Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
S ybil
Cooper hurriedly opens the door to his penthouse apartment, which got approved for filming as soon as Cooper shared how much money this would bring to the building.
“I need your help in here,” he begs, ushering me inside. “I’m about two seconds away from losing it on this woman.”
I take in the movers carrying furniture and the petite middle-aged blonde woman with a Karen-haircut bossing them around. She reminds me of an orchestra director with the way her hands fly as she speaks.
“Did they get all your stuff out first?” I whisper to Cooper.
“Thankfully, yes. Half of it’s in storage and the other half one floor down in my temporary apartment. It’s a mess and needs to get organized, so there’s space for crew, but I’ll deal with that later.”
One of the movers turns in what is apparently the wrong direction, considering the woman shrieks. “That piece is for the upstairs bedroom. You know there are two floors in this penthouse, right? Or do I need to give you a tour again?”
The burly man sets the nightstand on the hardwood with such a loud thud that I wince on impact. He makes eye contact with Cooper and stomps over to us. “I can’t work with this woman. Either you get rid of her, or my crew is out of here.”
“What did you say to them?” The woman strides over, hands in the air like she’s a referee calling a play. “I’m the set-designer, and you’re the mover. I’m your boss. You talk to me, not them.”
The burly guy bugs his eyes out.
Cooper turns on the woman. “You know we’re the producers on this show, right? So, he may work for you, but you work for us.”
She tuts. “I work for Perry. Where is he? He should be here. I’m sure you’re wonderful, but you don’t have the experience Perry does.”
“Perry had a conflict,” Cooper growls. “As I’ve already told you, this is my home you’re standing in.”
“Right now, this is my set.”
“It’s only a set because I’m generously allowing it to be a set. And as my home, I say who gets to be here. You’re no longer welcome, so leave.”
I blink, shocked at how quickly this escalated.
She steps back, her manicured hand flying to her mouth. “Do you know who I am?”
“Do I care who you are?” Cooper snorts. “The fuck not.”
She shakes her head, holding up a single finger. “I have more experience on set in this finger than you do in your entire body.”
Okay, this has gone on long enough. “I think what Cooper was trying to say is you need to work with the movers instead of being cruel. We’re all professionals, and if we’re willing to act like it, then?—”
She holds her hand to my face, her manicured finger practically on my lips, and I jerk away from pure shock.
“Hush. Nobody was talking to you,” she says, and I blink at her.
Coop’s shoulders stiffen, and he steps in front of me, knocking her hand from my face with his body.
“Clearly you don’t know who the fuck I am.
” His voice is so low it’s almost criminal.
“I’m Cooper King, the next COO of King Media, and this is my house you’re disrespecting me and Sybil Laurence in, as in Laurence International and the other company funding this project. ”
As he speaks, her eyes go round, and her face turns red. Today is not her day. I’d feel bad if she hadn’t just shushed me like I’m a toddler.
Cooper continues, pointing to the door. “I don’t care how many years you’ve been in this business. You’re unprofessional and rude… and you’re fired.”
Her mouth pops open. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”
“Get. Out.”
She practically sprints from the apartment, muttering angry nonsense under her breath as she goes.
Cooper’s shoulders relax as he turns to me. “You okay, Valentine?”
I don’t have it in me to correct him. “I’m fine, but now we don’t have a set-dresser, and we’re running out of time to hire a new one.”
“We don’t need a new set-dresser. You can do it.”
I scoff. “I don’t know anything about set design.”
He studies me with furrowed brows, and for just a moment, I feel like he’s letting me back in, like we’re mending something between us I thought would be broken forever.
“How hard can it be? This isn’t a sci-fi film—this is a reality television show.
Make it look nice, and Perry can tell us if something needs to change. ”
I fold my arms over my chest, noticing the way his gaze intensely tracks my movements. It sends a wave of heat through my body, but I don’t let myself think about that for too long. “I’m pretty sure you have offended an entire profession.”
“You’re good with design. Help these guys place all the rugs and furniture where you think they should go.
Plus, there’s Google.” He gives me a wink, and I get a glimpse of the old Cooper, the one who had a knack for bringing levity to a tense situation.
My heart twists with longing for our old friendship.
“Yeah, I guess there’s always Google.” I elbow him playfully, and he smiles.
“Are we good?” the large burly man interrupts, raising a brow. His hands rest on his hips, and the back brace fastened around his stomach tells me he means business.
“Can your crew take ten?” I ask. “I need to walk through the space and look at what I’m working with.”
He nods. “Sure thing, boss. I’m just relieved the other lady is gone.”
The crew waits in Cooper’s kitchen, raiding the last contents of his fridge and pantry that haven’t been cleared at Cooper’s insistence.
I stride from room to room and up the stairs, taking frantic notes as I go.
There are two bedrooms upstairs with a shared bath, and then downstairs there’s the primary bedroom with its own bath, the guest room with its own bath, and the office.
The tricky part is the office-bedroom doesn’t have a bathroom.
There’s a half-bath in the nearby hallway, but whoever gets that room will have to use the shower upstairs or share with someone else on the main floor.
It’s not ideal, but it works, and it fulfills our contractual obligations.
I turn to Cooper. “What rooms are going to whom? That’s going to help me design this thing.”
“Your hockey player gets the shitty office-bedroom, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“He’s not my hockey player.”
“Not anymore.” His eyes smolder, and I’m suddenly aware we’re alone. I clear my throat and walk away, heading to the main living room where all the rugs and furniture are waiting to be placed.
I can do this.
An hour later, we’ve successfully placed all the furniture and rugs in what I hope are the correct spots.
There are odds and ends to sort through in the boxes, things like wall art and lamps, dishes and toiletries, but the movers don’t need to be here for that.
The sunset is fading into frothy swaths of pink over the Manhattan skyline, and it’s obvious they’re ready to head out.
“Thanks for everything, guys,” I gush to the four of them as they wipe sweat from their foreheads.
“Of course. Thanks for not treating us like shit.”
Cooper gives them generous cash tips, and then it’s the two of us in this quiet space.
It’s large in here, modern and beautiful, but I turn to the boxes of stuff and cringe. What a long day this is turning into.
“Where is Perry?” I ask Cooper. “I thought he was coming today.”
“I didn’t want to freak you out, but he’s actually at the hospital. One of his sisters is having an issue. I don’t really know what. He didn’t say.”
My heart drops. “Did he say which sister?” I don’t know them super well. They’re a lot younger than us. Last summer when they came to our home for dinner, they were in high school, glued to their phones or each other.
Cooper shrugs. “He didn’t.”
We fall silent, the space between us a wide chasm made even wider by reminders of hospitals. When his mom died, we lost so much. Then he lost his leg… Well, there’s no returning from that. Sometimes I wonder if he blames me. I was there. It was my dad’s fault. He probably hates to even look at me.
“How about we take a break?” He strides to the living room with its new leather couches and sits. “I’m going to turn on the TV, but you pick whatever you want, and I’ll order us some food.”
My stomach growls at the mention of food. I’ve been so busy today I haven’t eaten since lunch. I peer over at the clock. It’s 8:00 pm. I need to eat.
“Yes, to the food, but we don’t have time for a break. Perry needs the set dressed by the end of the night.”
“We both need a break.” He points to his right pant leg. “At least I do. I’ve been standing for too long.”
My cheeks burn, guilt instantly rising. “Shit, sorry.”
He lets out a groan. “Don’t feel sorry for me. That’s not why I said something. I just think we should take a break, okay? Rest for thirty minutes to an hour, and then we can tackle these boxes.”
He doesn’t look at me when he sets the remote on the coach next to him and pulls out his phone, opening a delivery app.
I awkwardly sit next to him, grabbing the remote, careful to keep plenty of space between us. “I’ll find us something to watch if you promise not to veto all of my choices.”
He gives me a sidelong look. “Are you hangry? You seem hangry.”
Immediately, I’m annoyed, and then realize my emotions have proved his point, so I laugh. “Guess I am.”
“What sounds good?” He taps away on his phone. “Is Mexican still your favorite? I know you like Indian, and there’s a good one nearby.”
“Either sound amazing.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “We need tacos.”
He’s right. An hour later, I’m totally re-energized thanks to crispy chips, homemade salsa, and the best greasy tacos I’ve had in a long time. I barely even paid attention to the comedy I turned on since I was too enamored by the food. God bless this city.
We clean up, and I start going through the boxes, immediately growing overwhelmed. It’s going to be a long night.
“I can help, you know.” Cooper stands over me. “Kneeling might be a little tricky, but I can take things where you tell me to.”
I peer up at him. “Of course, Cooper.” I don’t know what to say to make him feel better. This is all so fresh. It hasn’t even been a year since everything happened.
“Three weeks until the one-year anniversary of the boating accident,” he says. “How do you feel about that?”
The grief comes at me like a rolling wave, and I turn away, busying myself with the box. “I feel… I don’t know. Sad. Angry. Numb. Part of me has come to peace with it and part of me never will.”
“Same,” he mutters. I hand him a stack of towels and tell him to take them to the upstairs bathroom.
Maybe this is a truce. Maybe we’re becoming friends again. I don’t know, and I’m too scared to ask. I’m afraid the answer isn’t going to be something I can numb out like I do all my other feelings.