Mogul
Page 30
“And you are. We’re talking now, aren’t we?”
“We are! But I need the details, starting from… that day in Central Park and every instance afterward.”
I groan, but laugh and promise to catch her up. “Only if you give me the details of your and Christos’s makeup. One day you’re broken up and the next you’re getting married.”
“I know. I still can’t believe it!”
We spend the twenty minutes catching up on each other’s lives. I hear about the way Christos proposed and how excited, scared, and in disbelief Bryn still feels.
I tell her about Ian—how I’m addicted-obsessed-hooked on him really bad.
“Enjoy him, Sara. Why not? He’s into you; I could tell when I saw you two bump into each other that day in Central Park.”
I sigh. “I’m trying not to put my whole heart into it, you know? Let things move at their own pace.”
Bryn nods. “That’s a good idea. Once his divorce comes through, you’ll feel less concerned about whatever it is you have between you two. Just be careful,” she says. “And post me. I’m here for you.”
“Promise. I’ll see you soon and I’m here for you too,” I say before packing a bag and heading to the Upper East Side, where Ian and I promised to show off our dinner skills. I know I’ll be staying over. And while we innocently play house, I can’t wait to play with the man of the house himself.
FURNITURE AND FILMING
Sara
I have a fabulous week shopping for furniture with my Suit. We hit up Restoration Hardware, Room and Board, Safavieh Home. They have the most beautiful lighting fixtures I’ve ever seen. Their chandeliers are gorgeous. The couches are heaven. I lie on one couch so amazing I decide I don’t want to get up. “Yummy, I’ve got your perfect couch.”
He drops down beside me and stretches his arms out, shifting as he frowns and surveys the masterpiece.
“Don’t tell me it isn’t delicious,” I dare.
“What is this?”
“It’s the Cloud! It’s all feathers! Can’t you feel how soft the cushion filling is? And it’s a modular, so you can order as much as you want.” I curl up on the couch and feel as if I’m floating. “It’s my dream couch.”
“Dancer.” He rolls his eyes. “There’s not a thing we have seen that’s not your dream something.”
“Well, it’s a big house! I’m doing all this for free, you know. My taste is spot on.”
Ian’s phone rings, interrupting our flirtation.
He checks the screen. “I have to answer.”
I sigh, trying to act irritated though I’m not. He’s a busy man. He has work to do.
I watch him as he listens to whoever’s talking, his expression grim, his answers short. When he finally ends the call, I ask, “What happened?”
“Camera guy’s sick.”
“What are you filming?”
“A documentary. Want to come?” he asks after a moment.
“I’d love to.”
“I’ll take you. Once we get back on track.”
He turns to the Restoration Hardware designer who’s helping us select things for Ian’s home and asks what colors are in stock for same-week delivery.
“Your girlfriend really loves this couch.”
I open my mouth to explain to the woman that I’m not sure we’re there yet because he has a wife, but Ian simply smiles at me, his eyes dark as he takes me in on the couch. “She does.”
* * *
It’s Friday when his camera guy is back in good form, and Ian drives us to the film set.
“Hey, Jake.” He greets a tall, blond guy who he introduces to me as one of his LA directors.
“My director flew in to start filming,” he explains as Jake sets up a new chair by the producer’s chair, which I realize belatedly is for me.
They’re all bending over backward for Ian, blatantly licking his balls and complimenting him, like he’s some sort of big shot.
I narrow my eyes as it starts dawning on me. “Tell me something, Ford. Who are all those execs staying at the Four Seasons?”
“My employees.”
“Aha.” I’m still digesting all of this.
He’s the boss. I look at the emblems of some blockbuster movies on the back of the director and producer’s chairs. “You produced those?” I point at the action-packed thrillers.
“My blockbusters help finance my documentaries.” He gives me an arrogant, proud, lopsided smile that for some reason makes my nipples bead.
Okay. So … you learn something new every day, right? Like the guy you’re crushing on is some hotshot movie/documentary/film mogul. What the… fudge?
“From the top,” Ian announces.
The cameraman moves from side to side as the camera rails swing him up and down and front to back.
As interviews and shots of garbage in its multiple forms appear, I see Ian hanging back, taping with his phone. I walk around the set and twirl and practice my moves for any future auditions. I’ve been doing this for a while before I realize he’s got his camera trained on me.
“Mr. Ford,” I warn him with a glare.
He doesn’t stop filming, just gives me one of his sardonic smiles from behind the phone.
I cover my face. Ian crooks a finger. I drop my hands at my sides with a sigh and walk forward and look at him in the camera eye, licking my lips seductively. He stops filming and lowers his phone, tsks, but smiles as he shakes his head. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
He reaches into a cooler in the back of a crew van and hands me lunch in a paper bag.
I groan. If I thought he’d take me out of here to eat somewhere, I was wrong. It’s going to be a long day.
* * *
It’s evening, and I’ve eaten three chicken sandwiches, and watched Ian in action, and practiced all my moves, and learned a lot about garbage. I curl up on the passenger seat of Ian’s Mercedes SUV as we head to his townhome.
He drives with one hand on the wheel, the window partly down, letting in the cool air. After finding a parking spot only two homes away from his brownstone, he helps me out, and I’m sleepy and tired, but I don’t want to go home just yet. I enjoy being with him too much, and I crave his touch like oxygen.
He walks me in, and I almost melt when I see a brand-new couch waiting in the living room. A Cloud.
I smile up at him in surprise, and when he winks, my smile fades as my heart begins to pulse madly with yearning, and I admit, “I had a good time today.”
“I enjoyed you being there.” We head to the couch, his gaze running over me. “I could hardly take my eyes off you.”
“’Cause I’m the only lunatic who starts dancing with no music.”
“I’m the lunatic who can’t get enough of it.” His smile changes to a frown as he rethinks his words. “No. Not a lunatic. I feel saner than I ever have in my life.”
We stare at each other.
“This feels right.”
I nod, our eyes holding. The moment is suddenly too intimate for me to stand. “You mean your couch. Feels right.”
He dips his head slightly, a smile ruffling his lips. We both know we don’t mean the couch.
His expression turns serious, his eyes burning with smoldering intensity as he rubs his thumb across my lower lip.
“I’ve been hungering for this.”
“We are! But I need the details, starting from… that day in Central Park and every instance afterward.”
I groan, but laugh and promise to catch her up. “Only if you give me the details of your and Christos’s makeup. One day you’re broken up and the next you’re getting married.”
“I know. I still can’t believe it!”
We spend the twenty minutes catching up on each other’s lives. I hear about the way Christos proposed and how excited, scared, and in disbelief Bryn still feels.
I tell her about Ian—how I’m addicted-obsessed-hooked on him really bad.
“Enjoy him, Sara. Why not? He’s into you; I could tell when I saw you two bump into each other that day in Central Park.”
I sigh. “I’m trying not to put my whole heart into it, you know? Let things move at their own pace.”
Bryn nods. “That’s a good idea. Once his divorce comes through, you’ll feel less concerned about whatever it is you have between you two. Just be careful,” she says. “And post me. I’m here for you.”
“Promise. I’ll see you soon and I’m here for you too,” I say before packing a bag and heading to the Upper East Side, where Ian and I promised to show off our dinner skills. I know I’ll be staying over. And while we innocently play house, I can’t wait to play with the man of the house himself.
FURNITURE AND FILMING
Sara
I have a fabulous week shopping for furniture with my Suit. We hit up Restoration Hardware, Room and Board, Safavieh Home. They have the most beautiful lighting fixtures I’ve ever seen. Their chandeliers are gorgeous. The couches are heaven. I lie on one couch so amazing I decide I don’t want to get up. “Yummy, I’ve got your perfect couch.”
He drops down beside me and stretches his arms out, shifting as he frowns and surveys the masterpiece.
“Don’t tell me it isn’t delicious,” I dare.
“What is this?”
“It’s the Cloud! It’s all feathers! Can’t you feel how soft the cushion filling is? And it’s a modular, so you can order as much as you want.” I curl up on the couch and feel as if I’m floating. “It’s my dream couch.”
“Dancer.” He rolls his eyes. “There’s not a thing we have seen that’s not your dream something.”
“Well, it’s a big house! I’m doing all this for free, you know. My taste is spot on.”
Ian’s phone rings, interrupting our flirtation.
He checks the screen. “I have to answer.”
I sigh, trying to act irritated though I’m not. He’s a busy man. He has work to do.
I watch him as he listens to whoever’s talking, his expression grim, his answers short. When he finally ends the call, I ask, “What happened?”
“Camera guy’s sick.”
“What are you filming?”
“A documentary. Want to come?” he asks after a moment.
“I’d love to.”
“I’ll take you. Once we get back on track.”
He turns to the Restoration Hardware designer who’s helping us select things for Ian’s home and asks what colors are in stock for same-week delivery.
“Your girlfriend really loves this couch.”
I open my mouth to explain to the woman that I’m not sure we’re there yet because he has a wife, but Ian simply smiles at me, his eyes dark as he takes me in on the couch. “She does.”
* * *
It’s Friday when his camera guy is back in good form, and Ian drives us to the film set.
“Hey, Jake.” He greets a tall, blond guy who he introduces to me as one of his LA directors.
“My director flew in to start filming,” he explains as Jake sets up a new chair by the producer’s chair, which I realize belatedly is for me.
They’re all bending over backward for Ian, blatantly licking his balls and complimenting him, like he’s some sort of big shot.
I narrow my eyes as it starts dawning on me. “Tell me something, Ford. Who are all those execs staying at the Four Seasons?”
“My employees.”
“Aha.” I’m still digesting all of this.
He’s the boss. I look at the emblems of some blockbuster movies on the back of the director and producer’s chairs. “You produced those?” I point at the action-packed thrillers.
“My blockbusters help finance my documentaries.” He gives me an arrogant, proud, lopsided smile that for some reason makes my nipples bead.
Okay. So … you learn something new every day, right? Like the guy you’re crushing on is some hotshot movie/documentary/film mogul. What the… fudge?
“From the top,” Ian announces.
The cameraman moves from side to side as the camera rails swing him up and down and front to back.
As interviews and shots of garbage in its multiple forms appear, I see Ian hanging back, taping with his phone. I walk around the set and twirl and practice my moves for any future auditions. I’ve been doing this for a while before I realize he’s got his camera trained on me.
“Mr. Ford,” I warn him with a glare.
He doesn’t stop filming, just gives me one of his sardonic smiles from behind the phone.
I cover my face. Ian crooks a finger. I drop my hands at my sides with a sigh and walk forward and look at him in the camera eye, licking my lips seductively. He stops filming and lowers his phone, tsks, but smiles as he shakes his head. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
He reaches into a cooler in the back of a crew van and hands me lunch in a paper bag.
I groan. If I thought he’d take me out of here to eat somewhere, I was wrong. It’s going to be a long day.
* * *
It’s evening, and I’ve eaten three chicken sandwiches, and watched Ian in action, and practiced all my moves, and learned a lot about garbage. I curl up on the passenger seat of Ian’s Mercedes SUV as we head to his townhome.
He drives with one hand on the wheel, the window partly down, letting in the cool air. After finding a parking spot only two homes away from his brownstone, he helps me out, and I’m sleepy and tired, but I don’t want to go home just yet. I enjoy being with him too much, and I crave his touch like oxygen.
He walks me in, and I almost melt when I see a brand-new couch waiting in the living room. A Cloud.
I smile up at him in surprise, and when he winks, my smile fades as my heart begins to pulse madly with yearning, and I admit, “I had a good time today.”
“I enjoyed you being there.” We head to the couch, his gaze running over me. “I could hardly take my eyes off you.”
“’Cause I’m the only lunatic who starts dancing with no music.”
“I’m the lunatic who can’t get enough of it.” His smile changes to a frown as he rethinks his words. “No. Not a lunatic. I feel saner than I ever have in my life.”
We stare at each other.
“This feels right.”
I nod, our eyes holding. The moment is suddenly too intimate for me to stand. “You mean your couch. Feels right.”
He dips his head slightly, a smile ruffling his lips. We both know we don’t mean the couch.
His expression turns serious, his eyes burning with smoldering intensity as he rubs his thumb across my lower lip.
“I’ve been hungering for this.”
