Mogul
Page 9
God, it fucks me up every time I think about it. Knowing my mom is hurting hurts. But it’s not like she can hold my dad back. He doesn’t love her anymore.
Now my mom needs to learn how to be on her own again, and be comfortable like that.
Just like you need to go out there and look for what you want, rather than keep settling. Because the option of settling is no longer on the table, Sara. You’re jobless. So now—do you want to do what you love? Or do you want to go for average again?
“I have confidence in you,” Bryn says as she helps me scoop up a spoonful of ice cream.
Suddenly I’m tired of feeling sad. Today has been a wreck. I just want to focus on the good things, the fact that I have someone to share a good tub of vanilla ice cream with. Someone who has her own dreams. “Good, ’cause I have confidence in you, too. Boss.” I grin, feeling a little better as we attack the ice cream, eating little pieces of the Godiva chocolate along with it.
Ian
“And it’s a wrap.”
Cheers and claps erupt around the set as both the cast and the production team of my latest documentary call it a wrap. My thirty-third production. I should be proud. I suppose I am. But I always put a lid on the celebration because there is always more I can do. More that I want.
“Congratulations, job well done,” I tell Jake Myers, my director, as I slap his back and hop to my feet from my chair beside his.
I take a moment to congratulate our actors, narrators, and film crew. Just a moment to pause before jumping back on the hamster wheel and doing it all over again.
“Before you leave,” Jake calls after me, bringing over a bottle of champagne he promptly opens. My assistant, Pepper, quickly appears with over a dozen plastic wineglasses that she distributes to the group. Jake raises his glass, and we all do. “To Ian fucking Ford,” he says.
“He means, to all of you,” I counter, shaking my head with a smile.
We all drink to a job well done. I toss a gulp down, enjoying the flavor for a hot second, but before my champagne glass is empty, I set it aside and plunge the script back into my briefcase.
“We’re going to miss you, Ford,” Georgiana, our female narrator, says.
“Won’t be gone permanently,” I tell her with a wink.
“But you’re still moving back to New York?”
“Gotta get that next documentary done. Easier if I stay there until it’s wrapped.”
“Good and tight as a burrito,” Jake adds, closing in on us before Georgiana gives me a hug and thanks me.
“For letting me work for you. For all the opportunities you’ve brought my way,” she tells me.
I’m always touched whenever one of my team shows gratitude. To be honest, I’m more grateful to them—well, most of them—for putting up with my need for perfection and retaking shoots to the point of exhaustion.
“It’s a pleasure, considering each one of these things is well deserved,” I tell her.
Jake watches her as she leaves, respect shining in his eyes before he turns back to me. “About New York. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that lady who brought you back with a smile last time?” He sounds genuinely curious. Anticipatory, even.
“Maybe. We’ll see. She was one bold kitten.”
We start crossing the set toward the exit. Jake is one of my closest friends in Los Angeles. We’ve worked together on eleven of my blockbuster films and the full eighteen documentaries I’ve produced. You could say we’re like brothers, and considering I’ve never had one and barely remember having a family except for my grandmother, I value him like one.
“Sounded more like a cat,” he says.
“Cats betray you. Kittens can still learn to love you.”
“Cannot teach a kitten loyalty; it’s still a cat,” he warns.
I know he means he doesn’t want another Cordelia in my life, and though I appreciate the gesture, I can take care of myself just fine.
“Mr. Ford, I’ve printed out your flight information as well as your room reservation,” I hear Pepper say as she rushes up behind us.
“Four Seasons, our usual room?” I inquire as she hands over the papers.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.” I turn to leave. “Call me if you need me. I’ll probably have Wi-Fi on the flight as well.”
“Oh, and Mr. Ford,” she calls as I turn back to the door. She hesitates when Jake lingers by my side. Jake takes a hint and slaps my back and wishes me a safe flight before he gives us a moment alone. “Thanks for the wedding gift—it was very generous,” Pepper finally says.
I shake my head ruefully. “Glad you liked the home sound system. And I apologize I won’t make it to the wedding.”
She laughs and waves it off as if I’ve just said something completely crazy. “Oh, I never expected you to.”
“You didn’t?” I’m confused for a second.
“You’re generous with your money but quite a pinchpenny with your time, Mr. Ford. Oh! And I meant no offense.”
She flushes beet red, and I stare at her for a moment.
Jesus. Is this me? Am I known to be this… cold? I shake it off, granting her a smile. “I wish you all the happiness, Pepper. I’ll see you when you return.”
I mean my well wishes. I’m jaded, that’s true, and maybe even bitter over what happened with Cordelia, but I hope that the happiness can still be true for someone. Especially Pepper, who’s worked her butt off for me for years. I’ve never met anyone more loyal.
I head out of the studio to find my Mercedes sports car parked at the curb. The top is down, so I swing my briefcase into the passenger seat and then settle behind the wheel.
“Good day, Mr. Ford,” my personal valet says.
“Same to you, Pedro. Don’t miss me too much.”
“Will try not to, sir. And this beauty, either.” He roves his eyes lovingly across my car.
I laugh at that and hit the pedal. I head straight to my Bel-Air home, ready to get packed and catch an early flight to JFK tomorrow. As I drive, I remember Sara that day in the cab—and a part of me even fantasizes about finding her right where I saw her that first time. In the damn taxi line. I’m surprised how much I want her ass in my hand and her tongue on mine. How much I want this bold girl to come for me again.
I avoid complications at all costs. Even my assistant, Pepper, is older than me by a decade and a half. Not because I don’t trust myself with a woman, but because I was married and never wanted Cordelia and me to have unnecessary misunderstandings. Especially with me traveling so much.
Sara is a complication. The kind I prefer to avoid. Especially since my divorce is far from settled. And I’m far from open to emotional entanglements at the moment. Still, the idea of being in the same city has me restless. Wired.
I’ve worked myself to the bone these past months. Trying to forget that night we fucked each other senseless. It’s no use. The more I try to forget, the more the memories come back to haunt me.
I might as well dive in. See her again. Know her full name, her likes, what makes her tick—figure out why I’m so obsessed with her. That’s the only way to get her out of my mind.
For the first time in over a year, New York holds strong appeal. The memory of her has only made me crave to go back for more and more. She’s the first thing that’s made me feel alive in too damn long. Her pussy was great, but her brazenness and that saucy mouth are what keep me awake at night.
Now my mom needs to learn how to be on her own again, and be comfortable like that.
Just like you need to go out there and look for what you want, rather than keep settling. Because the option of settling is no longer on the table, Sara. You’re jobless. So now—do you want to do what you love? Or do you want to go for average again?
“I have confidence in you,” Bryn says as she helps me scoop up a spoonful of ice cream.
Suddenly I’m tired of feeling sad. Today has been a wreck. I just want to focus on the good things, the fact that I have someone to share a good tub of vanilla ice cream with. Someone who has her own dreams. “Good, ’cause I have confidence in you, too. Boss.” I grin, feeling a little better as we attack the ice cream, eating little pieces of the Godiva chocolate along with it.
Ian
“And it’s a wrap.”
Cheers and claps erupt around the set as both the cast and the production team of my latest documentary call it a wrap. My thirty-third production. I should be proud. I suppose I am. But I always put a lid on the celebration because there is always more I can do. More that I want.
“Congratulations, job well done,” I tell Jake Myers, my director, as I slap his back and hop to my feet from my chair beside his.
I take a moment to congratulate our actors, narrators, and film crew. Just a moment to pause before jumping back on the hamster wheel and doing it all over again.
“Before you leave,” Jake calls after me, bringing over a bottle of champagne he promptly opens. My assistant, Pepper, quickly appears with over a dozen plastic wineglasses that she distributes to the group. Jake raises his glass, and we all do. “To Ian fucking Ford,” he says.
“He means, to all of you,” I counter, shaking my head with a smile.
We all drink to a job well done. I toss a gulp down, enjoying the flavor for a hot second, but before my champagne glass is empty, I set it aside and plunge the script back into my briefcase.
“We’re going to miss you, Ford,” Georgiana, our female narrator, says.
“Won’t be gone permanently,” I tell her with a wink.
“But you’re still moving back to New York?”
“Gotta get that next documentary done. Easier if I stay there until it’s wrapped.”
“Good and tight as a burrito,” Jake adds, closing in on us before Georgiana gives me a hug and thanks me.
“For letting me work for you. For all the opportunities you’ve brought my way,” she tells me.
I’m always touched whenever one of my team shows gratitude. To be honest, I’m more grateful to them—well, most of them—for putting up with my need for perfection and retaking shoots to the point of exhaustion.
“It’s a pleasure, considering each one of these things is well deserved,” I tell her.
Jake watches her as she leaves, respect shining in his eyes before he turns back to me. “About New York. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that lady who brought you back with a smile last time?” He sounds genuinely curious. Anticipatory, even.
“Maybe. We’ll see. She was one bold kitten.”
We start crossing the set toward the exit. Jake is one of my closest friends in Los Angeles. We’ve worked together on eleven of my blockbuster films and the full eighteen documentaries I’ve produced. You could say we’re like brothers, and considering I’ve never had one and barely remember having a family except for my grandmother, I value him like one.
“Sounded more like a cat,” he says.
“Cats betray you. Kittens can still learn to love you.”
“Cannot teach a kitten loyalty; it’s still a cat,” he warns.
I know he means he doesn’t want another Cordelia in my life, and though I appreciate the gesture, I can take care of myself just fine.
“Mr. Ford, I’ve printed out your flight information as well as your room reservation,” I hear Pepper say as she rushes up behind us.
“Four Seasons, our usual room?” I inquire as she hands over the papers.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.” I turn to leave. “Call me if you need me. I’ll probably have Wi-Fi on the flight as well.”
“Oh, and Mr. Ford,” she calls as I turn back to the door. She hesitates when Jake lingers by my side. Jake takes a hint and slaps my back and wishes me a safe flight before he gives us a moment alone. “Thanks for the wedding gift—it was very generous,” Pepper finally says.
I shake my head ruefully. “Glad you liked the home sound system. And I apologize I won’t make it to the wedding.”
She laughs and waves it off as if I’ve just said something completely crazy. “Oh, I never expected you to.”
“You didn’t?” I’m confused for a second.
“You’re generous with your money but quite a pinchpenny with your time, Mr. Ford. Oh! And I meant no offense.”
She flushes beet red, and I stare at her for a moment.
Jesus. Is this me? Am I known to be this… cold? I shake it off, granting her a smile. “I wish you all the happiness, Pepper. I’ll see you when you return.”
I mean my well wishes. I’m jaded, that’s true, and maybe even bitter over what happened with Cordelia, but I hope that the happiness can still be true for someone. Especially Pepper, who’s worked her butt off for me for years. I’ve never met anyone more loyal.
I head out of the studio to find my Mercedes sports car parked at the curb. The top is down, so I swing my briefcase into the passenger seat and then settle behind the wheel.
“Good day, Mr. Ford,” my personal valet says.
“Same to you, Pedro. Don’t miss me too much.”
“Will try not to, sir. And this beauty, either.” He roves his eyes lovingly across my car.
I laugh at that and hit the pedal. I head straight to my Bel-Air home, ready to get packed and catch an early flight to JFK tomorrow. As I drive, I remember Sara that day in the cab—and a part of me even fantasizes about finding her right where I saw her that first time. In the damn taxi line. I’m surprised how much I want her ass in my hand and her tongue on mine. How much I want this bold girl to come for me again.
I avoid complications at all costs. Even my assistant, Pepper, is older than me by a decade and a half. Not because I don’t trust myself with a woman, but because I was married and never wanted Cordelia and me to have unnecessary misunderstandings. Especially with me traveling so much.
Sara is a complication. The kind I prefer to avoid. Especially since my divorce is far from settled. And I’m far from open to emotional entanglements at the moment. Still, the idea of being in the same city has me restless. Wired.
I’ve worked myself to the bone these past months. Trying to forget that night we fucked each other senseless. It’s no use. The more I try to forget, the more the memories come back to haunt me.
I might as well dive in. See her again. Know her full name, her likes, what makes her tick—figure out why I’m so obsessed with her. That’s the only way to get her out of my mind.
For the first time in over a year, New York holds strong appeal. The memory of her has only made me crave to go back for more and more. She’s the first thing that’s made me feel alive in too damn long. Her pussy was great, but her brazenness and that saucy mouth are what keep me awake at night.
