by N J Adel
“I’m sure you do. It’d surprise me if you didn’t.” He sipped on his cocktail. “How is it that we’ve only crossed paths once or twice?”
“I went to England for college and only returned two years ago. Since then I’ve been really busy, and Mike has been traveling a lot.”
“I see. What does the one and only Maggie Dawson do?”
I scratched my forehead. “That’s a…tough question to answer.” I couldn’t risk telling him the truth. He’d tell Mike.
His jaw flexed. “Is it?”
A giggle escaped me. “Yeah.”
“Okay, and what did you do before that?”
I giggled again. “Okay. I used to be an architect, then I quit to be a writer.”
“Screenplays?”
“I fiddled a little with that but not for long. They’re not really my jam. Novels is more like it.”
“But…?”
My gaze drifted to Mike. He was talking to some woman in a skirt so small it could also be a headband. She couldn’t keep her hands to herself, and Mike didn’t seem to mind. “Somewhere down the road, I lost interest, again. The novel remains unfinished, and I continue to stay undecided about which career to make mine.”
“Let me guess, now you’re going to try something completely different?” James asked.
I glanced back at him. “You guessed right. Being good at something isn’t enough when it doesn’t make you feel what you wanna feel.”
“A girl with passion who’s not afraid of taking risks and exploring new things.” He leaned forward. “You’re a dangerous person, Maggie Dawson.”
“Unlike you.”
He stared at me, his eyes curious.
I nodded toward Mike, who was talking to a short man in a blue suit now. “You and Andrea have been pressuring him into taking projects he hated, unwilling to take any risks to explore his talent and take it to the next level.”
James sighed, his eyes fixed on the glass door. “You don’t know anything about this business. Risk-takers, especially sex gods like him, most likely fall from grace. The success rate is less than seven percent. Seven.” He looked directly into my eyes. “Impulsive people who have no sense of consequences ruin lives, even their own.”
“You think you’re looking after him, protecting him from ‘impulsive people and their influence’?” I made air-quotes. “C’mon, James. You’re just playing it safe so you can keep squeezing him for money.”
“Everybody plays it safe,” he continued. “Directors don’t see Mike the way he wants to be seen now. They won’t cast him in those movies. Producers aren’t willing to take any risks either. What are we supposed to do?”
My eyes flicked at him, challenging him. “Look for fresh voices. Undiscovered talents. Do you know how many writers and directors are sitting out there hoping, praying for an opportunity like that? Hire a talent scout or organize a Twitter pitch party. Hold a fucking online contest for all I care. Let the world amaze you with what it’s got.”
He propped his head on three fingers. “That’s a…pretty good idea.”
“I know. It’s a great idea.”
“But what about production? Who’s going to take a chance on a debut writer or director?”
“If you look hard enough, you’ll find one. And even if you can’t, Mike can produce it himself. What’s the point of having all that money if it doesn’t buy you the freedom you need to go after what you want?”
Mike returned, carrying a small tray of rolled joints, a bottle of vodka, and a couple of glasses. “Sorry I took so long. That Greg guy wouldn’t shut up.” He placed everything on the table and sat. “Shit, I forgot the ice.” He looked at James. “Could you bring some?”
James stood. “Sure.”
When he exited, Mike stared at me. “So…what did I miss?”
Scene 7
Mike
After the guests left, except for the two brunettes waiting in the bedroom and his manager, Mike flopped into the first chair in the living room. He rested one foot on top of the other on the empty chair next to his, staring up at his manager. “Did you hit on her?”
James half-smiled, his drunken eyes now alert. “Who?”
“You know who.”
James chuckled. “The kid?”
“Don’t fuck with me. The way you’ve been ogling her all night says she’s no kid to you.”
“Yeah. Have you seen that ass? That girl has got meat on her bones. One fine Italian—”
“James!” Mike’s feet dropped to the floor.
“What?” He glowered.
“You can’t talk about her like that.”
He frowned at Mike for a while before he took a step forward. “Why the fuck do you care?”
“I care because…she’s Andrea’s daughter.” Mike stood, his voice rising. “When it comes to Maggie you need to keep your fucking eyes, hands, and dick to yourself, do you hear me?”
“All right. Jeez.” He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Wow.”
Mike placed his hands on his hips. “What now?”
James tilted his head at him. “I didn’t think…” He held his hands up. “Never mind, Mickey. I get it.”
Mike approached him. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
James eyed him, a smile twitching on his mouth, and then he nodded to the bedroom. “Enjoy your short-haired girls tonight, my friend.” He lurched to the door, waving goodbye.
The sound of the door closing made Mike flinch. Had James just figured it out? Was it that obvious? Fuck.
Mike shouldn’t have shown that. The jealousy. The weakness. His feelings for her had to remain a secret. Even from the keeper of his secrets. From everybody.
But how? When Maggie told him James might have hit on her, he contemplated smashing his manager’s face and that of each of those fuckers at the party who had so much as looked at her. However, Mike just laughed with her, his emotions hidden behind a decade and a half of practice. Or had he not?
His heart dipped at the possibility. He failed to hide it from James; he was reckless for a second, and his manager noticed. What if she’d noticed, too?
No. He was too careful—as he had been for years. When he looked at her, he shifted his gaze every seven seconds, so his eyes wouldn’t give him away, so he wouldn’t mash his lips against hers. When he hugged her, he made sure no parts under belt level got in contact. Sometimes—he knew it was crazy—he even held his breath around her, because God forbid what happened if she found out what her smell did to his dick.
He never could risk her knowing. He couldn’t betray her trust like that. She felt safe with him. To her, he was the older guy, the friend of the family, the mature best friend.
Mature my ass. One glance at that tiny dimple in the middle of her bottom lip, and he became a horny teenager going on a first date with the most beautiful girl he’d ever met.
Besides, having feelings for her was not the only secret he had to keep from her.
I’m fucked.
“Signor Gennaro,” one of the brunettes sang in a terrible accent, her head popping out from the bedroom. “Ready for bed?”
He should be. Seeing Maggie in the flesh had his entire body primed. But the thought of being with anyone else, when she was in the same city he was, made his stomach turn.
Nice. He couldn’t be with her, and he couldn’t be with any other girl. Maybe he should just give up now and be a monk.
“No.” His eyebrows hitched. “You can take your friend and go.” He dropped on a chair. “I’m not in the mood anymore.”
She pouted, trotting toward him, the other girl behind her. “We can put you back in the mood, signor.” She kneeled beside him and helped him out of his dress shoe, the second girl working off the other.
He inhaled, and the weed smell lingering inside the room overwhelmed him. “Don’t think so.”
“Oh.” The second girl’s fingers ran up his pants. “You break my heart.”
“Just tell us what yo
u want, what you need,” The first one whispered in his ear, her tongue around his earlobe. “We’ll do anything for you, signor.”
The second brunette, already stripped to her lace underwear, sat in his lap. “Anything.”
Of course, they would. Most of the girls who ended up in his bed were there for this reason only—they wanted to brag about fucking the A-list celebrity—and that meant they’d give and not take. If they were really lucky, they might get a casual date, but that was it.
He shut his eyes, wishing he could do the same to what he felt inside. Shut it. “Nothing’s gonna work unless your name is Maggie. Either one of you named Maggie?”
“No, but you can call us whatever you want.” She unbuttoned his shirt and pressed her tits hard on his chest. “Imagine having two Maggies on you.” She took his hands and placed them on her tits and then on her friend’s. “Four Maggie tits.” She unbuckled his belt and helped him up. His cock suddenly needed an adjustment.
The other girl took his arm and led him to the bedroom. She unzipped his pants and took off her dress and underwear. “Two Maggie pussies.”
He let out a warm sigh, imagining forbidden pictures of Maggie. How she’d smell. How she’d taste. His cock was fully hard now, sticking up his pants. “Yeah. That will work.”
Scene 8
Maggie
I dug through my purse, searching for the key to my apartment. The dark hallway and the spinning in my head weren’t helping. I evened my breath and managed to put the key in the hole. My feet shuffled across the hardwood floor as my finger found the light switch.
“Maggie.”
I gasped at Kyle’s voice. Then I swore, straining my eyes toward him, reaching behind to the ledge of my working desk for support. He stood from his chair and marched in my direction.
“What the fuck you doing, lurking in the dark like this?” I tossed the key and purse on the desk. “Aren’t you supposed to be in San Francisco?” The words were heavy on my tongue.
“I’m sorry I let myself in, but you gave me a key for emergencies. I’ve been calling you all night. When you didn’t answer, I got worried.” A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Where the hell have you been? And why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
Every drink and drag I had seemed to hit me all over again. I weaved in front of him, my stomach a little upset. Someone with IBS shouldn’t drink as much as I did. He steadied me with his hand on my elbow. “Are you drunk?”
I blinked, willing my head to clear. I failed. “Yes. Stoned, too.”
He huffed a sigh, his features softening. “Come.” He helped me to the bed. “I’ve been worried sick. You could’ve, at least, picked up your phone.”
I leaned down to untie my shoes. “It died, Mike. I’m sorry.”
“Mike?”
Fuck.
My body turned ice cold. I looked up, and his eyes were widened into a glare. “I’m so sorry, babe. I’ve been with Mike all night, and I’m really wasted.”
The tightening of his forehead and how his bottom lip curled underneath a tooth squeezed my heart. I hated it when I made him upset, even if it wasn’t intentional. “Why the hell were you with Mike all night?” He clenched his jaw hard enough the muscles twitched.
I tilted my head back and breathed out. “We were supposed to meet, but I couldn’t, so he invited me to a party. That’s all. Can we just go to bed now? I literally can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I promise I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”
Scene 9
Maggie
I lifted my head off the pillow and instantly dropped it back. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and a headache was splitting it in half. Fuck hangovers.
What time is it? I propped myself on my elbows, searching with half-open eyes for my phone. Even the dim sunlight was too bright.
As I staggered out of bed, I spotted the phone poking out from under some papers on the messy desk. 4:23 p.m. My gaze traveled down the oversized, white T-shirt I was in. When the hell did I change?
I turned away and headed back to bed. A yellow note lying on the black sheets caught my attention.
Had to go to work. Back as soon as I can. Call me if you wake up before.
You might wanna shower.
Kyle…not Mike.
Shit.
I closed my eyes, and the events of last night hit me hard. That was not how I’d planned to spend the rest of the night. Just for once, since Mike had gone to Europe, I would let my imagination drift. I would think about how sexy Mike looked in that Armani suit, how strong his arms felt around me, how warm the skin on his muscular chest felt under my hands. I would recall the smell of his cologne that made my sex clench. I would imagine pulling his jacket off, then his shirt, then his belt…
Just for one night, I’d live the fantasy.
In the morning, I’d forget all about it, and I’d become Kyle’s girlfriend again. But Kyle had to be that good person he’d always been. The boyfriend who would break off a business trip to check on his girl because she hadn’t picked up her phone all night. Who would change her clothes, tuck her in bed, and remind her to shower after she’d called him by another man’s name.
But he wouldn’t let it go.
The note assured me of that. He had every right not to.
You had to blurt out his name, you bitch. Shaking my head reminded me Kyle was right—again. I desperately needed a shower; my hair smelled like weed.
I ran my fingers through, pulling it up, and started for the bathroom. The sound of rattling keys stopped me midway. I stared at the frown upon Kyle’s face and sighed.
He set his briefcase and a plastic cup of coffee on the desk. “Good morning.”
“It’s almost evening.” A sheepish smile twitched my lips. “I just woke up.” I pointed at the bathroom. “I’ll jump in the shower, then…we’ll talk.”
He nodded, taking off his suit jacket. “I got you some coffee. Figured you’d need it.”
“Thanks.” My eyes trailed on him as he sat. He looked exhausted. I’d have asked him to join me, but, at that moment, I needed my privacy; the bathroom was the only room with a door. The rest of the apartment was an open space with no barriers. There were no rooms, only places. The sleeping area. The working space. The dining corner. The thinking spot—a bay window that looked over palm trees and mountains. They all merged into a free-form shape that represented my home.
The hot water washed the residue of the party off my body, but not my mind. I lingered in the shower, ridding my head of the Mike Effect. I’d been stifling my feelings for him for years—seven long years—convincing myself it was nothing but a stupid crush. A normal feeling any seventeen-year-old-girl who happened to have the Italian Heartthrob as a family friend would have.
But I was no longer seventeen, and Mike—despite what Andrea or anyone would say—was now my best friend, and every time I saw him, my heart throbbed.
When he’d go away, I’d keep myself occupied, forcing my heart to sway in any other direction, and I’d forget and make-believe. Then he’d return. A few weeks later, a few months later, it didn’t matter. One look, one touch, and I’d remember. Fuck.
I let the water pour on me one more time, gathering my strength for the confrontation. Then I wrapped a towel around my body and stepped outside the bathroom.
Kyle was silent. Tense. His blue eyes dark with hurt. I nestled in his lap, my hands clasped behind his neck. “I’m sorry.”
He held my gaze long enough for me to see the pain, and then he looked down. “What happened yesterday?”
“I went to see Mike.”
“At a party. Alone. Why?”
I studied his expression. Was he… “Nothing happened between me and him.” If you see the girls he parties with every night, you’ll know nothing will ever happen.
His forehead wrinkled. “That never crossed my mind. I’m surprised that you felt the need to point that out.” He swallowed, his face growing pale. “I thought Mike was y
our friend. Why would you say that?”
I blinked. “Because I thought… I don’t know. Your face is accusing me of something. I thought that was it.”
“What exactly happened at the party?”
“I…got heavily intoxicated.” I chuckled. “Too many drinks and too much weed. That’s all.”
He narrowed his eyes, his expression disappointed. “That’s all?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I called you Mike, but that was just the booze talking. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’d been talking to him all night. I didn’t expect you to be home. My tongue just—”
“What about this?” he interrupted, sliding a hand in his pocket.
I glanced down to a white piece of paper in his hand. Mike’s stupid check.
“Why did he give you a blank check?” He held it in my face.
I got off him, my lungs tightening. My eyes found my purse on the desk, the contents strewn on the cherry wood top. “You went through my stuff?”
“No. It fell off the desk along with everything inside your purse when you tossed it. You were too drunk to remember.”
I chewed on my cheek. “Fine. Mike gave it to me when I told him I might go back to my old job. What else do you wanna know?”
“So you’d ask him for money and not me? Had you asked, I’d have been more than happy to give you the money.”
“I didn’t ask him, and I’m not taking anybody’s money. He put that thing in my purse when I refused to take it.” I rubbed my damp hair. “I didn’t even tell him about the movie.”
He rose. “So he just gave you a blank check, without knowing what it’s for or how much you need?” His face reddened. “Who does that? What kind of friend does that?”
“The kind that doesn’t need to interrogate me or question my intentions to help.”
“Maggie, would you please—”
“Do you know how I became an architect?” I stared at him.
He folded his arms across his chest, letting out an impatient sigh, his eyes hard. “No.”
