That wasEspressoby Sabrina Carpenter, and we’ve just had word from downstairs that Alexander Morgan has finally arrived in the building. Stay tuned for aLive Loungeyou won’t want to miss.
I pull out the desk chair and collapse into it.
Thank God, he’s okay. Thank God, he’s alive.
The tension in my body finally leaves as I stretch my legs out.
I wait anxiously for the next twenty-five minutes until I hear Alexander’s voice.
My time in London so far has been great,he says to the host, his voice horse and slightly distant. I try to imagine what he looks like right now. I can’t view him on the video stream; it was disabled just before he came on air.
And you were at Abbey Road yesterday, recording a live album. Is there anything you can share with us, a little exclusive perhaps?the DJ asks.
We’re going to drop the album on Friday, and fans have been begging me to release new music, so I’ve included a new song I wrote just the other day while here in London. His voice starts to sound slightly more like the one I know.
A new track… Can you give us a title? The DJ probes for more.
I lean forward into the laptop, intrigued by what he might say.
You’ll have to wait until Friday when it goes live.
Well, you heard it here first. Alexander Morgan is releasing a new live album and a new track Friday. Now before we let you leave, it’s a tradition for artists to perform a cover, so without any further ado, take it away, Alexander.
The opening chords to Sabrina Carpenter’sPlease, Please, Pleaseplay out, a tune I’ve become familiar with due to Kelly playing it nonstop over the years. As the song goes on, I wonder if he intentionally chose it after our argument last night.
Surely it’s not a coincidence.
When he gets to the second chorus, my suspicion is confirmed when he changes a line in the lyrics toDon’t bring me tears, when I’m standing here just trying to clarify. With that, I know he’s talking directly to me.
I want to run to him. To slap him for what he did.
But also, to hug him. To tell him we’ll work things out.
“Where are we at with the deck?” Pietro asks me over the Zoom call.
Given the distractions over the last forty-eight hours, I’ve barely had time to work on the slide deck for our newest client, Brewed. I’ve been tasked with outlining a creative marketing strategy for their upcoming Christmas campaign.
Pietro, my boss, was kind enough to allow me to work from London this week, so I didn’t have to take it out of my annual holiday allowance, but now I’m feeling the pressure.
“Microsoft’s been playing up on my laptop and I haven’t been able to format the slides to send it through.” Once again, I’m being truth-adjacent, but Pietro doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve got an appointment with the Genius Bar right after this call to fix it, and then I’ll get it straight across to you.”
“Okay, but we need it in the next two hours,” Pietro says firmly.
I start to breathe out a sigh of relief, when Tony, another account manager at the firm, unmutes himself.
“You could always use Canva,” he says. He smirks and adjusts his Harry Potter-shaped glasses.
Not helpful Tony, not helpful.
Tony and I have never seen eye to eye. When I was initially transferred to the LA division of Elemental Creative, he was quite standoffish. Then last year, when they brought in a new assistant, Sara, he became quite possessive of her.
Turns out that possessiveness was actually him hooking up with her on the down-low. It’s a sackable offense if the powers that be find out, but I let it slide, holding on to that information for a rainy day.
I inhale deeply and adjust myself in the chair.
“Thanks, Tony. I’m not that adept with it, but maybe Sara could help teach me when I get back.” The smirk quickly disappears from his face as I fight off the one trying to rise on mine.
Touché, motherfucker, touché.
