12. Stan
Chapter twelve
Stan
In hindsight, upsetting the only colleague in your office space isn’t a good idea. Especially when they sit directly across you. Every sigh she lets out —and there are a lot of them today—draws my gaze. But she never looks back, her focus entirely on the laptop before her. I know when she steals a glance, but she’s yet to.
It’s not even natural. I know she’s refusing to look at me, and the only things she said to me were work-related. She hasn’t mocked me once, which makes the entire thing a tad bit uncomfortable.
Should I apologize? Nah. She'd never let me live it down. So, I guess that’s why we’ve started emailing even though we’re both stuck here, facing each other.
Good morning, Mr. Holt ,
I’m creating a budget for Lesley’s renovation. How much do you have slated? Please advise.
All my best, Samantha Knight
Business Manager and Assistant to Stan Holt .
Stan Productions
I don’t fail to notice how she’s highlighted our names, hinting at my request for professionalism. Oh, well.
Hi Samantha,
Whatever it takes.
Stan Holt
CEO and Founder at Stan Productions .
I hit send, and she responds with another email. It seems like this email game is how we are communicating right now.
For the sake of financial records, Mr. Holt, I need numbers if I’m going to make you a budget. And you need to add a closing greeting to your email signature. Otherwise, people will know you’re a total dick.
Professionally speaking, I mean. Personally, you already are both of those.
All my best,
Samantha Knight
Personal Assistant to Lord Jerkface at Stan Holt MOVIE BOY Productions
It’s difficult to stifle my laughter, but I do my best as I type up a response.
Hi Samantha,
I don’t especially care if random people think I’m a dick. Numbers are attached here. Have a happy day!
His Royal Dickness CEO and Founder at Stan’s Not a Jerk Productions
I hear a light chuckle when that one lands in her inbox.
Then we work in silence. She hums now and then, and I chew on my pen as I try to schedule sound engineers and videographers around a constantly moving timeline. I file an inquiry from a production rental company I’ve worked with before. I scroll through more and more inquiries from interested actors as news of the project spreads.
Even some directors are messaging.
I can’t help but think about the times I needed these people, but they looked at me as a high-risk, low-reward investment. But after a couple of successful short films, now everyone suddenly wants to work with the Holt boy.
My pulse ratchets up when I see another email come in from Sam.
Dear Captain Jerkface,
Attached is a spreadsheet with my anticipated budget for the office and recording studio renovation. One tab is budgeted, the next is projected. I will work with the contractor and subcontractors to complete the latter. Please advise on the feasibility and feel free to point out any issues you might find since I know how much you love to create problems where none exist.
All my best,
Fed Up Personal Assistant at Movie Boy Productions
P.S. I’m hungry and leaving for lunch. You have a free hour to harvest souls or whatever while I’m away.
She’s up and walking out the door when I fire off another email.
Dear Fed Up Personal Assistant,
Thank you for this. Lucky for you, I can multitask eating souls for lunch at my desk while I work.
Have a happy day!
Tom Riddle, CEO and Founder, Stan Holt Productions.
I know she has her email hooked up to her phone, so I’m not surprised when I hear her laugh from outside the door. Then she shouts, “‘It’s the have a happy day’ that gets me!”
I shake my head, because it’s hearing her laugh that gets me. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t care if random people think I’m a dick. But Samantha Knight isn’t a random person. I make a mental note to never make her upset.
I’ve made good progress. The pictures of the office have been taken and sent to the contractor. I’ve set up an appointment for interested actors, the production rental company is set for a meeting, and Selena’s script is wonderful, as usual. I’m writing mine, and like an experienced seamstress, I’m interweaving ideas into each other, building a perfect story.
It’s easy, thanks to the quiet. I’m seated on a lawn chair, overlooking the expanse of my property, taking in the sights of nature, cleansing my mind and lungs as I work. The quiet out here, it’s… profound. I didn’t realize how badly I needed it until I got here.
The piercing sound of the office line ringing from inside makes me wince as it slices through my moment of peace. Then it stops. Then, “Hello, Movie Boy—I mean, Stan Holt’s production office.”
My molars clamp down. I love this woman, but come on. Must she keep torturing me if she’s still upset?
“Oh my God, the real Holt? Benjamin Holt?” Samantha lets out a fake squeal.
I freeze at the mention of my father’s name. The first thought that comes to mind is that he’s found out about Ruth. What should I do? I thought I had enough time until I could tell him.
“Mr. Holt! It’s been too long. How are you?”
My legs carry me over the craggy grass surrounding the building, and I march up the front steps, skipping one here and there to get inside faster. When I fling the door open, I’m met with Sam’s wide gray eyes and her hip cocked against the desk. It’s brisk out today, feeling less like spring and more like winter, which is probably why she waves a hand at me to shut the door.
I shut the door behind me and inch closer to the desk, but she raises a hand for me to stop moving.
“Oh, Movie Boy?” Samantha says. “He’s good. Working hard on this place, and his scowl.” A moment of silence passes as her eyes wander over my features. “Still needs to do something about his face. I don’t know why he didn’t inherit your good looks, or his mom's.”
My father’s roaring laughter could be heard over the phone. I don’t know how to feel about the fact he’s laughing about my face.
“I’m sure he’s not ignoring you,” Samantha continues. “Just—well, no, I’m here because he hired me.”
Her lips press together, and I rake a hand through my hair. My dad means well, but he’s fucking bossy sometimes. We’ve butted heads many times.
“I hear what you’re saying, sir. But Stan’s a big boy now, even though he sometimes acts like a little one, and if he requires your input, I’m sure he’ll ask. He’s a smart, responsible man, so we gotta trust him to make wise decisions. He’s not dumb, even though he’s not all there facially, ya know? ”
I feel like my jaw is about to unhinge. Samantha stares down at the desk, twirling her finger like she didn’t just compliment me, jump to my defense, and make fun of me all in one breath.
“Are you and Grace going to be out here this summer?” she asks. “Sure would be nice to see you guys. Been too long. Hope you haven’t gotten too old to make me your next movie star?”
I hear my dad laugh through the phone. Not a single fucking boundary in Sam’s mind. In her head, he’s not a world-famous film producer and director with multiple awards. He’s the dad from down the road when we’d visit during summer.
She nods and hums along with whatever he’s saying. “Sounds good. I’ll let him know. Bye, Movie Daddy.” She places the phone back on the receiver and looks me straight in the eye. “You owe me one.”
I swallow roughly and nod. “Why’d you do that?”
She seems tired, her shoulders sagging and her chin dipping. “Sometimes we need a minute to get our bearings before we have the big conversations, yeah?”
We? I’m not sure what to make of that. I’m not sure if we’re talking about her, Ruth, or me. Or us?
I brush that thought away. There is no us. Except in a work capacity.
“Plus, I’m allowed to rag on you, but I don’t like it when other people do it.”
That sentiment should satisfy me. After all, she and I are nothing more than coworkers and reluctant friends. Or at least that’s all we should be.
***
“Sam’s babysitting?” Lucas asks as we get into his truck. “And she’s calling me all of a sudden to go play pool.”
“Your dumb cousin signed me up to play a contractor in a game of billiards to see if I’m worthy enough to get my office spruced up,” I explain. “And yes, she’s babysitting.”
“The signing you up to play a total stranger sounds like her,” he says. “Babysitting? Not sure that’s up her alley. She’s never babysat a kid. Not even Alex.”
I shrug. “She can handle it. ”
“Well, I’ll take your word for it,” he says with a shrug. “She tell you who we’re playing?”
“Lesley Philips,” I say. “Know him?”
“Oh no,” he groans, slapping a hand over his face.
“What?”
“Know the rumors of that one guy who challenges people to billiards and never loses?”
“Yeah?” I say, then it hits me. “Oh no.”
Lucas laughs so hard, he almost starts to cry. “God, this is rich. Thanks a lot, Samantha.”
“What’s so funny?” I demand. “I apparently can’t get my office renovated if I lose to this guy.”
“No, I just thought about when we were younger. When Sam would get into trouble, and we had to go fight for her.”
Fight. I can’t remember the number of boys I’ve beaten up on her behalf.
I never liked to fight. That was always Lucas’s field. I preferred being the cool, suave, funny character while he was the jock and barbarian. But in Sam’s case? Whenever she started crying because some stupid boy had teased her too hard, I could understand why Lucas was such an absolute unit all the time.
I wasn’t motivated at first to play pool with the guy, but now, for her sake? After she talked such a big deal about me to him? I need to win.
“Looks like the fire in your eyes is back.” Lucas grins as he starts the car and revs the engine. “Oh yeah, and welcome to the dad club.”
Oh, right. I’m a father now.
Huh. At least now the thought doesn’t fill me with dread.