Follow My Lead: A Joy Universe Novel

by Louisa Masters

  “Don’t you want to see us?” There’s a pout in his voice, and that more than anything causes my mind to clear.

  “Of course I do, and I’ll get those tickets plus VIP passes and book a room for you—I get a great rate. But I still want to know what you aren’t telling me.” It’s not that the idea of Brice and his husband coming to Georgia is weird—though it is—as much as the fact that this is the first time he’s mentioned it. And he’s right in the middle of a project himself.

  He huffs.

  I wait—although I do shoot a glance at my tablet, which has lit up with an alert. It doesn’t look urgent, so I leave it.

  Finally, he breaks. “Okay, so… did you know that Laurie Henderson and Mitch Craig are coming down to cover your show?”

  “Yes.” Mitch Craig is a hardass critic, while Laurie Henderson focuses on Broadway-related journalism with the occasional review.

  “Right, so… I didn’t mention this before because it didn’t seem important, but he-who-shall-not-be-named moved back from LA in January.”

  I wait for myself to react to hearing about Rick. There’s a tiny stab of satisfaction that he had to come back to New York with his tail between his legs, publicly humiliated, and if that makes me a bad person, well, I’m not sorry. There’s also a small pang of remembered hurt and a dash of nostalgic regret for all those good years. But it’s nothing like the vicious agony I used to feel.

  “I figured he’d come back at some point” is all I say.

  “Did you also figure he’d immediately hook up with Mitch Craig?” Brice asks tartly, and shock echoes through me. Clearly Rick wasn’t that heartbroken or humiliated by his husband’s infidelity.

  “Oh,” I manage. “No, I… that’s a surprise.” Then it sinks in why Brice is calling. “Oh fuck.” Rick is coming to JU with Mitch Craig, who’s attending as a VIP and will be at the pre-show cocktail party and the afterparty… and likely will bring his date.

  “Yep.”

  “Are you sure he’s coming?” I ask hopefully, reaching for my laptop. I have the guest list somewhere, I’m sure. If not, Dimi does, but I really don’t want to ask him.

  Although… if Rick is coming, I’ll need to tell Dimi everything. No way do I want him blindsided if Rick says something snide.

  “I’m sure,” Brice says grimly. “I ran into the slimy bastard the other day and he took great pleasure in telling me all about the amazing suite he and Mitch Craig are being put up in. I hope you don’t mind, I already told him David and I were coming and may have gushed a little about your hot young boyfriend.”

  My wince is automatic. I don’t love hearing Dimi referred to that way—it’s true, but it makes our relationship sound sordid, for want of a better word.

  “That’s fine,” I tell him. “But maybe don’t describe Dimi that way to anyone else.”

  “Never! To be honest, it made me feel kind of dirty saying it. You’ve got a guy who rubs your temples when you’ve got a headache—his age and looks are the least important thing about him. That’s not going to stop me from perving on him,” he tacks on, and I have to laugh.

  “Okay, so I guess I’ll see you this weekend.”

  “We’ll be there,” he promises. “It’s going to be okay, Jase. He can’t ruin this for you.”

  Then why does my stomach feel like lead? “I know.”

  We say our goodbyes and end the call, and I stare at the guest list that I finally managed to find. The latest update timestamp is from this morning. I skim down to where Mitch Craig’s name is, and sure enough, where it says “guest” is a notation with Rick’s name.

  Great.

  Sighing, I get on with what I was doing when Brice called. I’m going to need to tell Dimi about Rick tonight, but there’s no point worrying about it now.

  I’m concentrating hard when Chloe comes in and closes the door behind her.

  “What’s up?” I don’t think we’ve closed that door more than three times since she started working for me.

  “I did something and I’m not sure if it was right or not.” She winces. “Probably not.”

  Well, that gets my attention. “Should I expect the cops to come barging in here?”

  She huffs a halfhearted laugh. “Nothing like that. There was a call for you on the main line.”

  I glance at my cell. JVTC has a main landline phone, but Dimi and I use our cells for all calls rather than having landlines in our offices. It’s apparently quite simple to transfer a call from the main line to our cells if necessary.

  Which Chloe clearly didn’t do.

  “It wasn’t business,” she races to assure me. “He said it was personal but that he couldn’t get through on your cell.”

  “That’s weird.” I pick up my cell and activate the screen. Full bars. “I was just on it less than an hour ago. Did you get some kind of error message when you tried to transfer the call?”

  She makes a face.

  “Just tell me all of it, Chlo.”

  “I got a strange vibe off him and told him you were out of the office and that I’d have him call you back.” She holds out a Post-it Note. “I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do.”

  I take the small square of paper. Technically, she’s done nothing wrong. It’s not uncommon for assistants to act as gatekeepers, and she made sure that I’d still be able to contact… whoever it is. Plus, if it was a personal call, she didn’t even have to do that much.

  Personal call? Who could it be? Brice calling back? I glance at the paper, and nausea rolls in my stomach.

  Rick Henessy is written in Chloe’s neat handwriting, along with a number that’s as familiar to me as my own.

  “It’s fine, Chloe,” I say automatically. “Thank you.”

  She looks at me for a moment longer, and I meet her gaze steadily. Eventually she says, “Let me know if you need anything,” and leaves.

  I stare at the note. That explains why he couldn’t get through on my cell. I blocked his number after he left New York—not that he’d been calling or anything. It just felt like something I could do. A cathartic act.

  What do I do now? More to the point, what the hell is Rick doing? After the things he said when he left, I never would have expected him to call. There’s no doubt in my mind that if the opening this weekend wasn’t getting so much attention in the media, he wouldn’t leave New York to attend, new lover or not.

  So…?

  The only way to find out what he wants is to call him back. But that feels like a concession.

  I slump in my seat. To call or not to call?

  This is ridiculous.

  I snatch up my cell and dial the number. It barely rings once before it’s answered, which means I don’t have time to change my mind and hang up, damn it.

  “Hey, Jase.”

  Really? He has the nerve to greet me so casually after everything he said the last time we spoke? Everything he did?

  “Did you want something?” My tone is so cold, icicles would shiver.

  “You’re still mad.”

  Oh. My. God.

  I say nothing.

  “Okay, no small talk. I figure Brice has called you and you’ve heard that I’ll be there with Mitch Craig for your opening night this weekend.”

  I still say nothing. If I hadn’t heard, this would be a real dick way of telling me.

  “I just want you to know that there are no hard feelings on my part. I’m coming to see what I’m sure will be a great show, and I’m sorry if that’s going to be difficult for you. I…. The way we ended our relationship is a regret for me. If I had it to do over, it would be different.”

  I’m no longer ice-cold. In fact, my blood is boiling. There are no hard feelings on his part? What the fuck right would he have to have hard feelings? And he regrets how we ended our relationship? There was no fucking we involved,
just him making selfish, hurtful choices!

  I clamp my teeth down on my tongue to keep from saying anything.

  He sighs. “Brice said you’re seeing someone. I’m so happy for you.”

  Condescending prick.

  “So… that’s all I wanted to say. I don’t want strife between us.”

  “That’s… very kind of you.” I almost choke on the words. “Thank you for calling.” I don’t bother to say goodbye before ending the call.

  I bang my head against the desk. This day is not turning out how I expected.

  I stay with my head down for a few minutes, then decide this is technically a work issue, since my ex’s new boyfriend is a critic who will be sharing his views on our show. That means I need to discuss this with Dimi ASAP, right?

  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  I get up and go out into reception. Dimi’s door is closed, and John’s not at his desk. Damn.

  “Are they meeting?” I ask Chloe, gesturing to the door, and she nods.

  “Yeah, but they should be nearly done.”

  I mentally weigh it up. Technically, this can wait, but I’m already dreading the forthcoming conversation and would rather get it over and done with ASAP.

  Luckily, the door opens before I have to make a decision. John comes out, then stops dead when he sees me standing there, presumably with an expression of agonized indecision on my face.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks.

  “Yes. No. It’s fine. Has he got time now?”

  “About half an hour, but I can move things if you need more.”

  I smile tightly. “Half an hour should be plenty.” I really just need to give him a heads-up. It’s not like we can do anything.

  I go into the office and close the door. Since we started seeing each other, Dimi has relaxed his rule about meeting in our offices. I asked him about it once, and he blushed bright red and mumbled something about not wanting to be in close proximity. I took that as a compliment.

  Dimi’s standing next to the desk, waiting for me, likely having heard me talking to John. “What’s the matter?” He looks concerned.

  “Sit down,” I tell him, dropping gracelessly into his visitor chair. I don’t deserve the comfort of the couch. Plus, this needs to be an “official” meeting.

  He warily takes a seat behind the desk. “Is this going to freak me out?”

  “Maybe. It’s not bad, exactly, but potentially could be.” I take a deep breath. “You remember I told you about my ex?”

  “The dickbag who cheated on you and married someone else while he was still living with you?”

  “That’s him,” I confirm. “Brice called earlier to tell me that he moved back to New York and hooked up with Mitch Craig.”

  I see the lightbulb go off.

  “The critic coming this weekend? Fuck. His assistant called and asked us to add a plus-one, but I never thought…. That’s your ex?” He turns to his laptop and taps a few times on the keyboard. “Rick Henessy?”

  I nod. “That’s him.”

  Dimi blows out a long breath. “Okay. That’s… not ideal, but it’s not a disaster. Unless you think he’s going to cause trouble?”

  “That’s the thing, I don’t know. There’s more.” I tell him about Rick’s call, and his face goes grim.

  “I don’t like this,” he says. “That he called you, and that he’s clearly rewritten your breakup to suit himself. I especially don’t like that he’ll be here this weekend and in a position to cause trouble. But there’s nothing we can do except make sure everyone on the team is alert—and maybe keep him away from you as much as possible.”

  “I’m okay with that.” I feel a little calmer passing this into Dimi’s capable hands. I know how much he has riding on this weekend—he told me about his “probation” months ago, and how he feels like if this first season isn’t successful, he’ll have not only failed himself, but all the people who believe in him. He’s especially determined not to let Derek down. He pretty much thinks the sun shines out of Derek’s ass—and I know Derek well enough to say the feeling is mutual. I’d be jealous, but anyone who’s ever seen them interact can see that they’re just friends and colleagues, mentor and mentee, with maybe a little older-brother-younger-brother dynamic thrown in. “And when I do need to be in the same space as him, I think it would be ‘normal’ to have you or someone with me.”

  “I agree.” He gives me a searching look. “Are you okay?” His tone has changed; this is no longer business Dimi. It’s my boyfriend, Dimi.

  This is the first time I’ve seen my boyfriend at work.

  “I’m angry,” I say honestly. “Mostly because I didn’t ever want to see him again, but also because he’s dragged up all those old feelings of betrayal and changed them to suit himself and could possibly fuck up every good thing going on in my life right now.”

  “Not every good thing.” He glances at the door, then gets up, comes around the desk, and leans down to kiss me quickly. “He might fuck up work, but he can’t fuck us up.”

  Something settles deep inside me.

  It’s going to be okay.

  I hope.

  ***

  That night is Monday night dinner, and I’m dreading it.

  Dimi’s mom has been fine since “the day of the intervention,” as I’ve been calling it. She and I will never be besties, and we’ve never regained the casual friendliness we had at the holiday party, but we’re cordial and polite, and there are no more barbed comments.

  Still, I can’t quite relax when I’m in her company. I try my hardest, because I know how important his family is to Dimi—plus his dad and gram and siblings have been great—but I always feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. She very clearly doesn’t like me for her son. On the surface, that seems to be about the gap between our ages, but what if there’s more to it? A little voice has whispered that it’s entirely possible Rick was right about my complete and utter unsuitability to be a good boyfriend. I’ve been pretty good about pushing those thoughts away—new beginning, new life, etcetera—but then Rick had to call and drag all my insecurities out into the spotlight.

  So… yeah, the thought of facing Monday night dinner after this dumpster fire of a day does not make me happy.

  “We don’t have to go tonight if you just want to chill.”

  Holy crap! I jump about three feet, making a squeaking noise that I didn’t think my vocal cords were capable of.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I demand, hand to my chest where my heart is racing.

  He shrugs, a tiny smile playing on his mouth. “I just got here. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You may have taken a decade off my life,” I joke, getting my pulse rate back under control. “What did you say? I was too busy trying not to piss my pants to pay attention.”

  “I would pay money to see that,” he informs me, chuckling. “I said we don’t need to go tonight.”

  Wow. Is he a mind reader? For a second, I’m very tempted to take him up on that.

  “No, let’s go,” I say instead. “Your family is so excited about this weekend. They’re going to want to talk to you. Plus, your dad said he was making apple pie for dessert.”

  Dimi’s face lights up. “He did, didn’t he. Yeah, we can’t miss that. Okay, are you nearly ready to go?”

  “I need ten minutes, then I’m done,” I promise.

  “I’ll come back in ten, then. Oh—before I forget, I noticed you marked two of the VIP passes as taken this afternoon. Did you convince some of your friends to come?” He sounds vaguely hopeful. He’s mentioned a few times that he wants to meet my friends, and I know he’s been a little worried that I have so little contact with them. He sees his friends from the community theater twice a week, although this is the first season in several years that
he hasn’t been producing the show. He didn’t want to commit so much time while we were in the middle of getting the company going. Instead, he acts as assistant to the producer and general consultant. I go with him at least once a week to be social and also lend my expertise. I know he loves that I get along with his friends, but he also wants to be sure that I have my own circle to fall back on, separate from him. I get it—we haven’t had any big fights yet, but that time will likely come, and it would be weird if I bitched about him to his friends.

  “Brice and David are coming. Brice wants to run interference if Rick decides to be an asswipe. Plus, they love JU and they’ve always come to my opening nights. This would have been the first one they’ve ever missed, so I’m glad they changed their minds, even if it wasn’t for a great reason.”

  “I can’t wait to meet them. Are they staying a few days? A private meal on the weekend is probably not going to happen, but maybe early next week?” He’s smiling, and my heart melts just a little bit.

  “They go back Tuesday, so I thought lunch on Monday?”

  “Perfect,” he declares. “And they’d be welcome to Monday night dinner,” he adds. “It would do Mom good to see you with your people. And I think you’d enjoy having Team Jason at the table.”

  I wince. “Have I been that obvious? I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be—you haven’t. Not so anyone else would notice, anyway. I just know you so well. Anyway, mention it to Brice. I’ll be back in ten minutes, and we can go destroy Dad’s pie.”

  I watch him go and wonder if it’s too soon to say the L-word out loud. Maybe it’s been “understood” for long enough and now needs to be explicit.

  ***

  Later in the week, we have a team meeting to run through the plans for the weekend, beginning with the promotions, preshow events for VIPs, the show itself, and the afterparty and post-show events. Dimi and I discussed it and decided to tell our team that there could potentially be some trouble. We kept the details sketchy, just sharing that an ex of mine would be accompanying Mitch Craig and that we weren’t sure if he had any intentions other than the obvious. Trav was shocked and appalled but hid it well until after, when he cornered me and asked if I wanted him to put out feelers. He assured me he’d word Derek up and that he’d keep an eye on things.