Say the Word(54)
I felt my breath catch in my throat, but his eyes were fleeting, moving away to scan the rest of the crowd.
“Use the old shoots for inspiration.” He gestured toward the room perimeter, where a series of easels displayed a multitude of shots from Luster history. “We’ll get this done as quickly as we can, shooting two or three sets each week, if possible. Angela, my production manager, has split you into teams for this week — see her for your assignments. Use today and tomorrow to develop ideas. Wednesday, we’ll meet as a large group to finalize the plans for the first few shoots. Thursday and Friday we’ll do sets and trial runs. Next week we’ll begin shooting for real,” he explained, his tone brisk and to-the-point.
“Any questions?”
The pervasive silence in the room gave him his answer.
“This is a unique project. Try to have fun with it, guys,” he said, nearly — but not quite — smiling with tight-pressed lips. “Thanks.”
At his dismissal, everyone except the two Jennys and me hurried over to a beautiful petite Asian woman in her mid-forties — Angela, I presumed — who was handing out color-coded badges and assignments. I was about to follow suit when Sebastian spoke again.
“Jenny S. — you’ll be working with Philippe on the 20’s set design concept. Jenny P. — you’ll be with Sam over in costumes. Ms. Kincaid — you’ll be with me.”
With that, he stormed away toward the large conference room table on the opposite side of the room. People scurried out of his way and trailed in his wake — he was the epicenter of activity and attention for every worker in the room. I stood in a daze, my eyes trained on his back, until I realized that everyone else had scattered as soon as he’d doled out their duties and I was now alone in the middle of the room. Hoping no one had seen my momentary Sebastian-stupor, I hurried after him.
I came to an abrupt halt when I reached him on the far side of the room by the windows. He stood with his hands planted against the conference room table, looking over a wide array of photographs from previous Luster shoots. It felt foolish to interrupt him by announcing my presence, so I simply hovered by his elbow unsurely, staring out the glass panes at the skyline below. I wasn’t even sure he knew I was there, until he spoke.
“It’s funny,” he muttered in a serious tone that undermined his words. “I thought I knew exactly what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, after all these years.”
He pushed up from the table, turning to face me. His hazel gaze immediately captured my own, and in a fraction of a second the air between us became tense, growing thick with seven years of unspoken words and unkept promises. I fought the urge to move a step back from him, wary of whatever he was about to say.
“But now, with you standing here in front of me, all my words seem to have fled.” He laughed, but it was mirthless, bitter. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He might’ve been looking at me, but I’d swear he was talking to himself. When his words trailed off, we simply stared at each other until the silence became unbearable. I had to say something — anything — to smooth things over between us, even if it was only on a superficial level. Otherwise, we were both in for several weeks of torture while the Decades project came together.
“Maybe we can just start fresh?” I asked naively, holding out my hand for him to shake. “Clean slate?”
It was the wrong thing to say.
He flinched back from me, staring at my hand where it hung in the space between us with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. I’d been wrong — very, very wrong — to assume things with us could ever be wiped away with a few pleasantries and some misguided wishful thinking.
“Why don’t you go get that latte for Cara after all,” he bit out in a cold tone. “After that, report to Angela. I’m sure she’ll find some use for you.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me staring after him in near tears. I’d been dismissed. Snatching my hand back from where it was still suspended in midair, I headed for the elevators. In the future, I’d have to tread more carefully. With Sebastian, each conversation would be like walking through a field of live land mines without a guide — make one wrong move, and things would explode.
Cara grinned and waggled her fingers at me as I passed by the costume fitting area, no doubt having witnessed my arctic encounter with Sebastian. If I were a lesser woman, I’d have contemplated spitting in her latte. As it was, I’d just order one with whole milk instead of nonfat — that would be enough to set her off in a caloric panic of epic proportions.
I smiled as I headed for the Starbucks in the lobby.
***
The victory from my latte-trickery was short lived and, unfortunately, the day spiraled even further downward from then on. Not only did Cara insist that I bring her another latte with the correct milk, she told two of her model friends that I’d be their designated coffee and errand girl for the entirety of the Decades project. The three of them expressed unmasked delight in rejecting the lattes and macchiatos I’d procured each time I returned with a new cardboard tray of drinks, sending me back down to the lobby four separate times before noon.
I became fast friends with Greg, the barista; every time I reappeared in the lobby he’d grin sympathetically and tell me a coffee-themed joke to lighten my spirits. Who knew caffeine humor could be so sexual?