Mogul (Manhattan #2)(12)

“Give me that,” I say as she pries it away. I need it more than she does.

“Over my dead booty. It’s my golden ticket and I’m not giving it up, even to you. I’ll give you some of my chocolate, though.” She disappears for a second and returns to toss a Godiva chocolate bar in my lap. I groan. Chocolate is my weakness, dammit, and my roommate didn’t take long to figure it out.

“Do we have any ice cream?” I ask.

She brings an ice-cream tub from the freezer and two spoons. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Can I adopt you?” I straighten up in my seat and watch her settle down by me.

“Come on. I’m only two years older than you,” she says as she pries the ice cream open, winking.

“I know what else I’m missing. Confidence. I seem to have lost it somewhere,” I admit to her as I stare at the silent TV across our living room.

I think of Bryn and her start-up dream, still so far out of reach.

I think of myself and my own dreams, the dreams that, no matter how amazing, are still getting in the way of me making a solid foundation with what I currently have to work with.

And I think of my mom and her dreams, and the heartbreak she’s enduring at the hands of my dad. Her biggest dream, that of a loving husband and family, shattered.

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.