For Her (The Girl I Loved Duet 1)
In a way, it reminds me of a circus or a carnival in that it’s so immersive. Everything has been thought of and calculated for the perfect user experience.
And then on my other side is an absolutely gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean. The sun is setting and the ocean is a fiery red. I can see the beach grass moving and I imagine that perfect breeze from outside. I have an urge to kick off my shoes and go play in the sand. I wonder if I could convince Peter.
He’s back after a few minutes. “Everything all right?”
“Sort of. That was Michael. He’s had some sort of emergency with one of his other clients and can’t make it. He sounds pissed. I feel bad for whoever gets in his way. But he told me to pitch you his idea so that you can at least start to think about it.”
“Sure.”
He nods, and suddenly he’s quiet as the waiter appears with the wine. I get why he’s quiet. Swann’s Lake might have a no photo restriction, but even though they hire discreet staff, you never know who talks to whom in this town. If this is something that’s not set in stone, better to just keep it between the two of us.
Once the waiter disappears, he takes a sip of the wine before he continues. “Michael thinks that it would be in both of our interests to create an informal partnership.”
“Partnership?”
“He thinks that if Undercover gets green lit for season two before the premiere of the pilot, that we’ll both be in a really good position. Possibly an even better position if we move together.”
“I’m not thinking about my next project yet,” I say honestly. “I’m still waiting to see if this one works.”
“As you should,” he says, “but Michael pitched it to me like DiCaprio and Scorsese. If we do good work together and people like it, it’s possible that being a pair would open more doors together than we would apart.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I say it’s an informal partnership—though Michael may not want it to be—because I know that not every project you take on would be right for me, and I wouldn’t want to restrict you only to projects that I could participate in. But I think that pairing up for those projects I’m right for could be really powerful.”
The way he puts it, it makes a lot of sense. “I like that it would be informal. I wouldn’t want to restrict us to projects we could only do together—that would be really stifling. But I think some of the stuff we’ve done on Undercover has been really good, and so I think that could be a really great idea, for certain projects.”
“Michael will be really pleased to hear that.”
And then we’re quiet. Because we covered in about five minutes what we were supposed to cover in an entire meal. I don’t really want to leave because now that I’m with Peter and I’ve been thinking about him for days, there’s some stuff that we need to talk about. But I don’t think that the middle of Swann’s Lake is the place to do it.
Peter seems to sense my discomfort. “You want to get out of here?”
“Yes, please.”
He doesn’t hesitate in flagging down the waiter, and as soon as he has a nod, he’s up and out of his chair and we’re heading for the door. I’m sure the food would have been amazing, and I do want to come back here, but I was prepared to have a business dinner, and not a heart-to-heart about the past. For that I need the wind in my hair and a good view. Or at least I hope that’s what I’ll get, if Peter agrees.
He helps me down the steps, noticing that I’m not exactly steady. “Ankle?”
“The shoes were a mistake,” I admit, “but it’s getting better.” He must have told the waiter to ring the valet because Peter’s car is there only moments after we descend the stairs. “In fact, I think it’s better enough that I want it to be my turn to drive you somewhere.”
“Oh? Is this the part where you take me to a deserted location and dump my body?”
I laugh. “Don’t be silly. I need you on the set. And if I ever were to kill you, there would be no body. I’m smarter than that.”
Peter nods. “I would expect nothing less.” He moves to give me the keys. “One condition.”
“What?”
“Give me the shoes.”
I make a face. “Did you develop a foot fetish in the last ten years?”
“No, I just don’t want you reinjuring your foot by trying to drive my car in four-inch heels.”
“Right.” I fight the blush that rushes to my cheeks, and I use his shoulder to balance as I slip the shoes off and hand them to him. My foot feels better immediately, damn him.