6. Some Nights

CHAPTER 6

SOME NIGHTS

FUN.

I'm the first one in the conference room and listen to the sound of Sam talking to someone in his office. So I set up my laptop, make sure my pen has ink, and turn on my tablet. Sam teased me about being over-prepared when I started working here. He called me the Doomsday Meeting Prepper for a while. I usually stick with the boring ‘ better to be prepared ' response, but I've always been this way. Now, Sam comes to me after meetings to get copies of my notes. I'm just thorough, I guess.

While I wait, I think about the mixer tonight, debating internally if I should go. I kind of owe Dani anyhow since I've been turning her down for months and still have only ever made it to one of her shows. She's my best friend, which also means she forgives me and understands how fucked my life has been lately. I slide my phone out and shoot her a quick message saying I'll go, but reminding her she needs to come over early and help me pick out something to wear.

"Alright, let me introduce you to the lead designer." Sam's voice is just outside the conference room. I shift to get a better look, but I only see cuffed sleeves and part of an arm with a tattoo. Tentacles, I think. "You rarely work directly with the designers, but this is a special case. I've already told her that overtime is very much on the table. You're not on the actual payroll, and it isn't in our contract, but I'm still going to offer you the same deal, so anything over our regular hours gets higher pay, okay?"

"Thanks, Sammy. I appreciate that."

The voice sounds familiar, but I can't place it, which isn't that surprising since Sam's Rolodex contains around twenty freelancers for various positions. Rolodex , I giggle at myself for even knowing that word. It's likely that Sam doesn't think I know what a Rolodex is. Someday, I'm going to buy him an old card catalog cabinet and watch his head explode.

Okay, I'm laughing at jokes that make me seem old. My own jokes. I'm glad I'm going out tonight. I wonder for a moment if she'll try to set me up with the guy from the art show a few weeks ago. I hope he's not going.

The door opens, and I almost fall out of my chair as my phone-catching boba guy walks in the door behind Sam. It wasn't my imagination earlier; he's still drop-dead gorgeous. He stops as soon as he sees me and stares. The slightest hint of a smile forms at the corner of his mouth, which somehow triggers my entire face to heat up.

What the fuck is the boba guy doing here? Did he follow me? Did Kennedy do this as a joke? To fuck with me? How many years will I get for murdering her and is it worth it?

I smile back hurriedly and duck into my computer. His eyes are too damn pretty.

"Alright, Lexi, this is James Barton. Jamie, this is my top designer, Lexi Strauss."

My brain finally catches up with the rest of the world, putting the clues together. Sam doesn't just have photographers drop off prints unless he needs to see them in person. To him, that would be a waste of time, and hates that. Dani had already told me the photographer was around, waiting for Sam. Boba guy is the photographer. Boba guy is Dani's pastry hook-up.

Oh. Fuck. I'm like a character in an old crime drama. I'm waiting for the detective to lay the evidence out nice and slow for the morons to understand. I'm the moron!

"You two will be working together for the next few weeks at least, more if we land the gig. So long as you're still interested when that happens, Jamie."

"Uhm, yeah." We emerge from our stupor around the same time, and he finally looks away.

"We've kind of met," I say, giving him only the slightest smile before looking back down at my computer. "At the coffee shop next door."

"So you two have met already? Perfect!" Sam stops as he pulls a chair out for himself. "Have a seat, Jamie. There's a coffee shop next door?"

Jamie drops hard into the seat in front of him like this is a twisted game of musical chairs. I'm still staring at my laptop, waiting for an escape hatch to open up so I can disappear through it.

"Yeah." His voice is both gravelly and airy simultaneously, and it's mesmerizing how he does that. I also can't figure out why my heart is slamming against my rib cage like a salsa beat. "She, uhm, we—It's not really…"

"It's the coffee shop I've been going to for a year now, Sam. I bring you cupcakes from there all the time to tempt you to the sugar-filled dark side," I say as I finally find my voice. Thankful that it's kept its sharp, snarky edge. I hold up the cup with the logo facing him, shaking it until recognition dawns on him.

"Right, your dealer."

Sam is smart, but Sam is also too busy for mundane details like another coffee shop in L.A. I've always seen some irony in a man who is too busy for insignificant details around him opening a marketing firm. Those little details are the keys to successful design. But that's why I'm here.

I'm not sure if it's bold or stupid, but I flick my eyes toward the new guy. Sure enough, he's staring right at me; our eyes lock, and my brain empties. I can feel it just oozing right out of my ears as my spine turns to sponge and I melt into a puddle under the table. I just hope my mouth stays shut and I don't ramble like an idiot.

Wait. Shit. I told a complete stranger, who can't keep his eyes off me, that I go to a specific coffee shop every day. This is how people get unalived! Shit. Shit. Shit. What if this pastry-loving photographer is some kind of creeper? What if he's the next Buffalo Bill, feeding people delicious treats so he can slice off their skin and make a dress out of it? I can picture my story being used by my two favorite podcasters as they tell listeners that this is absolutely not how you stay sexy and don't get unalived!

I hope they don't interview my mother. I should warn Dani about the news crews. I make a mental note to find another nearby coffee shop with boba. That really shouldn't be difficult in Los Angeles. I also make another mental note to lay off the true crime podcasts for a few days.

Sam kicks off the meeting, and for the next hour, he introduces us to the client who will run our lives over the next few weeks—potentially months. This job will be bigger than any of our usual clients. Which has me wondering if Sam is taking on more than we can handle. He could sell you your own house, but he doesn't have a grasp on the inner workings and intricacies of design.

While he keeps explaining and laying out the deliverables and dates, the reality that I am undertaking this task with someone else settles in. I have flashbacks to school projects and past jobs.

What if tall, sad, and handsome is one of those people? I had spent the better part of my high school and college years being part of group projects where I carried the load. I was an overachiever. Hell, I am an overachiever. I'm also a perfectionist. Until this project, Sam essentially let me work on my own, occasionally giving me a junior designer to lord over if the workload was higher than normal. Regardless of my opinion, this is still a group project. Mr. Coffee Shop and I are on equal footing and we're about to be spending a lot of time together.

"Well, we don't need to work like that if it's not your style, Mr. Barton," I interjected, hoping like hell he would take the life raft I was tossing at him. "We could always just work through email. That way, you don't have to worry about coming here daily."

This is a nightmare. There's no way the guy across the table can change my mind. No matter how his arm muscles bulge a bit with his sleeves rolled up. Or how good he looks in that damn paddy hat.

"Oh, about that." My heart sinks, and all I want to do is slap my hand over Sam's mouth for ruining my one hope. "You're both going to have freedom in this one because I trust you. I won't ask you to pull all-nighters here in the office—that doesn't make sense. But on that same note, I do want you to work close together. I think Jamie has a great eye for photography, and Lexi, you're a born layout designer. The two of you together could be an unstoppable duo, and honestly, that's what I'm counting on."

"What do you mean, not coming here to work?"

"Most of this project will be out in the field. You'll work off laptops and tablets, and we can get you some more monitors or whatever you need for whatever you do from home."

"Home?" I'm a little surprised this James guy hasn't said much yet. Is he actually okay with this? He is. He's probably calculating the money he'll make while he's slacking off and watching porn, and I do all the work. Batting those blue eyes at me while he tells me he couldn't get his part done, so here's some half-assed work and expecting me to fix it.

"Or wherever you want." Sam held up his hands. "There is no stock photography. That means I need you both out there helping each other get candid shots, ensuring the model releases are signed, and whatever other paperwork we need. We don't really have time for reshoots, so Lexi, if you're in the field with him, you can give your feedback and get the shots you need. It also means you have free rein over when and where you work. Here, hotel, coffee shop, I don't care."

This is now my worst nightmare. If my mother found out I was working from home, she'd be at my door daily checking up on me. She'd drag my step-father along and they'd find me there with this Barton guy and make assumptions. It won't matter that I'm 34, they just care about how it will affect their reputation. It doesn't matter how many women Ronnie fucks, but it absolutely matters how many beds I hop between.

"You have the keys for the office, so if you need the equipment here, the door is open as always. But I'm not going to be keeping tabs on where either of you are for the next few weeks outside of a handful of progress meetings to see how things are going. It's a tight deadline, and I trust you both."

This was all too confusing for me. It's a dream job, no doubt. Avoiding morning traffic and being left alone with my creative brain. But was I really being left alone? Was this guy supposed to be my babysitter? Was I supposed to be his?

"I've had Dani set you guys up on a new expense account. I'll give you one of the company cards in a bit. If you need anything during the project, use that and just submit the receipt later. That will include dinners if you're working late. I don't mean hit up the steakhouse and order the biggest slab of meat they have every night, but I also don't mean McDonald's, either. If it's running late and you're still working, get food. Get drinks, too. Whatever you need."

"Sam, can I ask how much this client is going to be paying you for all of this? Seems like a lot since they're not even signed up for the full contract yet. Hell, you didn't even go this crazy when HummingBird was here trying to hire us to clean up their brand."

"HummingBird is a bunch of dicks. But these guys, yeah, they didn't even balk at the number I threw at them, which had a lot more zeros at the end than our standard clients. It's also a five-year contract, so all said and done, we'd be clearing over fifty million in the next five years. Big, Lexi. As in, you're both getting a few damn nice bonuses from this."

Sam winks at me, and I glance at the coffee shop guy, and he's just staring at me like he hasn't heard a word of this.

"Oh, not you two working together like this for five years. All this is just to get the first project out of the way; then, we'll return to normal again with you dancing in your office."

"Cubicle. Unless you're saying I'm getting an office out of this." Sam laughs at my joke, but it doesn't help my panic.

I try to let it sink in. I don't read the contracts for the jobs I'm on. Honestly, it doesn't affect me, so I never care what the client is paying so long as I get my paycheck at the end of the week. This is a far bigger undertaking than we've handled in the past. Which explained Sam's willingness to take this task to the extremes.

"Okay, well, uhm, Mr. Barton, I guess we should start getting things arranged and figuring out the schedule for what we need done."

"Oh, actually," Sam interrupts, which I appreciate since I don't think the new guy is mentally in the room with us anymore. "I got you both tickets to the big convention in Long Beach this weekend. I only got you two tickets for tomorrow, so if you need more days, just put it on the card."

"You want pictures of your niece?" Barton asks. Has he met Sam's niece? Which niece?

"Okay, maybe that too. I'll text you the booth number."

"It's, uhm," Barton clears his throat, and I glare at him. "It's actually a solid idea—the conference tomorrow. There are usually some pretty large corporate sponsors and vendors. It's also really out of the box for what your client would do, so we'd get shots and graphic ideas no one else would think to use. Large crowd shots, too. It ticks a few of the boxes."

"Yeah! Yes! That!" Sam shouts, clearly happy that James came to his rescue.

My mouth is wide open, but I can't seem to close it. Not only is he already throwing out ideas that make sense, but he's actively taking part in the decision-making and the work. This looks far more promising than I expected and leagues above where my college group project mates had left me.

James and Sam start talking about the convention when my phone buzzes on the table. I tilt the screen to check the message, and my stomach clenches. Her timing is impressively awful, as always. Is there ever a right time to deal with my mother?

Satan

Where are you?

I heard you broke up with Marc. Why would you do that?

Lexi

I'm at work. A big project has come up.

Satan

Alexis, don't avoid the question. This is embarrassing. He was a nice boy!

Margaret is coming for dinner, so I can't have you over tonight.

You'll have to come over tomorrow night.

I would ask her about her son, but you don't want to come across as a hussy, Alexis.

Lexi

I can't make it tomorrow night. I'm sorry.

Satan

Alexis, stop playing games and get your priorities straight. You're letting that silly job take up so much of your time. You have responsibilities and commitments to your family.

Your father is a highly regarded man. He can't attend events coming across as a fool simply because you can't accept your calling from God.

I'd like to remind her Ronnie isn't my father and that my priorities lie with my actual job, not her shitty husband. I want to point out to her that all the work they were having me do should cost them a pretty penny, but they won't pay me a dime for it. Thoughts and prayers don't pay the bills. She'd never leave me alone if I tried to say any of that to her, so I try to compromise.

Lexi

I will pick up the measurements at the church office when I can. Send me pictures of the arrangements, and I'll design the custom tablecloth so it won't clash. I have to go now.

"You good, Lex?" I put my phone down and smile at Sam. I've clearly missed something, and my phone is still buzzing in my lap. Thankfully, Sam just smiles back.

"I could pick you up tomorrow if that's alright. It would be better than both of us being stuck in traffic in separate cars," Barton suggests, and I'm surprised at the amount of words coming out together without him tripping over them. Good for him.

"You two figure it out," Sam announces as he stands. "I'm going to grab my stuff. James, I'll meet you downstairs. Lex, don't let her get to you. Have fun at the mixer tonight."

I watch Sam walk out the door, not waiting for any further responses. I'm too nervous to look at James, and he seems too nervous to talk to me. Guess I have to break the ice or neither of us will.

"Did you know about all of this during your Spider-Man deal at the boba place?" I try breaking the ice, but I know how brash that sounds and wish I could take it back the instant I say it. God, he's pretty.

"Nope. I should have known something was up when Dani sent me over there." He rubs the back of his neck and it makes his arms flex and my butterflies swarm again. "I was just here to drop off some prints and pick up a check."

"Dani sent you there?" I could smack her. This was a perfect example of a Dani trap. Setting us up before without us even knowing.

"She said they had excellent coffee. She didn't mention the incredible view, though." He doesn't say it with that cocky Los Angeles flair. Instead, he practically mumbles it. "I'm getting the feeling we're kind of being…set up?"

I look up, and his sad, beautiful eyes lock on mine. Faint traces of hope dance on the edges, along with the soft beginnings of crow's feet. I desperately need to hear him laugh, mostly to prove that he can.

"You're an unwilling client of Dani's matchmaking services, too, huh?"

"For the last five years, yeah." He chuckles. Close, but not the laugh I wanted. Some of his sadness fades away briefly. "So, would it be okay to pick you up, or would you rather go separate?"

"I think I'm okay with carpooling, but Dani knows where we're going, so if you end up being a mass murderer or some shit, just know that." I can't hold back the snorting giggle noise I make, but instead of looking at me like an idiot, he laughs.

"I'll keep that in mind, but I'd make a terrible mass murderer." He shrugs as he tucks a notebook into his satchel. "I'd probably apologize through the whole thing."

I'm a sucker for self-deprecating humor when it's done right. "Good to know. Uhm, here's my number. I'll text you the address."