23 Aug Sample Sunday – Professional Clothes
“What if I don’t have any stress?”
“Then I would say you’re probably ignoring or neglecting a large amount of the responsibilities that come along with being a productive adult,” I answered, honestly. From the way his expression shifted though, I got the clear impression he didn’t like my answer very much.
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Logan,” he told me, in a low, aggressive tone I’d never heard from him before. “I don’t know – or care, frankly – what Nubia told you, but this ain’t me – aiight? I’m not interested in this shit.”
Instead of feeding into his sudden swing in energy, I smiled, trying to remain upbeat. “You don’t have to be interested in my services for them to be valuable to you,” I explained. “Often, when I’m referred to people, they don’t really understand what it is I do – until they see it in action. Give me a week to work with you, to help you set the foundation for your series. If you still don’t see the benefit, we can discuss a dissolution of contract with Nubia. Fair?”
Usually, that little speech – the personalized variations of it – was enough to get a reticent client off the fence. And they always saw the value after the week.
Typically, it didn’t even take a full day.
Pierre though… seemed confusingly unmoved, just giving me a blank ass look until again, he leaned across the table.
“Listen to me, shorty… the only thing I want from you, is for you to let me strip you out of your little preppy professional clothes, and stroke all of this bullshit off either of our minds. If you can agree to that… we’re golden.”
I blinked several times, lips pressed together to keep myself from speaking until I was sure I could do so without cursing him out.
Well… certainty would take too long.
I had to settle for maybe not telling him to kiss my ass.
“I’ll meet you at the studio tomorrow,” I told him, gathering my bag, glad that this had all happened so quickly our server had never made it back to take our order. “Every showrunner at WAWG gets at least a temporary office space, so I’ll consult with Nubia about yours. Enjoy your lunch,” I told him, standing to walk away from the table, and ignoring the sound of my name coming off his lips as I blinked back sudden, frustrated tears.
My feelings weren’t hurt.
Not at all.
More than anything, I was baffled that he’d swung so drastically into… whatever the fuck that was.
It was inconsequential though.
The facts were that I’d signed a contract, and had every intention of fulfilling it. If he wanted to be an asshole – for no good reason – he wouldn’t be the first or the last, and he wouldn’t be a failure on my resume.
When it came to this career I was carving out?
I’d never lost.
And I wasn’t about to start with him.