Wrong Text, Right Love

by Claudia Burgoa

  “I’ll offer advice, tactics, and tools that you can use in your daily life to create your own slice of happiness.

  “Just a reminder, this podcast is not suited for work, but you can play it almost everywhere else on your favorite podcast listening devices.

  “This week we’ll be covering the friend zone, is it time to move on?, and my favorite … how to make sure you finish together, so stick around.”

  “Last night, I had dinner with my siblings, and we ended up discussing the friend zone.”

  “Why wasn’t I invited?”

  I glare at Ford. “You can’t interrupt a podcast.”

  “Listen, I’m not saying that I feel left out, but you could’ve extended the invitation—even if it was just being polite.”

  “I have a show to record,” I remind him.

  “Why are we discussing the friend zone?”

  “Eros has this cute friend who Nyx and I swear was in love with him,” I explain. “But he friend zoned her, and now that he wants to ask her out, it’s too late.”

  “It’s not,” he says casually. “Do you want me to come over?”

  “Always,” I encourage him. “The door is open.”

  It doesn’t take long for him to take a seat and say, “How much would I get in trouble if I say that your brother is being an asshole?”

  “With my audience?”

  “No,” he groans. “With your brother.”

  “He wouldn’t care.” I shrug.

  “Okay, so tell me about this friend he wants to go out with,” Ford asks, leaning closer to the microphone and staring at me. “How long were they friends?”

  “I’m not sure. A year or two?” I answer trying to remember how long it has been since he met Misty.

  “Here’s how I see it. He liked the attention, and now that he doesn’t have it, he’s trying to find a way to recover it,” he states as a matter of fact. “Why is it too late?”

  “She’s engaged.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Ford does his usual finger tap on the table. “He wants her to either cheat on her fiancé or break up with him because he might or might not want to go out with her.”

  “Pretty much,” I confirm.

  “Look, if you’re going to step up, it is because you have come to realize that you love that woman and that you’ll be offering the same or more than the guy she’s leaving. You already had her hanging onto your bullshit for a long time. You can’t expect that she’s going to waste more time because you decided she might be a good candidate to fuck.”

  “So, what if a guy tells you to wait for him?” This question isn’t about Eros anymore, but Lang.

  Do I want to wait for him, or try to see if something can happen between Ford and me? Not that Ford has mentioned anything. For all I know, like Eros, he plans on flirting with me for the next ten years and not make a move.

  “Wait for what?” he asks, confused.

  Welcome to my world. I’ve been just as confused since the last text Lang and I exchanged. He said goodbye, but, by the way, wait for me. Fix your shit, find yourself—which I am doing—but, you know, what would’ve been better? Saying something like, I’ll be here for you while you do it, in case you need me.

  It doesn’t matter, I have Ford. Lang can go and fuck that cute girlfriend he found himself.

  I shrug. “You know this show won’t be as interesting with you calling my brother selfish.”

  “He is selfish,” Ford reiterates. “Did he tell you he’s in love with her?”

  “No, just that maybe she could be the one who got away.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a man who is invested.”

  “I don’t think Eros would tell us that,” I defend my poor brother with an empty heart.

  “He trusts you enough to say that he might want to go for her. You are his person—Nyx and you.”

  “Who is your person?”

  “Nate,” he answers without reservations. Then flinches. “My brother.”

  “You tell him when you decide to look for the divine and find yourself.”

  He laughs. “Of course. I call him each time I’m trying to find the everlasting meaning of the universe. He knows when I make those big choices, the ones that scare me the most. I don’t tell him if my heart aches for anyone, but it’s implied when I say… I found her.”

  My heart beats fast and I ask, “Did you?”

  My phone rings. It’s Nyx, and as much as I’d like to ignore her, I have to answer her call and stop recording.

  I might have to restart the entire show, because it’s taking a serious turn, and I don’t feel like it will help anyone—or that I want my listeners to hear what he has to say.

  “Hey,” I greet her, and set her on speaker.

  “We got it,” she says. “Can you be there today at four?”

  My heart beats frantically. She’s been trying to get me a meeting with my editor and she did it!

  “I don’t have a plane ticket,” I remind her. “How am I supposed to get there? Can they do a videoconference?”

  “You can always rent a charter,” she says. “It’s that or you keep the current deal.”

  “Are you coming with me?”

  “Of course,” she says.

  “Where do you have to go?” Ford asks.

  “New York,” I sigh. “I have to be there today at four, so I can come to an agreement with my publisher or dissolve the contract.”

  He pulls out his phone. “Hey, I need to be in Manhattan at three.

  “Yes, I can be at Centennial Airport in less than thirty minutes,” he says, and hangs up the phone. “The plane will be ready. Nyx, can you be at the airport in thirty minutes? We have to leave at ten if we want to arrive on time. Send me the address where you have to be in Manhattan, so they can search for a helipad. I’ll rent a helicopter, so we can get into the city as soon as we land.”

  “Thank you, Ford,” she says.

  I look at Ford, who shrugs and stands up. “You have five minutes to gather your stuff. Let me pack a bag.”

  “See you at the airport, Nyx?”

  “Okay,” she says, and I’m sure she’s as confused as I am.

  Persy: Can you keep an eye on Simon?

  Eros: Why?

  Persy: I’m going to New York, and I’m not sure if I’ll be back tonight.

  Eros: Yeah, I can do that. The money is in your account by the way.

  Persy: Thank you. I … we’ll figure out how to finance your business.

  Eros: No worries. I’m good.

  Persy: How?

  Thirty-Two

  Him

  Tuesday, August 4th

  “Mr. Chadwick,” the pilot greets me. “It’s a pleasure, as always.”

  “Mr. Chadwick, you own a plane,” Persephone says with a somber, mocking tone. “Thank you, though, for flying us. I … I don’t know what to offer, since I might be very poor by the end of today.”

  “What’s our goal?” Nyx asks.

  “To change the deal so I can write the book I want,” she answers. “If it can’t happen, then, we negotiate returning the initial payment. We’ll try hard not to lose more than the advance they gave me.”

  “If you need money, I can lend you some,” I offer.

  She looks around the luxury airplane and says, “Who are you?”

  I tap my foot against the floor. On Sunday, when I spoke with Eros, I didn’t tell him who I was, but he guessed it when Nate introduced himself as Nathaniel Chadwick via videoconference. I asked him to keep it to himself, until I spoke with Persephone.

  She should’ve been the first to know, but I needed to know how much money she owed to the publisher. Sheila and Clyde were fucking with her career and her finances.

  Nate is going to take care of that too. We are done with them, and we’re going to talk to Dad about keeping us separated from his family.

  Persy and I have to have a long conversation.

  “We can talk about it once you are done
with the publisher,” I tell her.

  “Well, the flight is long, and I’m sure we can kill the time by listening to your explanation,” she suggests.

  “See, I’d love to do that, but unfortunately, I’m going to New York,” I explain. “That’s a trip I’ve been avoiding, but now that I’m going to be there, I have to get stuff ready.”

  “Stuff?”

  I nod. “Yes, as in work and presentations. Which reminds me, we can’t come back to Colorado until Friday.”

  “My podcast,” she panics.

  “I’ll get you a studio,” I answer. “Unless you brought your equipment.”

  “No, I didn’t. I left it at home.”

  “Make me a list of everything you need to record your podcast. I’ll have someone get it for you and drop it at home.”

  “Home?” she asks confused. “In New York?”

  I nod. “Central Park to be exact,” I answer. “They have the guest rooms ready for you two.”

  “I left you for two minutes while I packed,” she says. “How did you… Who are you?”

  Kissing her knuckles, I answer, “Ford, the grumpy neighbor. I’m going to be working.”

  “I’ll stay quiet … kind of.”

  Nyx laughs. “As if.”

  “You can talk. I’m used to your voice.”

  I spend the next four hours and thirty minutes working with Nate, who is also on his way to New York.

  Nate: It took one woman to get you to the office. Should I be buying a tuxedo?

  Ford: Stop fucking with my head, okay?

  Nate: The helicopter is ready when you arrive. I’ll be an hour behind.

  Ford: Is the house ready?

  Nate: Yes. Everything is in order, including the recording equipment.

  I wish I could say that the flight is quiet, since Nyx and Persephone are working too. However, Persy always talks when she types. The flight attendant turns red every time she comes by, asking if we need anything, and Persy is saying things like, “There’s a huge difference between anal play with a cock and a vibrator.”

  “Have you?” Nyx asks.

  “No, I haven’t, but I assume. I’d need a boyfriend who is more daring. That’s what I should answer.”

  “So, it’s a threesome,” Nyx concludes.

  “No,” I interrupt, and my voice comes forceful.

  Persephone stares at me. “Excuse me?”

  “If you need to feel like you are having a three way, I can make that happen, but no threesomes.”

  She taps her computer. “I’m discussing an email from a reader. This has nothing to do with my sex life—and definitely not with you.”

  “Not at all?” I cock an eyebrow and tilt my head.

  “I’m not having this discussion with you today,” she says. “I feel like I don’t even know you. You have a place in Central Park, a plane, what else… Do you have a dog?”

  “Nate has one,” I announce.

  “Can I get back to work?” she asks. “…without interruptions?”

  “Stop flustering the flight attendant,” I suggest, and she groans.

  When we arrive at the airport, the helicopter is ready for us. It doesn’t take us more than twenty minutes to land at the building where we have the headquarters of LNCware. Once we are safe in the private elevator, I explain what we have set up. “There’s a car waiting outside, ready to take you to the offices of Blackstone and Morgan Press. Once you are done, they’ll take you to my place. I’ll see you there in a couple of hours.”

  She is looking at me, and I’m sure she has millions of questions. When the elevator reaches the bottom, the doors slide open. Nyx steps out, and I press the button to close the doors. It’s just the two of us.

  I lean closer to Persephone, kissing her lips, but before, I say, “It’s still me. You promised you wouldn’t care who I was.”

  I place my hands on the sides of her head and take her mouth, moving my lips slowly, tasting her. I push my tongue between her lips, and she opens her mouth, letting me in. She tastes sweet, like ripe cherries and sunburst.

  “Promise me that you’ll listen,” I beg her.

  “Okay,” she agrees, and painfully, I let her go.

  Thirty-Three

  Her

  Tuesday, August 4th

  “What do you know?” I ask Nyx, as we ride toward the publishing company.

  “About?”

  “Ford,” I answer.

  “He seems to have more money than any rich man I’ve met before,” she answers and goes back to her table.

  “There’s more,” I insist. “He was talking to Eros on Sunday. Do you think he gave me the money?”

  She sighs. “No. He’s Eros’s new business partner.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Listen, you two need to talk. I just made sure that the contract our big brother signed was legit, and they didn’t take advantage of him,” she concludes.

  “Okay … who is he?”

  She shrugs. “Again, talk to him. I love you, but I really don’t know much about him. I know about the company that he owns, LNCware.”

  “He didn’t lend me money through Eros?”

  “Nope,” she confirms. “Would that be bad?”

  “I just want to make sure this is something I’m doing for myself on my own … with your representation,” I tell her. “How’s the case with Sheila?”

  “It’ll take time,” she informs me. “Did you talk to her?”

  “No. She’s been sending me to voicemail.”

  “Sorry about that.” She squeezes my hand. “I know her friendship was important to you.”

  “I have you,” I remind her. “You are my best and oldest friend.”

  The car stops right in front of the publishing company. We get out and walk to the reception desk where there’s a new person.

  “Persy Brassard,” I announce, giving her my ID. “This is Nyx Brassard, my legal counselor.”

  The receptionist gives us our visitor badges. We take the elevator and head to the conference room where Rosi waits for us.

  She sighs and shakes her head. “I should’ve known you weren’t going to write this book. Your agent said that your head is no longer in this business, and you are about to quit.”

  “I don’t have an agent,” I argue. “Sheila Daniels no longer represents me. We sent a letter to your company requesting you to stop sending the royalty checks to her offices.”

  Nyx places a document in front of her. “This is the legal case we have against Ms. Daniels. My client’s branding continues to be strong. There’s a copy of her statistics as of this Monday. The three-book deal that you agree upon with my client while being represented by Ms. Daniels has one book left. There’s a clause in the contract, I underlined it, where you agree that the values and beliefs of Ms. Brassard will be protected above everything. If it affects her brand the book is cancelled, and you forfeit the advance.”

  I look at Nyx, impressed by her legal kick ass skills. She’s the best.

  “Dating affects her brand?”

  “It does,” I confirm. “Ian was a fluke, but I usually keep that part of my life private. As I said back in May, I would love to write a book where people learn about finding their own happiness. It’s still on the table, and you don’t have to move the deadline.”

  I pull the chapters I’ve written and set them in front of her. “Here are the first five chapters and the proposal for Swipe Right for Yourself: A Guide to Finding Your Happiness. If you want to approve the name and the content, you can have the book by the end of the year—at the latest.”

  “You can finish this one faster than the other?”

  “I can work fast when I’m passionate about a subject.”

  “What if I hire a ghostwriter, and you just pose as the author?”

  “No,” I tap on all the papers that are in front of her. “That’s against my branding. You can’t dictate what I post, what I write, or use my name unless I am the one who writes
the book. If you don’t agree—”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” she stops me and starts browsing the manuscript I gave her. “This looks promising.”

  I look at Nyx who smiles at me.

  “We will send you a new contract,” I announce.

  “But we are not going to negotiate the price or royalties,” she warns me.

  “And that’s fine by me,” I agree. “My legal team will only amend the title and the deadlines.”

  We say our goodbyes and inside the elevator I say, “That was easy.”

  “It’s the lawsuit against Sheila that weighted her decision. Well, that and the fact that you had a few chapters available for her to see.”

  On our way to Ford’s home, I start fidgeting. He owns a place in New York, and he either works for or owns LNCware. I promised him that I would be understanding—when did I promise that? My mind keeps replaying all our conversations, and there’s not one where he had indicated that he was someone else.

  As we arrive at an old, tall building with lion statues and a doorman, I hold my breath. How rich is he?

  Nyx and I make our way to the elevator, we go all the way to the top, and the doors open to a foyer decorated with mirrors, iron statues, and a big plant.

  A man wearing a suit comes forward and says, “Ms. Persephone, Mr. Chadwick is waiting for you in the library. If you follow the hallway to your left, you’ll see the French doors immediately. Ms. Nyx, if you want to follow me too, I’ll take you to your room.”

  “I have a room,” my sister repeats, giving me a glance. “Something tells me you are going to share a room.”

  “Doubtful,” I disagree.

  I follow the guy’s instructions, and when I open the French doors, I see Ford pacing around the room, holding a phone. He’s wearing a dark suit and a gray scale tie.

  “You shaved,” I say, as I make my way into the room.

  He looks at me and gives me a smile that melts me.

  “Listen, I’m here until Friday…” He nods as his shoulders sag. “Well, I just produce. Nathaniel is the one who closes the deals.”

  He laughs, but it’s so fake that I roll my eyes. “No, I’m not giving interviews, and yes, I’ll be going back to my Batcave—as you put it.”