Chapter 15
“Why are you cleaning like we’re expecting a visit from the pope?” Sam asks, curled up on the green couch, watching me as I’m balanced on a chair in the living room, a towel in my hand, trying to wipe down the blades of the ceiling fan. “Isn’t it just Luke Wilder coming over?”
I scowl at her from my perch. “Yes, and it’s a work meeting. I’m trying to be professional.”
“By making the place spotless?”
“Exactly.”
“Sure,” she says, drawing out the word, giving me a look that says I’m not buying any of that.
It’s true that it feels more professional of me to have the apartment clean when Luke comes over this morning.
But also, I’m guessing by the way Luke kept his desk back at Harrow his legs are more muscular than I realized. Suit pants leave a lot more to the imagination than the jeans he has on.
He sets his bag down on the coffee table, where Sam and I eat most of our meals, before taking a seat on one end of the couch.
I take a seat on the far end, away from him.
It sort of feels like one of those long dining tables that you see in Regency-era movies.
Usually Sam and I are sprawled out on this couch, not sitting on opposite ends.
Except that even with the space between us, it feels sort of intimate to be sitting in my living room with Luke Wilder.
“Okay,” he says, grabbing his bag from the table and pulling out his computer before settling in, tucking one leg under the other. “Should we get started?”
We should, because the sooner we get started, the sooner this will be over.
We just need to come up with one simple statement. Should be quick and easy.
It turns out it’s neither quick nor easy.
By the time the sun is setting, we’re still no closer to a statement for Bailey and River. Six hours of drafting, submitting, and waiting—and so far, every version has had at least one unhappy party.
The first one we sent was about Bailey and River’s commitment to the show and how they promise to give the best possible performance and ended with how dedicated they are to the audience.
Luke thought it was perfect, I thought it was too cold, but we submitted it anyway. Bailey approved, River approved, the studio said it “reads like a corporate merger.”
So, it was back to the drawing board. This time we tried to focus on their relationship, making it sound like they are—at the very least—friends. Bailey rejected it immediately, saying it was inauthentic.
The one that both Luke and I thought would work went something like “Kingdom of Flame and Moonlight has always been bigger than any one moment. Bailey and River are proud to bring season four to fans and are focused on honoring the story they’ve been trusted to tell.”
It was beautiful. I think I even teared up when Luke read it back to me. Though that could have been from exhaustion. Both Bailey and River approved. But then the studio said it was too vague and that “fans will pick it apart in twenty minutes.”
“This is feeling impossible,” I say, grabbing the carton of chicken fried rice and spooning some onto a plate. “We can’t be vague, but we also can’t not be vague. And we have to keep it authentic.”
After the last rejection from the studio, Luke declared that he was starving and also that he wanted to make sure I was well fed so my brain would work—which I found annoying, but he wasn’t wrong—so we had Chinese delivered.
We’ve now got a full spread on the coffee table.
My apartment smells like garlic and ginger.
“Not impossible,” Luke says, holding up a forkful of orange chicken. “We just need to figure out how to address the breakup without naming it.”
I side-eye him. “Which is kind of impossible.”
The couch has somehow shrunk throughout the day. We started out sitting on opposite sides, but as time wore on, the gap between us has become smaller and smaller. We’re now sitting side by side, sharing my laptop because it was easier than showing our screens back and forth.
But we don’t need to be eating shoulder to shoulder, like we are right now. And yet, I can’t bring myself to move. It feels like I’ve run a marathon, even though I’ve barely left this couch since Luke got here.
Luke sets his plate down in his lap, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “What if we stop trying to say something about them and say something about the show instead?”
“We tried that. It was too vague, remember?” I say before taking a bite of beef and broccoli.
“No, I mean really lean into it.” He taps his plate lightly with his fork. “The fans don’t care about Bailey and River right now. They care about Elora and Kaelric.”
I think about that. “So then we need to give them Elora and Kaelric.”
He nods. “Exactly. Make it about the characters, not the people.”
I set my plate back on the table and reach for my laptop. “Season four is the season fans have been waiting for.” I start typing and reading aloud. “And so have we.”
“Yes,” Luke says. “That’s good. Make it personal. But how can we address the relationship without actually addressing it?”
I bite my thumbnail while I think. “Maybe something like—‘Whatever else has happened between us.’”
“Yes,” he says, “but get rid of ‘between us.’”
I quickly change that. “Okay, ‘Whatever else has happened,’” I type and say at the same time.
Luke leans back, looking at the ceiling. “Something about how their characters deserve to have their stories told.”
“Oh, I like that,” I say. “Something like ‘Elora and Kaelric’s story has always deserved to be told.’”
“But add something like ‘with everything we have’ because that will satisfy the studio.”
“Right,” I say, adding that. “I think we need one more quick ending that gives it the final punch. Something like ‘That’s what we intend to do.’”
“That’s good,” Luke says, his lips pulling into a smile. “It’ll work for both Bailey and River, and the studio gets their unity message without anyone having to pretend they’re friends.”
I read it back to him. It’s not perfect, but it just might be the best version we’re going to get tonight.
“Send it,” he says, picking up his plate and filling it with more food.
“Done,” I say. “Now we wait.”
Thirty minutes later, with full bellies and no responses, Luke and I clean up the food, and then we end up back on the couch, side by side, our feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Why do they take so long to respond?” I refresh my email again when nothing comes up.
“To torture us?” Luke says, giving me a cheeky grin.
“I’m sure Victoria is doing this on purpose.”
I set my laptop aside, annoyed.
“Whatever happened to restaurant guy?” Luke asks after a few beats of silence.
“Which one?” I ask, and then immediately wish I hadn’t because now he knows I’ve been on more than one restaurant date recently.
I haven’t thought about the curse or even looked at any dating apps in days. I haven’t had time.
He grins. “Marlowe’s. The one you dragged me into a bathroom over.”
“You deserved that. You were spying on me.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Luke.”
“Fine.” He holds up a hand. “Guilty.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Couldn’t pull one over on the great Claire Archer.”
This makes me snort laugh. “Oh yes, I’m amazing.”
“You are, though,” he says, his voice taking on a softer tone.
Luke’s serious voice is rare, and it always catches me off guard.
“Shut up,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say.
“Why do you think I left Harrow & Finch?” he asks.
“You wanted to work for a douchey firm?”
He smiles before looking away, toward the television. “No. I do like working for douches. But that wasn’t why.”
“Why, then?” I ask, curious.
“Because I knew you’d get the promotion. That’s why I left.”
I go still for a second. Luke and I were considered equals at Harrow & Finch—or at least that’s what I thought. Simone has never been one to play favorites, so I never felt certain who would get the promotion. I wanted it. I worked hard for it. But knowing? I never had that kind of confidence.
“You’re full of crap,” I say.
He looks at me. “I’m serious. I knew without a doubt that senior account executive position was going to you. And so when Pulse offered me a job, I took it.”
I’m not sure how to take this. There’s no reason for him to make this up, but I can’t help but wonder if he is. This is Luke. Doing things to get under my skin is kind of his MO.
“Why is that so hard for you to believe?” he asks when I don’t respond.
“Because . . . it’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” he says. “You deserved it. I told you all this in the voicemail.”
“Not the voicemail again.” I roll my eyes. But then, because I’m still so curious, I ask: “Is this what you regretted saying? That I deserved it?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
I eye him, confused. “Then was it about Ella Abbott?”
He shifts on the couch next to me, folding his arms. “No. But that’s because that all happened after I left the message.”
“So what happened there? You called her up and told her about going to Pulse?”
I’ve always wanted to know how that went down. In my head, I had a whole story about Luke needing to bring someone with him to Pulse as proof that he can land big clients, and so he called Ella and charmed her into coming with him.
“She called me, actually,” he says. “I told her I was leaving and you would be her point of contact moving forward.”
He . . . what? I don’t understand.
“But then she told me she would go wherever I went.”
I look to the side, memories flashing through my mind of working with Ella Abbott—how she always wanted Luke to take her calls and would ask about him if he wasn’t around. When he was there, she’d ignore me completely.
So, wait . . . everything I thought was . . . wrong?
I’m not sure I believe it. I need some time to process. I feel like I should say something, explain what I was thinking, how it all looked from my point of view. But Luke isn’t stupid. He knows. He wouldn’t have bothered to explain if he didn’t.
He nudges me with his shoulder. “See if anyone’s responded yet.”