by Kat T. Masen
Our carriage stops at the top of the Ferris wheel. The view is breathtaking, the California coastline stretching for miles in the distance. Beneath us, a ray of bright lights illuminates the pier as crowds of people stroll around. It’s nothing like Manhattan. The open space allows me to breathe for just a moment to take it all in.
“This is beautiful,” I murmur. “I feel so…”
“Content,” Noah says, while I squeeze into his side tighter. “It’s like a whole other world up here.”
“It really is,” I whisper, breathing in the fresh air. “So, are you telling me Noah Mason has never been in love before?”
With a slow and steady gait, his usual long pause is accompanied by him loosening his shoulders. “I’m not cut out to fall in love. I just want to have a good time.”
Noah’s honesty is very forthcoming, and what makes our friendship unique. In his presence, I feel my complete self without the lies I often tell to please everyone. Eric is great, but his immaturity at times, becomes too much for me. I crave a real man by my side, and not necessarily someone I need to fuck or marry.
Despite our closer relationship now, Lex will always be my mentor. I rely on him to educate me, teach me how to succeed. We have a professional relationship as well as a personal friendship that took years in the making. Even if Charlie wasn’t in the picture, he isn’t the type of guy I’d sit around the couch with and watch movies with an oversized tub of popcorn. However, in the boardroom, there’s no one else I would rather be with.
Yet with Noah, there’s this feeling of completeness between us. Like I’ve known him my whole life when, in fact, it’s been two weeks.
“How do you know you’re not cut out to fall in love if you’ve never been?”
“I guess you have a point,” he agrees, his expression indifferent. “I can’t say it’s something I think about. As I said, I just live life on my terms.”
I nod, agreeing with everything. Before Dominic, I lived life on my terms, and now I’m here in a cul-de-sac of regret.
“So question…” I pose, shuffling onto my side, so I’m facing him. “Why did you agree to the bet on settling down?”
Noah raises his eyebrows, the smug expression radiating superiority while he rests his arm on the back of the carriage.
“I don’t like to lose.”
I roll my eyes, smacking him on the chest lightly causing him to scowl.
“Charlie is so determined. She’s like cupid reincarnated,” I tell him, hoping he understands Charlie's passion to spread love in this world. “If she thinks she can get you to settle down, have babies so she’ll have nieces or nephews, she’ll make it happen.”
“Cue the baby talk,” Noah groans. “I’ll keep the charade up, so she thinks I’m serious. But don’t you dare tell her otherwise. Whose team are you on, anyway?”
I let out a long-winded sigh. “You’re preaching to someone who thinks love is a giant fucked-up ball, and relationships are—”
“Unnecessary?”
“Trouble.”
The Ferris wheel begins to move again until finally, our carriage is at ground level, and it’s time for us to hop off.
We hit up the arcade, passing the time with some old favorites while we laugh over our competitive streaks. Noah doesn’t treat me differently because I’m a woman, and his competitive streak only wants me to prove him wrong for once. We argue while lost in the world of Pac-Man, battled each other at pinball, and then, I challenged him to dance revolution. At first, he argued and said not a chance in hell, but with a much-needed push of calling him a loser, he relented and won the goddamn competition. The guy can dance.
“So, you can move. Big deal,” I complain.
“You’re such a sore loser,” he gloats, jabbing my ribs with his finger. “Just when I thought you were unbreakable, I broke you.”
Catching my breath, we leave the arcade and step back outside. I quickly check my phone, noting the time. With an early morning flight, it’s almost time for me to leave if I want to catch any sleep.
“I should probably go,” I tell Noah.
“Wow, I knew you were competitive, but now you’re bailing on me because you lost?”
With a wide grin, unable to hide my true feelings, I push him toward the edge of the pier trying to spook him.
“Don’t get so cocky. I’ll be back, and your arse is my target.”
“You think you’re so fancy with your British arse talk,” he mocks, throwing an accent to imitate me. “I expect you back here. I’ll challenge you, but I’m pretty certain those legs of yours can’t keep up with me.”
“Hey,” I shout, oblivious to the people surrounding us. “I’ll have you know I work out a fair bit. Maybe it’s your big mouth that distracts me with all your smack talk.”
Noah snickers. “Oh yeah, that’s it.”
I lace my arm into his as we walk toward the end of the pier for one last look at the view. Even though I haven’t spent a lot of time around beaches having lived on the mainland for most of my childhood and young adult life, something about the view of an ocean always conjures comforting ideas into my head. It’s renewing my soul, my values, and standing here with Noah makes it all the more evident.
The past two weeks have been exactly what I needed. Charlie is right. Being surrounded by family and friends eliminates the loneliness which surrounds me in Manhattan. I’ve slowly found a piece of myself, learned not to take things so seriously, and somehow being with Noah restores my confidence.
I left New York City with uncertainty of who I was anymore, but I’ll be damned if I’ll return the same woman.
Noah places his hands on my shoulders, relaxing me with the grin spread wide across his face. It’s incredibly easy to see how women fall at his feet. The arrogant bastard is so damn good-looking. Yet deep inside, the comfort he gives me is more than I could’ve asked from someone who, to begin with, was supposed to be a hook-up.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I question, running my tongue along my teeth. “Do I have food stuck in my teeth? A bird shat on me? I knew those damn seagulls would get to me.”
He shakes his head, pursing his lips. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Huh?”
“You’re going to be okay,” he repeats, keeping his gaze fixated on me. “You’re going to go back, be the fierce boss you were born to be. And then, you’re going to be okay. You don’t need him, and you’ll be just fine.”
I stare into his eyes, searching for any sort of reasoning to his words. “How do you know?”
“Because I know.”
Noah inches closer. Leaning down, he places a kiss on my forehead, lingering while reality begins to sink in. A simple gesture, one filled with nothing but pure belief, gives me the confidence I need to realign my head and heart once again. There’s every reason why I should be okay and only one reason why I shouldn’t.
The good outweighs the bad.
Pulling away, my shoulders finally relax as a wave of calm steadies my anxious heart. With a weightless gaze, I reach up to graze my finger along his cheek in a friendly gesture.
“I better go. I’ll text you tomorrow to complain about my flight and remind me to ask you how exactly do you hook up with a stewardess.”
Noah dips his head, a smile creeping across before his eyes lift to meet mine once again. “A gentleman never tells.”
I touch his hand one more time before turning around to head back toward the car. He mentions he will Uber home, so I can return the rental to the airport first thing tomorrow morning.
As my steps away from him begin creating distance, he calls my name one more time. I turn around, and still, where he stands leaning with his back against the ocean, he folds his arms with his signature smirk.
“Don’t go falling in love on me. Remember the bro code? We don’t do love.”
I bow my head, unable to hide the smile gracing my face. “I’m kind of new to this bro code thing, but I promise not to fall head over heel
s for a guy.”
Noah shakes his head, letting out a laugh. “Bye, Kate… you crazy bird.”
“See,” I nod, grinning back. “You’re becoming a Brit already.”
NOAH
I think of a million ways to get out of meeting Morgan, none of which seem plausible.
I texted Kate a dozen times, each response back from her was to grow some man balls. The conversation then led to an uncomfortable discussion on man balls in which I warned her of my need to block her number if the conversation persists.
“You know, if you lived here, I wouldn’t have this problem,” I tell Kate after calling her, frustrated with her text responses.
“How on earth would that make a difference?”
“Well, for starters, Charlie wouldn’t push the whole relationship bullshit if she thought I’d stay out of trouble. If you were here, I’d be busy with you.”
Kate laughs through the receiver. “Gorgeous, if I were there, we’d get into too much trouble. We’re good that way. Listen, I have to go. Now be a man and show her who has the balls.” She hangs up the call abruptly, leaving me in a no better position than I was earlier.
Presley wants to get started with this project and has worked on some basic questions she wants to ask Morgan. Nothing too personal, just run-of-the-mill questions which will educate the reader on how Scarlett grew up to how she found herself in Hollywood. Presley makes mention of some of the more challenging questions she wants to ask Scarlett herself. Some of which are not public knowledge and will definitely be the focal point with the press. I’m not sure how she dug up the information, and I decide to let her handle the scandalous side.
The marketing interns are a great team. Haden is a strong recruiter and knows talent when he sees it. I spent the morning running through some less critical projects to clear the way for this more significant one, making sure everyone knows what their performance targets are and the deadlines for which they need to adhere.
A little after lunch, Haden walks into my office.
“Hey,” he says casually.
I look up from my laptop. “What’s up?”
“Bad news. Presley’s come down with a stomach bug.”
“Is she okay?” I ask with concern.
“She pretends to be.” He laughs sincerely. “Our son caught it off some kid he was playing with, so now it’s her turn. I’m probably next. Nothing worse than having to hold your wife’s hair back while she projectile vomits in the car.”
I cover my mouth in disgust. And the poor fella has a sweet ride too.
“So, listen, I know you have that meeting this afternoon with Morgan. Presley is adamant we still move forward despite her not being there.” He removes his cell from his pocket and taps away. A few seconds later, my email pings.
“These are the questions she wants to ask Morgan today. If you could ask them instead, that would ensure we don’t fall behind.”
My whole career has been in marketing and only that. This seems to be a little in left field and entirely out of my element. How should I ask the questions, and what type of answers am I looking for? Do I counter questions if I’m unsatisfied with a response? Jesus, I don’t want to fuck up this important project.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Haden mentions before I speak. “You’re not sure how to ask the questions in a way we can capture and translate it into words.”
“You read my mind, boss.”
“All you need to do is inform her you’re recording the conversation. Simply ask the questions Presley has mapped out. I think you’ll do great.”
With the slight boost in my confidence, he leaves my office, and I quickly read Presley’s notes before departing and driving to the meeting.
I arrive at the coffee shop early, not wanting to come across as unprofessional. And so, with plenty of time to spare, I open my laptop and answer some work emails. Right on time, I see Morgan walk through the door. Her stride is elegant with an air of confidence in her white dress which is shorter this time, and more noticeably, the plunging neckline shows off some very sexy cleavage. Her hair is loose but tied halfway up, and she’s still wearing her signature red glasses.
She scans the table, looking around me. “Good afternoon, Noah.”
“Morgan,” I greet, standing up and courteously pulling her chair out.
“Thank you,” she responds with a forced smile.
That smile irritates me. So unnatural and cold. Do I really bother her that much that she can’t stand being in the same room as me? She appears almost repelled.
“I apologize for Presley’s absence. She’s quite unwell. However, I do have her notes, which I’d like to go through with you.”
Morgan’s expression changes to panic, her eyes looking everywhere but at mine. “She’s not here?”
I shake my head, pursing my lips. “Just you and me. Is that a problem?” Posing the question and goading some sort of reaction from her, I wait patiently, tapping my fingers on the stark-white linen tablecloth.
Her eyes unwillingly watch the tap of each finger, and slowly, with a deep breath, she parts her lips and raises her eyes to meet mine. “Certainly not, Noah,” she says with a reassuring smile. “Shall we begin?”
The waitress stands at our table, young and blonde with a playful smile that screams ‘fuck me tonight.’ Her uniform is a white tank and a short black skirt. Extremely short. I’m thinking of ways to get her number on the sly because I need to feel a woman’s body against mine.
It’s been forever since I’ve seen a pair of tits, let alone hold them in my hands.
Except for Kate’s, but we all know how that night ended.
“Can I please have an espresso and a glass of water?” Morgan orders, her head buried in the menu.
The waitress takes her order, then waits for me to answer, moving a little closer as she jiggles her small titties in front of her notepad. They’re cute, but lack that mature bounce I’ve grown fond of over the years.
“I’ll have the same.”
“Nice order,” the waitress says, striking up a conversation. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here?”
“I’m not, actually,” I answer politely. “I moved here a few weeks ago.”
“I hope you like California. I’ve been here my whole life. A true California girl.” She giggles, creating more bouncy tits.
Fuck. Keep going, beautiful.
“I can tell.” My smirk fades as Morgan clears her throat, prompting the waitress to leave.
She scurries away, and in the corner of my eye, I try to get a glimpse of her ass in that short skirt. It’s perky but nothing special.
“Should I leave you alone with the waitress, or are we here to conduct business?” Morgan voices with a touch of malice.
“Just a friendly conversation,” I insist. “Rule number one in marketing… opportunities can present themselves anywhere.”
“Like between her breasts?” Morgan mutters, keeping her lips tight and arms folded.
The evil witch has risen. I decide not to comment and begin asking the questions Presley gave me until Bouncy Tits comes back with our beverages. This time, not to rile the beast even further, I simply smile at the waitress and focus my attention again on the meeting.
The first stage of the book will focus on Scarlett’s childhood and how that evolved into acting. It’s public knowledge on the internet, but I was hoping to get some hidden facts that will interest the readers, an added bonus for the die-hard fans who think they know everything about her. I tell her, “I’ll be recording the conversation.”
But she’s quick to shut down, stating, “I’d prefer this conversation not to be recorded.”
Haden needs the information, and my memory isn’t the greatest. Could this bitch be any more of a pain in the ass?
“Look, Morgan. These are Presley’s questions. I’m just doing her job for the day. I’m really not understanding why it’s such a problem.”
“Because this is Hollywood.
Anything you say can be held against you.”
Her stare is fierce, penetrating with an ice-cold expression. The glass of water sits beside her espresso. She carefully has a drink, then returns her attention to me. “Fine, if you must. Perhaps you’re not as multi-skilled as I pegged you to be.”
Did she just put me down? I’m moments away from walking out.
Taking a deep breath and remembering how much I need this job right now, I bite my tongue so damn hard I can taste the blood.
Breathe… one… two… three.
“So, let’s start with childhood. Hard and fast facts to clear up any misinformation in the media.” I press the record button. “Scarlett, real name Sarah Jo Winters, born the fifth of August 1990 in Littlerock, California.”
“Correct,” she states.
“Her father, Max Winters, was a farmer and mother, Marjorie Winters, formerly a housewife, passed away. Siblings… Violet Winters. Two years older.”
“Uh-huh.”
God. Did she suddenly climb back into that shell? I read the next lot of questions, hoping to gain more of an extended answer from her.
“Okay, so growing up, Scarlett has always aspired to be a star.”
Her body gestures indicate she’s bored with the questions. Granted, they’re not about her, but her boss instead. I finish my water in one go, counting down the time until this is over.
“From the age of three, she entered beauty contests in every county. Her mother would save every penny, sometimes doing odd jobs for locals so she could spend it on her outfits.”
“The American Dream, right?” I joke.
“To some.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“At the age of ten, a Hollywood producer happened to be driving through town and saw her at a local diner. She was singing and dancing for the patrons, and so he dubbed her the next Shirley Temple.”
“Quite an image to live up to, don’t you think?”
With a long pause, she puts the glass to her mouth and drinks some water, continuing her silence. How long do I have to fucking wait for an answer?
“She dreamed of being that. So, no, to answer your question, she aspired to something, and she followed her dream. Not many people get that chance, Noah.”
