New York charm and hint that I was a bigshot in the Broadway scene—which I am. Instead, I managed to insult the show and everyone involved, which would have been bad enough if he’d just been an audience member, but is a thousand times worse because he’s the producer.
At least he’s a good producer. I was worried when they told me I’d be working with someone who has a business background but no theater experience. The show I saw, although definitely amateur and clearly on a limited budget, was produced with great attention to detail. The whole event ran like clockwork. So I can put that concern aside and just hope he’s willing to accept my apology. He might not, since I’m not willing to explain why I made such a dumb comment to begin with. I’ve humiliated myself enough already.
No point hiding in my car and adding tardiness to my list of sins, right? I’m going to have to face Dimi—can I call him that? Maybe he’ll prefer Dimitri now that I’ve insulted him—sooner or later, and it may as well be sooner.
I get out of the car and head into the building. It’s only about three stories but sprawling. I guess it needs to be big to hold all the administrative functions needed to run a place like JU, and keeping the profile low means guests won’t see it. But that doesn’t make it more attractive. The inside is a bit better, the lobby redone within the last decade to be open and airy. There’s a coffee cart with a short line of people waiting, and a few “conversation circles” of chairs and sofas scattered around. In other words, it’s like most corporate lobbies in the world.
I approach the reception desk and smile at the young man ensconced there. He’s wearing a suit and a headset and a name tag that says Chris.
“Good morning, and welcome to Joy Universe,” he says. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Chris. My name’s Jason Philips, and I’m here to see—”
“Oh, Mr. Philips! We’re so excited to have you here. This new venture has been all anyone’s talked about for months. Let me get Dimi for you.” He taps his headset to activate it and types something into his keyboard while I become very aware of all the eyes suddenly on me. Chris didn’t exactly keep his voice down. I make sure my smile is pleasant and even and hope to hell that Dimi didn’t spread any gossip. If he did, at least Chris hasn’t heard it yet.
He murmurs something, listens, then says, “Okay, sure,” and taps his headset again. “Dimi’s getting your tablet and company phone from IT. He says to meet him in the executive reception—take that elevator there up to three and turn left. Someone is coming to get you from there.” He opens a drawer and pulls out a white key card. “This will get you up there. Don’t forget to give it back when you leave—Dimi will have yours.”
“Thanks, Chris.” I take the key card. “I guess I’ll see you in a bit.”
He winks at me and taps his headset again, which either means he’s getting a call or wants to make one, so I leave him to it and head for the elevator he pointed to.
Gotta admit, this is not the welcome I hoped for. Turn left and hope someone meets me before I wander through too many miles of corridor is not that positive—and since Trav Jones and his boyfriend were both so effusive about Dimi, I can only assume this means he’s still pissed.
Fortunately, when the elevator doors open on the third floor, there’s a familiar face waiting for me.
“Hey, Jason!”
I’ve only met Derek Bryer a few times, the first when he came up to New York with Trav for my initial interview about the job, but he’s easy to like. In fact, you could say he’s hard to not like. I’m grinning at him before I even realize it.
“Hi, Derek. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Dimi asked me to meet you. Come on, this way.”
We stride along the hallway, people smiling and nodding as we pass. At first I think they’re smiling at Derek, but then I realize that a lot of them are making eye contact with me.
“Do… do these people know who I am?” I ask Derek in a low tone, and he chuckles.
“Sure. We’ve been expecting you. This is the most exciting thing to happen at JU since the water park opened six years ago.”
Great. No pressure, then.
We finally stroll into an area set up with four desks facing each other, one of them set almost in front of an office door. The women at three of the desks look up and smile and call greetings. The fourth desk, the one right next to the door, is empty. Derek grins and says hi to the women, then leads me into the office.
“Have a seat,” he offers. “Dimi shouldn’t be long. He’s just battling IT for you.”
I’ve never worked anywhere that has an actual IT department, but the way Derek makes it sound, I guess I should be grateful. I take a seat in one of the visitor chairs. “Please don’t let me keep you from work,” I say politely, even though I’m dying to ask him questions about Dimi. From what I understand, they worked together before Dimi took this new job.
Derek laughs. “You’re doing me a favor. I was going to promote Gina into Dimi’s job, but an opening came up in marketing that she decided to take, and nobody else on my team is really ready for it. So I told HR to advertise the role—both of them, actually—and now I have a pile of applications to go through. Dimi used to do that for me and narrow it down to manageable levels. I always knew he was irreplaceable, but I actually underestimated him. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
Oh, fuck. I mean, yay, so glad my producer is going to be great at his job, but oh fuck, I pissed him off. I smile weakly.
“I’m looking forward to working with him.”
Could I have said anything less enthusiastic? Probably not, because Derek gives me an odd look.
Luckily—or unluckily?—the office door opens right then. I turn my head and there he is, the man himself, and oh, I forgot that I’m really attracted to him. Like, really. He’s so good-looking: dark-haired and eyed, pale-skinned, tall, fit but not bulky. And he carries himself with a kind of quiet confidence that’s so fucking sexy, especially because he’s relatively young. Most people take time to grow into themselves, don’t reach that level of self-possession until their thirties or even forties—or they have the kind of brash confidence that borders on arrogance and is off-putting. Dimi’s self-esteem is obviously just a natural part of him, but he doesn’t shove it in everyone’s face. It makes me want to rub up all over him.
This is not good.
Especially because he smiled at Derek but is now looking at me with the kind of cool politeness reserved for strangers you know you’re not going to like.
“Hi, Mr. Philips,” he says, and holy crap, could he make me feel any worse? I’m a dirty old man for wanting this guy. Even Derek looks startled.
“Please call me Jason,” I manage, and it doesn’t even sound like I’m begging. Much. I stand and extend a hand. To his credit, he doesn’t hesitate to shake it.
“We didn’t meet properly the other night,” he continues. “I’m Dimitri Weston.”
That’s it. No “call me Dimi,” or even, “but everyone calls me Dimi.” Am I supposed to call him Dimitri? Or, hell, Mr. Weston? Is this going to be like a period drama, where everyone on our team addresses each other formally?
Take it down a notch, Jase. You’re getting hysterical.
“These are yours,” he adds, and hands me a tablet, a smartphone, and a manila envelope. “The envelope has all the initial passwords and your key card to access employee areas. We need to duck into HR on our way out to get your photo ID done.”
I take the items and swallow past the huge lump in my throat. “No problem. Thanks.”
“Are you ready now?”
I glance at Derek, who looks utterly bewildered. Part of me wants to settle this right now, before we leave this office, but I don’t know anyone here except Trav and Derek, and I don’t want them to know what a complete dickwad I was on Saturd
ay. I need friends. One day I’ll tell them, but after I’ve sorted it with Dimi and we can all have a laugh about it. Maybe over a long, friendly couples’ dinner. Because what’s life without dreams, right?
No, I’ll wait to apologize until Dimi and I are alone.
So I smile and say, “Sure,” and then thank Derek and follow Dimi out of the office. He says not one word to me until we reach the HR department, where he introduces me and I have my photo taken and ID issued. We then proceed—still in silence—down to reception, where I hand over my temporary key card and thank Chris. By the time we make it to the parking lot, I’m wondering if he’s going to say anything to me, ever, if there aren’t other people around. That would be a neat trick, considering how much time we’re going to spend together.
But he surprises me.
“I’m parked over there,” he says. “I’ll wait by the entrance to the road. Follow me, and I’ll show you the quickest way to the Village and how to get into the staff parking.”
“Okay,” I agree dumbly, and then, “Wait!” This is probably not the best place for it, but who knows what the rest of the day might hold? I may not get him alone again. Plus, my courage is perilously close to failing. “I… I owe you an apology. I was a complete asshat on Saturday night, and I’m so, so sorry.”
Silence.
He stares at me, clearly waiting for an explanation, but I can’t give one. I’m fully aware that the apology is hollow without a reason for my asswipishness, but how can I tell this vibrant, amazing young man that I was trying to impress him? That will only make our working relationship even more awkward.
So I force a smile, trying to look sincere, and add, “I was impressed by the production. It can be really hard in an amateur theater to achieve any sort of quality, but you all did a fantastic job.”
Could I sound any more condescending? Why didn’t I leave it at the apology and shut my fucking mouth?
“Thank you,” Dimi says coolly, and I know he’s not feeling inspired to forgive me but is too polite to say so.
“It’s deserved.” This is starting to feel awkward. Well, more awkward. Okay, I want to set this moment on fire and never have to remember it again.
Fortunately, Dimi seems to feel the same way. “I’ll be waiting at the entrance,” he repeats, and turns and walks away in the direction of his car.
I let out a huge sigh and go to my own car.
This is not the best first day ever.
Chapter Three
Dimi
Is he for fucking real?
He’s sorry? That’s it? No explanation? Just “I shat all over your hard work, but I’m sorry, and hey, you guys did a good job for amateurs, have a pat on the head.”
Well, fuck him. He may be a brilliant director, but clearly he’s a turd of a human being.
I get into my car and slam the door, then bang my head against the steering wheel. The problem—aside from the fact that I have to work with this guy—is that he’s not a turd. Trav speaks really highly of him, and Trav’s a great guy. He wouldn’t think well of a turd. They’ve worked together before, several times. Plus, Derek was the one who did his initial interview, and Derek’s got an awesome bullshit meter. If this guy was a turd, he would have picked it.
So… that’s not it. Whatever reason he had for shitting all over the show, it’s not a natural inclination toward being a fuckwit.
Which raises doubt in my mind about the show. I thought it went really well, but maybe it didn’t? Maybe everyone is just being super nice and not telling me how bad it was?
Nah. There’s no point in that. It may not have been professional quality, but it was a damn good show. Besides, even if it was bad, him pointing it out just takes him back to asshole status.
So why—
I don’t have time for this.
Yeah. Whoops. On the clock.
I start the car and head toward the lot entrance. Jason falls in behind me, and we drive over to the Village. I know these roads like the back of my hand—a lot of people find them confusing at first, but not me. Still, I take it slow so Jason can get a good look at all the signs and turnoffs. There’s a map in the envelope I gave him, plus GPS works really well here, but there’s nothing like seeing it and driving it.
In the staff parking lot at the village, I pull into the spot that’s newly reserved for me. Gotta say, it feels pretty damn awesome. The spot beside me is for Jason, and the one next to him is Trav’s. I wave Jason in, then get out of my car and wait as he parks.
“This way,” I say when he joins me on the pavement. I’m starting to feel kind of like a dick myself, but I’m not ready to let it go just yet, so I speak only the minimum words necessary as I show him the entrance behind the theater that’s been allocated to us. We walk silently along the hallway, past the performer dressing rooms and the storage areas, and finally come to the office suite where we’ll be based. There’s a shared area for assistants—which neither of us has yet, although HR advertised and we’ve got a stack of applications—an office each, and a conference room. The whole suite is very new. The original plan was for us to be based out of the administrative building, but we’ll be spending so much time at the theater for rehearsals and casting and whatnot that it wasn’t really logical, so in the end, I wrangled some extra budget, “bought” one of the shops next to the theater, and banged out this space. The shop wasn’t doing very well and was glad to be let out of their lease early.
“I’ve been working from that office,” I say, pointing, “but if you prefer it, I don’t mind moving.” I haven’t even unpacked my stuff yet, and the offices are identical, so I don’t give a shit which one I use.
“The other one is fine,” he says quickly, going to the door and looking in. It’s not a huge space, but it fits a desk, a couple of chairs, and a filing cabinet, as well as a very small sofa and coffee table. When I showed Trav the plans, he said it was miles better than some of the “offices” in the Broadway theaters.
“When you log into the JU employee app, you’ll find that HR have sent you some applications for your assistant that you’ll need to go through ASAP so they can set up interviews. But Trav should be here any minute so we can finalize the choice of show for the first run.” I’m nervous as hell about this. I have a definite preference, but I’m sure he does too, and he’s the creative half of our management team. If we don’t agree, it’ll probably come down to Trav to be the tiebreaker, and I honestly don’t know how that will go.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he says. “I’ve put together a list of options that will work well for an inexperienced cast.” He winces almost before he’s finished talking, probably because he thinks he’s offended me.
He has, a little bit, but not really. Our performers, with the exception of Trav, aren’t used to doing full-length shows. Their jobs currently consist of thirty-minute to one-hour abridged versions of feature-length children’s films, or scenelets featuring characters from popular movies. And usually, the hammier it is, the better. There’s a lot of excitement about Joy Village Theater Company, because this will give them experience they can really leverage to move on to bigger things—especially working under a director of the caliber of Jason Philips.
That’s not to say we don’t have some really talented performers on staff. They just need seasoning. Which means he’s right.
“Trav will be here soon” is all I say, and I can see that it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
“Okay, I was a dick. I’ve apologized. I am genuinely sorry, and I never meant to imply that the show wasn’t great, because it was. But clearly I’m an idiot because I said the wrong thing, and you have every right to be pissed, but I’ve apologized and I don’t know what else I can do. I’m sorry. We need to work together, and I don’t think it’s going to go well if you can barely bring yourself to speak to me.” He takes a deep breath. “What can
I do to make this right?”
A tiny niggle of guilt nudges me. He has apologized. We do need to work together. I probably need to let this go. A tiny voice in the back of my head suggests that I’m holding a grudge because I’ve had a professional crush on him for ages and he smashed it. Plus, there was that attraction….
I sigh. “You’re right. You did apologize, and we’re going to need to work closely together. I’m sorry I’m being so uncommunicative.”
“But…?” he says, and I can’t help smiling.
“No buts. I wish I understood why you said what you did, but it’s none of my business and I’m not going to let it interfere with our working relationship.” I hold out a hand, and he shakes it but doesn’t let go.
“I really am sorry,” he tells me.
“I appreciate that.” Why is he still holding my hand? Should I pull back? Or is that going to undo the truce we’ve just achieved?
There’s the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and Jason lets go as we turn to the doorway. I’m relieved and agitated at the same time. It was weird that he held on so long, but his hand was warm and dry, the skin lightly callused, though I can’t imagine what he does to make it that way. It reminded me again that before he was a dick, I was attracted to him.
Trav comes into the suite, smiling. “Hey! How exciting is this?” He and Jason hug, exchanging pleasantries. I know that Jason asked Trav to help him find someplace to live, and they talk briefly about the apartment and what Jason needs before his stuff arrives from New York. I take the opportunity to check my email, only half listening.
Okay, that’s a lie. I’m shamelessly eavesdropping while pretending to be absorbed in my tablet. I don’t know why.
“You ready, Dimi?”
I look up when Trav says my name as though I haven’t heard every word. “Ready?” I ask.
“To look at options for the first show.”
Follow My Lead: A Joy Universe Novel Page 2