Ishrugged off my cardigan as soon as I hit my office; it was an unusually warm May day and the building had yet to turn on the AC. Seated at my desk, I rolled my neck and blew out a long sigh. I’d been up late writing. Actually, I was quite the writing maniac lately, my creativity coming in long bursts, usually at one o’clock in the morning. This week alone, I’d finished the line edits on all six of my short stories.
A knock sounded on my slightly ajar door.
“Hey, Charleston.”
“Hey, Ricky, what’s up?” I leaned back in my chair and eyed my openly gay coworker who recently became my BFF because, as he said, he thought I had the “hook-ups.”
“I’m meeting in a bit with Layton over FaceTime and wanted to see if you had any last-minute pointers.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “He’s seriously a really nice guy. Probably too nice.”
Ricky eyed me curiously, raising a brow as he leaned on the door frame. “You know, toast isnice.”
“What?” I laughed for the first time in a week. My mood was good and Ricky was kind of hysterical, and I was blissfully happy for a fleeting moment.
“Seriously, Charli, you’re such a Brianna. You get all googly when you talk about Layton, and then you go and say, ‘he’s so nice’ in some weird drawn-out breath like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
I had to roll my eyes when he flipped his hands up with exaggerated air quotes as he imitated me to perfection.
“Ricky, I don’t even know what aBriannais!”
“A babe. It’s a babe, babe. If I were into female babes, I’d be all over you ... babe.”
“Ricky, not one more babe. We’re at work.” I waved a hand, shooing him away. “Go do your interview and shut my door.”
He blew several air kisses my way and left me to my own devices.
God, he’s the female equivalent of Janie.
I scrolled through my in-box. I had e-mails from Mom, Garrett (my mom gave him my e-mail address), the photographer wanting to set something up, but nothing from Layton since last week.
I slammed Lucy closed and stood up on my stilettos, threw on my cardigan, and made my way down the hall on the pretense of using the ladies’ room.
Again, who was I kidding? I popped over to the media room, making my way past the celebrity-stalking writers, and like a bee to honey, I went straight to the music people.
Ricky’s office door was closed so I paced in front of it, practically wearing a path in the carpet. One pass, two, three, four passes, five, six, and on the seventh pass, I knocked.
“Who is it?” came from behind the door.
I creaked it open an inch. “Hey, Ricky, it’s me. How was your interview?”
As if I was that dense. He knew that I knew the interview was just getting started. For heaven’s sake, it was only seven o’clock in the morning on the West Coast.
“Ooh, lookee who’s here.” Ricky swiveled in his chair, winking at me before swinging back around. “Charleston, please do come in.”
Directing his next words to his computer screen, he said, “Looks like we have a visitor. Layton and I were just chatting ’bout how he picked the music forSeven Sins, and believe it or not, he said the last choice came to him when he was seated next to you on a plane.”
I slipped inside the office and peeked at Ricky’s oversized monitor. Onscreen was Layton, wearing a Taylor Swift tee (really?) as he leaned against a graphite-colored desk. Behind him was a huge mess of sound equipment, stacks of discs, and wiring.
Layton frowned. “Well, that’s not exactly what I meant to say. I don’t want my words to get mixed up.”
“Yep, you said ...” Ricky sifted through his notes and flipped to the second page, where he began to read. “I finalized the song selection forSeven Sinson a flight from Chicago to New York ... not to be included, that’s where I met Charleston. The last song was killing me. It was for a hot, sultry, aggressive LA club scene in which Katie goes berserk on her man-to-be and another ex of his. I went with a newer on-the-scene rapper, Sumptuous, and took a risk with his first single, ‘Bitches Cut Up.’”
Ouch.I dropped my gaze toward the floor, counting fibers in the burlap rug.And I said he’s too nice?
Layton cleared his throat. “But let it stand for the record that I didn’t mean Charli specifically.”
“Oh, good,” Ricky said as he made a note. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
