Read Online Matt & Brooklyn: A Standalone in the "Again for the First Time" Family Saga (AFTFT Book 2) by Raven St. Pierre - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Raven St. Pierre
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comfortable with, that they’re comfortable with, you’ll be bi-coastal for a while, but mostly you’ll be back home in Lindmore. You cool with that?”
I’d be busy, but I’d make it work. There was no way I was turning this opportunity down. Besides, being closer to home was an added bonus. My family was there. Brook was there. “When will you know? About working with Pete, that is.”
Cliff winked an eye. “All he was waiting on was for you to say yes.”
Un-freaking-believable. I didn’t know what to say to that. “Yes!” was what came to mind.
Cliff reached across his desk and shook my hand. “Then the job is yours. You’re officially production manager to Pete Nelson.”
*****
I drove home in a daze, my mind reeling from information overload—there was the news about working with Pete and the pressure of trying to find a suitable angle to work on a continuation of the documentary without exploiting Nick’s situation. Then, on top of that, before I made it out of Cliff’s office, he sprung it on me that I’d been invited to a private screening of a newly released film coming up early next week. He thought it’d be good PR and an opportunity to mingle with ‘people who are on the level’ . He’d said that before, that I should start rubbing elbows with some of the people trying to rub elbows with me . He hadn’t come out and said it, but I knew he mostly meant the female population.
During our conversation about the private screening, he slipped it in that there were a few ‘socialites’ who had their people contact him to inquire about my status, requesting that I escort them to the event. His suggestion was to pick the most recognizable face out of the bunch, the one most in the public eye, to get myself some more exposure.
‘Fame is contagious, kid,’ he’d said with a smile. ‘And apparently you’re some kind of freakin’ magnet for it.’ While I did want to be well-known, I didn’t want it to be because of who I was or wasn’t dating. I wanted it to be because people respect my work. Cliff meant well, though. I never explained to him why dating around hadn’t appealed to me as of late, but I had my reasons—a reason more commonly referred to by the name Brooklyn Rose James.
I intended to get home by five, but because of the meeting at his office—and don’t even get me started on this L.A. traffic—it was almost six. I pulled up to the house and couldn’t turn the engine off fast enough. My thoughts had been pulling me here all day, making it difficult to concentrate on much else. I took the porch steps by two and unlocked the front door as quickly as I could. Brook and I talked briefly after my interview, before I called Nick, but that was the most contact we had all day. When I left at the crack of dawn, she was still fast asleep behind the closed door of the guest room. Needless to say, I was anxious to get back to hang with her.
“Honey, I’m home,” I said with a smile, listening for a response, a laugh, something.
No answer.
I went to her bedroom door to find that she wasn’t inside. The bed had been made and she’d set a few of her things out on the dresser for easy access—a brush, a bottle of lotion, the scarf she wears on her hair at night. Nothing significant, but for some reason the sight of these items made me smile again. They were a sign of her being here, something to let me know I hadn’t dreamed it all up. This girl, the one who’s way more important to me than she lets herself believe, was here.
A light thud on the back porch caught my attention. The sound had come through her open bedroom window, so I walked in that direction. The sun was so bright, even at this hour, that the sand looked white beneath it, causing me to squint as my line of sight drifted toward the source of the noise. A thick book was swooped up by petite, light-brown fingers that yanked it out of view. The window sill wouldn’t let me see beyond it, but at least I’d
I’d be busy, but I’d make it work. There was no way I was turning this opportunity down. Besides, being closer to home was an added bonus. My family was there. Brook was there. “When will you know? About working with Pete, that is.”
Cliff winked an eye. “All he was waiting on was for you to say yes.”
Un-freaking-believable. I didn’t know what to say to that. “Yes!” was what came to mind.
Cliff reached across his desk and shook my hand. “Then the job is yours. You’re officially production manager to Pete Nelson.”
*****
I drove home in a daze, my mind reeling from information overload—there was the news about working with Pete and the pressure of trying to find a suitable angle to work on a continuation of the documentary without exploiting Nick’s situation. Then, on top of that, before I made it out of Cliff’s office, he sprung it on me that I’d been invited to a private screening of a newly released film coming up early next week. He thought it’d be good PR and an opportunity to mingle with ‘people who are on the level’ . He’d said that before, that I should start rubbing elbows with some of the people trying to rub elbows with me . He hadn’t come out and said it, but I knew he mostly meant the female population.
During our conversation about the private screening, he slipped it in that there were a few ‘socialites’ who had their people contact him to inquire about my status, requesting that I escort them to the event. His suggestion was to pick the most recognizable face out of the bunch, the one most in the public eye, to get myself some more exposure.
‘Fame is contagious, kid,’ he’d said with a smile. ‘And apparently you’re some kind of freakin’ magnet for it.’ While I did want to be well-known, I didn’t want it to be because of who I was or wasn’t dating. I wanted it to be because people respect my work. Cliff meant well, though. I never explained to him why dating around hadn’t appealed to me as of late, but I had my reasons—a reason more commonly referred to by the name Brooklyn Rose James.
I intended to get home by five, but because of the meeting at his office—and don’t even get me started on this L.A. traffic—it was almost six. I pulled up to the house and couldn’t turn the engine off fast enough. My thoughts had been pulling me here all day, making it difficult to concentrate on much else. I took the porch steps by two and unlocked the front door as quickly as I could. Brook and I talked briefly after my interview, before I called Nick, but that was the most contact we had all day. When I left at the crack of dawn, she was still fast asleep behind the closed door of the guest room. Needless to say, I was anxious to get back to hang with her.
“Honey, I’m home,” I said with a smile, listening for a response, a laugh, something.
No answer.
I went to her bedroom door to find that she wasn’t inside. The bed had been made and she’d set a few of her things out on the dresser for easy access—a brush, a bottle of lotion, the scarf she wears on her hair at night. Nothing significant, but for some reason the sight of these items made me smile again. They were a sign of her being here, something to let me know I hadn’t dreamed it all up. This girl, the one who’s way more important to me than she lets herself believe, was here.
A light thud on the back porch caught my attention. The sound had come through her open bedroom window, so I walked in that direction. The sun was so bright, even at this hour, that the sand looked white beneath it, causing me to squint as my line of sight drifted toward the source of the noise. A thick book was swooped up by petite, light-brown fingers that yanked it out of view. The window sill wouldn’t let me see beyond it, but at least I’d
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