Mogul (Manhattan #2)(45)

“He’s already signed,” she explains. “But I can’t sign them.”

I clear my throat and look around for an exit out of the train station. “You can. I’ll be here with you on the phone.”

I head upstairs and I try to find a quiet spot to talk to her, aware of the silence on the other end. I drop down onto a bench, encouraging her. “I’m here, Mom. I will never leave you,” I promise.

A silent beat. And then, “I signed. It’s over.”

The words “it’s over” resound in me like a final bell. I burst out crying. She’s crying too.

“Don’t cry, Sara.”

“I’m crying for you. And for this total… disappointment I feel.”

“Listen to me, Sara,” my mom says, raising her voice. “Never, ever stop believing in love, despite this. Never stop believing in it.”

After I hang up the phone, I take a minute to try to collect myself before returning to the train station. By the time I board, I’ve cried oceans.

When I arrive in Nolita, I find Bryn isn’t home. I sit in our living room for a moment, staring at my hands.

“Fuck it.” I grab my purse and my MetroCard and head back out. To the Upper East Side.

I don’t know why I crave to see him when he might be exactly what brings me to the same position my mother is in. Heartbroken. But there’s something about this man that pulls me on a primitive level. To his strength, his confidence. I need it right now. Bad.

And I could use the distraction.

I wipe at my eyes and fix my face as much as possible on the train ride so I am ready when I knock on his door. When he doesn’t answer immediately, I knock over and over until I hear an exasperated yell, “Coming!”

He yanks open the door with a moody frown, but when he spots me, his eyes widen and his eyebrows rise. He’s wearing nothing but silk pajama pants and has what seems to be a script in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling me inside with his free hand and leading me to the couch.

“Everything. Nothing. I just wanted to see you.” I drop down on the couch, and when he sets the script aside, I curl into his chest and inhale him. He smells of a recent shower and spices, a scent I now associate with Ian Ford. “My mom just signed the divorce papers. It’s over.” Don’t cry again, Sara! You’re stronger than this.

“I’m sorry.” Ian strokes his hand along the back of my head, his tone low and sad.

“I don’t know why… I can’t wrap my head around…” I shake my head, wondering why it hurts so much when I knew it was coming. Did I think Dad would change his mind? That things would right themselves somehow?

I think of Ian and his own marriage disappointment, and wonder how hard it has been for him. I lift my eyes to his and feel them blur again. “Why would someone do this to the person they love? My dad loved my mother. And your wife? I would never want anyone else but you. I would never even look at another guy the way I know I look at you. You didn’t deserve what she did to you!” I’m emotional and I try to get a grip.

Ian takes me by the wrists and pulls me to my feet.

“What are you doing?”

His arms come around me, and he starts moving. “I’m dancing with you.”

He’s holding me to his hard chest, moving side to side.

Realizing what he’s doing, I press my cheek to his chest and move with him. It’s the most perfect thing anyone has ever done for me. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Only way I know to cheer you up.”

I laugh and let him twirl me out and pull me back to him, my spirits lifting as my body releases all the stress and burden it’s been carrying. How can he know me so well already?

“See, you know this about me.” I narrow my gaze and stare up at him. His hair is disheveled after his recent bath, and I slide my fingers into it. “And I don’t know this about you. How would I cheer you up?”

He seems surprised, as if I’m a dope not to know better. “You cheer me up all the time.”

“How?” I demand.

“Hell, I don’t know. You just do.” He shakes his head, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. His eyes shift and fill with a curious deep longing.

“I’ll film you!” I decide, having a light-bulb moment. “Or film myself doing something for you. To cheer you up.”

“Just stand here. It’s enough.” His voice roughens as he twirls me out, then back to nearly slam against his chest. “Or dance. Just like this.”

A chuckle runs up his chest and his arms envelop me again. We sway to and fro, slowly and without music, only to the rustle of our clothes, and it feels as if nothing can touch me but my Suit.





AUDITION DAY


Sara



I woke up nervous as hell because today is that audition I found out about the same day my mom got the papers. I’ve been gnawing my nails to stubs at work, and Bryn scolded me when I was shuffling around the office like a nervous wreck.

“Sara. My advice is, go easy on the coffee. And go walk. Get prepared. You won’t be able to nail it when you’re this nervous!”

“Fine,” I tell her saucily and tilt my chin up. “I’ll see if my dirty Suit wants to help me figure out a good, effective method of relaxation.”