Mogul
Page 20
I shrug. “After she died I could only think about dying. I would have school parties and see people laughing and I’d think, what are you all laughing about? We’re all gonna die someday! I kept waiting for it to happen. It wasn’t until I turned eighteen that I finally realized we’re all heading there and thinking about it won’t stop it. I realized you might as well live your life while you’re still alive.”
“So are you a hypochondriac or what?”
I laugh. “No! But I want to leave a good mark when I go.” I lean away from him and sigh. “I read this book, Remembrance by Jude Deveraux, about reincarnation and how we come back over and over and find our loved ones again. That made me feel better.” I narrow my eyes. “When’s your birthday?”
“April eighteenth.”
“Aries. Fire. That explains it.”
“So you think we’ve met before?”
“I sound crazy.”
“No. Just interesting.”
I laugh. “Well. The idea of souls knowing each other before is cute, in a way, but I guess knowing it will all end takes the fun out of it.”
“I think it makes it even better, makes every moment count more. Right now, this second”—he snaps his fingers—“just gone.”
“Way to kill my party, Ian!”
I push him away in mock annoyance, and he grabs me by the wrist and before I know it, he pulls me back to his side, breaking into my personal bubble.
Unsettled by the touch, I squirm free and regain one foot between us and tighten my hold on Milly’s leash.
“Tell me more about you,” I press.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what you do.” I sound eager, too eager, to know him. But to be honest, he sounds about as interested in me as I am in him.
“I’m a film producer. I own a couple of production companies—mostly those developing documentaries across the world.”
“Any kids?”
“Nope.” A slight frown creases his forehead and a short, cynical laugh rumbles up his chest. “Hell, I tell Gran that I’m not marrying again. Instead, I’m getting a dog or a big, fat cat and leaving my fortune to him and Milly.”
“Oh, come on!” I laugh—but only for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll find someone.” I look up into his eyes and there are shadows there. In those gorgeous onyx eyes. I want to hit the woman who put them there. “I don’t want you to die alone.”
“It’s not about wanting—you can’t choose your time of death.” And now Ian looks amused once again.
“But you can choose the way you’re living,” I counter.
He’s silent.
“I’d have loved for you to meet my parents.” He breaks the silence with that statement. And he almost seems as surprised by it as I am.
“I would have liked to have met them too.” I smile genuinely. Why is he giving me flutters again? This is supposed to be just small talk. Now we’re making imaginary introductions to parents.
“My mother would have liked you,” he says.
“I would have no doubt liked her like I do Mrs. Ford. Were they similar? She and Mrs. Ford?”
“They were alike. Like mother, like daughter-in-law, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry you lost them, Ian.”
“Me too,” he says, pausing to force me to look into his eyes. “And now I want to know about you.”
“There’s not a lot to know.” I hike up one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’m an only child. My parents are in the middle of a divorce. You can say that’s been hard to assimilate.”
He seems surprised. Something about my parents’ situation being similar to his own seems to register, and his voice drops a decibel. “I’m sorry.”
“I guess you’d know, since you’re in the middle of one, too.” I eye him as we turn at the corner. I want to ask what happened between him and his wife, but at the same time, I’m not sure I want to know. “I guess life surprises us and not everything we plan ends up going as planned. I came to Manhattan to study at NYU. All I dreamed of was Broadway. But on my first audition, I broke my ankle, and voilà, I haven’t seen the stars smile down on me again since I…”
He looks down at me with an intense expression on his face. I feel my phone buzz, and it’s a message from Bryn’s friend Becka.
Just landed. Will be there shortly. Is Bryn ok?
Yes. Meet you at the apartment in a bit.
I turn to him. “My roomie just went through a sad breakup. Her best friend from Texas is in town to cheer her up.” I lick my lips, realizing it’s late. “We’d better head back. I should get home. Tomorrow, I’m promoting the launch of House of Sass on Prince Street and I need my beauty sleep.”
We don’t talk on our way back to Mrs. Ford’s apartment. But we seem to be walking closer to each other, and it’s odd that I sort of feel safe when he’s invading my personal bubble.
Why is that?
Upstairs, I kiss the top of Milly’s head and croon down at her for being a good girl. I straighten and realize Ian was watching me this whole time. We say goodbye. Mrs. Ford insists I stay for dinner, but I have to decline.
“About our conversation, Mrs. Ford…” I pause at the door. “I’ll find someone to fill in as my replacement.”
Before she can talk me out of it, I walk out of the building and toward the train station with Ian on the brain and regret in my heart. And the more excited I feel about having just seen him, the more worried and scared I get that he’ll break my heart if I let him get any closer.
PRINCE STREET
Sara
We have a girls’ night where we—Bryn, Becka, and I—forbid each other to talk about men. Lucky for her, Becka is the only one of us who’s not a little heartbroken, and it’s only because she’s so focused on her fictional characters’ heartbreak instead.
We hit it off instantly when we met last night. She’s from Austin and has been best friends with Bryn for forever. She’s a frustrated writer, slash poet, slash romantic, and is hoping to finish her manuscript while in New York. She sleeps the night on the couch, then wakes early to cook us her signature Belgian waffles.
I already hope she stays with us for a while.
Now, while Bryn coordinates the deliveries of her clothing designs to the warehouse to get ready for her House of Sass launch, Becka and I are trying to cheer her up by night, and selling samples at fifty percent discount on Prince Street by day.
Everyone who’s stopped by our stand has loved Bryn’s new “confession” T-shirts. Some say “Chocolate Addict” and others have a cute little slogan and logo. On the front one reads, “I Kissed a Frog” and on the back it reads, “Or twenty.”
“Miss Davies?”
I’m startled to spot a man standing behind the last girl we rang up. He’s a little younger than me, and he seems to know who I am, but I have no idea who he is.
“My boss sent this.”
He extends a piece of paper, but this is New York, after all, and you just don’t trust people that easily. “I’m sorry; I think you may—”
“Sara Davies?” He shakes his head. “He was pretty intent on making sure I didn’t make a mistake.” He hands me back the piece of paper, which I now realize has a card inside, along with a check. I quickly read the name on the card: Ian Ford.
“So are you a hypochondriac or what?”
I laugh. “No! But I want to leave a good mark when I go.” I lean away from him and sigh. “I read this book, Remembrance by Jude Deveraux, about reincarnation and how we come back over and over and find our loved ones again. That made me feel better.” I narrow my eyes. “When’s your birthday?”
“April eighteenth.”
“Aries. Fire. That explains it.”
“So you think we’ve met before?”
“I sound crazy.”
“No. Just interesting.”
I laugh. “Well. The idea of souls knowing each other before is cute, in a way, but I guess knowing it will all end takes the fun out of it.”
“I think it makes it even better, makes every moment count more. Right now, this second”—he snaps his fingers—“just gone.”
“Way to kill my party, Ian!”
I push him away in mock annoyance, and he grabs me by the wrist and before I know it, he pulls me back to his side, breaking into my personal bubble.
Unsettled by the touch, I squirm free and regain one foot between us and tighten my hold on Milly’s leash.
“Tell me more about you,” I press.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what you do.” I sound eager, too eager, to know him. But to be honest, he sounds about as interested in me as I am in him.
“I’m a film producer. I own a couple of production companies—mostly those developing documentaries across the world.”
“Any kids?”
“Nope.” A slight frown creases his forehead and a short, cynical laugh rumbles up his chest. “Hell, I tell Gran that I’m not marrying again. Instead, I’m getting a dog or a big, fat cat and leaving my fortune to him and Milly.”
“Oh, come on!” I laugh—but only for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll find someone.” I look up into his eyes and there are shadows there. In those gorgeous onyx eyes. I want to hit the woman who put them there. “I don’t want you to die alone.”
“It’s not about wanting—you can’t choose your time of death.” And now Ian looks amused once again.
“But you can choose the way you’re living,” I counter.
He’s silent.
“I’d have loved for you to meet my parents.” He breaks the silence with that statement. And he almost seems as surprised by it as I am.
“I would have liked to have met them too.” I smile genuinely. Why is he giving me flutters again? This is supposed to be just small talk. Now we’re making imaginary introductions to parents.
“My mother would have liked you,” he says.
“I would have no doubt liked her like I do Mrs. Ford. Were they similar? She and Mrs. Ford?”
“They were alike. Like mother, like daughter-in-law, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry you lost them, Ian.”
“Me too,” he says, pausing to force me to look into his eyes. “And now I want to know about you.”
“There’s not a lot to know.” I hike up one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’m an only child. My parents are in the middle of a divorce. You can say that’s been hard to assimilate.”
He seems surprised. Something about my parents’ situation being similar to his own seems to register, and his voice drops a decibel. “I’m sorry.”
“I guess you’d know, since you’re in the middle of one, too.” I eye him as we turn at the corner. I want to ask what happened between him and his wife, but at the same time, I’m not sure I want to know. “I guess life surprises us and not everything we plan ends up going as planned. I came to Manhattan to study at NYU. All I dreamed of was Broadway. But on my first audition, I broke my ankle, and voilà, I haven’t seen the stars smile down on me again since I…”
He looks down at me with an intense expression on his face. I feel my phone buzz, and it’s a message from Bryn’s friend Becka.
Just landed. Will be there shortly. Is Bryn ok?
Yes. Meet you at the apartment in a bit.
I turn to him. “My roomie just went through a sad breakup. Her best friend from Texas is in town to cheer her up.” I lick my lips, realizing it’s late. “We’d better head back. I should get home. Tomorrow, I’m promoting the launch of House of Sass on Prince Street and I need my beauty sleep.”
We don’t talk on our way back to Mrs. Ford’s apartment. But we seem to be walking closer to each other, and it’s odd that I sort of feel safe when he’s invading my personal bubble.
Why is that?
Upstairs, I kiss the top of Milly’s head and croon down at her for being a good girl. I straighten and realize Ian was watching me this whole time. We say goodbye. Mrs. Ford insists I stay for dinner, but I have to decline.
“About our conversation, Mrs. Ford…” I pause at the door. “I’ll find someone to fill in as my replacement.”
Before she can talk me out of it, I walk out of the building and toward the train station with Ian on the brain and regret in my heart. And the more excited I feel about having just seen him, the more worried and scared I get that he’ll break my heart if I let him get any closer.
PRINCE STREET
Sara
We have a girls’ night where we—Bryn, Becka, and I—forbid each other to talk about men. Lucky for her, Becka is the only one of us who’s not a little heartbroken, and it’s only because she’s so focused on her fictional characters’ heartbreak instead.
We hit it off instantly when we met last night. She’s from Austin and has been best friends with Bryn for forever. She’s a frustrated writer, slash poet, slash romantic, and is hoping to finish her manuscript while in New York. She sleeps the night on the couch, then wakes early to cook us her signature Belgian waffles.
I already hope she stays with us for a while.
Now, while Bryn coordinates the deliveries of her clothing designs to the warehouse to get ready for her House of Sass launch, Becka and I are trying to cheer her up by night, and selling samples at fifty percent discount on Prince Street by day.
Everyone who’s stopped by our stand has loved Bryn’s new “confession” T-shirts. Some say “Chocolate Addict” and others have a cute little slogan and logo. On the front one reads, “I Kissed a Frog” and on the back it reads, “Or twenty.”
“Miss Davies?”
I’m startled to spot a man standing behind the last girl we rang up. He’s a little younger than me, and he seems to know who I am, but I have no idea who he is.
“My boss sent this.”
He extends a piece of paper, but this is New York, after all, and you just don’t trust people that easily. “I’m sorry; I think you may—”
“Sara Davies?” He shakes his head. “He was pretty intent on making sure I didn’t make a mistake.” He hands me back the piece of paper, which I now realize has a card inside, along with a check. I quickly read the name on the card: Ian Ford.
