I think I can.
I think I can.
When I slowly lower the menu, I’m glad no one seems to have noticed my lust-lapse. Just as I think I’ve safely disguised my fascination with Canon, I feel the weight of his stare on me, and when I look up, there is an undeniable knowledge in those dark eyes. A recognition. An awareness. That same pull I felt sitting with him on the bed in Alabama, riffling through Dessi’s memories, resurfaces between us, doubling my heartbeat. I cannot look away, and we may as well be on this roof alone, the darkening sky an awning covering just us two.
“Neevah, what looks good?” Monk asks, snapping my focus back to the table and the other people seated here.
“Um, let me see,” I say, actually reading the menu this time. “Maybe something with shrimp.”
His question dispels the mist fogging my brain and I force myself to concentrate. Everyone discusses their orders, and the easy camaraderie provides cover while I pull my proverbial shit together and suppress the carnal urges the sight of this man in a suit stirs.
I’m a professional.
I chant it in my head a hundred times during the course of the delicious meal. It’s a night I’ll treasure. These are remarkable people, powerful people in the entertainment industry, but so comfortable with one another in a way that comes with time. It’s hard to believe I’ll be telling Dessi’s incredible story with them.
“It was so nice to meet you, Neevah,” Ari says once the plates are being cleared. “These two were so picky about casting Dessi, so I knew you had to be special when I heard they’d found you.”
“Canon,” Evan coughs into his hand, and then grins across the table at his partner.
“It was great meeting you, too,” I tell Arietta. “Your rooftop is amazing. I hope I can come back when I get out here.”
“For sure!” Arietta’s eyes light up. “We’ll hang once you get settled. When do you start shooting?”
“Fall,” Canon says, a frown knitting his brows. “September or October. If it works out with Trey, we need to confirm his schedule.”
That’s still a few months away, and I’m in limbo, suspended between the simple grind I’m living now in New York as an understudy, singing in small clubs, and the great demands of starring in one of the most epic biopics to come along in years.
“I’ll walk out with you, Ari,” Evan says, standing. “I need to ask you something.”
He reaches down to hug me and I squeeze back.
“It was great meeting you, Neevah,” he says. “And I can’t wait to get started. You’ll be a fantastic Dessi.”
He’s movie-star handsome, and from what I can tell, the definition of rich and privileged, but he also seems grounded by his relationships, the friendships represented at this table. He and Canon definitely have a lot in common, but also seem to provide counter perspectives. I can see how their personalities would blend well in a partnership.
“We’ll talk tomorrow about Trey,” Canon says, knocking back the last of his drink.
Evan nods, says his final goodbyes, and leaves with Arietta.
“And I actually have a recording session starting in an hour,” Monk says. “So Imma pull, too.”
I glance at the time on my phone. Nearly ten o’clock. The night is just beginning for studio rats. Recording is such a nocturnal scene.
“Great seeing you again, Neevah,” Monk says. I stand to hug him and give him an extra squeeze.
“Thank you again for everything,” I tell him, feeling unreasonably emotional as I realize none of this would have been possible had we not met, had he not seen my potential.
“You got the goods.” He kisses my cheek. “Can’t wait for you to get out here to Cali.”
My stomach knots when it’s clear Canon and I will be the only ones left once Monk bounces. When I look down at him, still seated, it feels like we are borrowing each other’s thoughts—simultaneously realizing that we will be alone if we stay. A muscle tics along his jaw and he reaches for the well-tailored jacket on the back of his chair.
“I’ll walk out with you,” he tells Monk, standing, towering over me. I tip my head back to catch his eyes as they drop no lower than my face. “Neevah, you’re staying here, right? At The V?”
“Uh, yeah.” I grab my wristlet from the table. “I’m headed to my room now. I have an early flight back to New York.”
As the three of us cross the rooftop and walk to the bank of elevators, I’m cognizant of the heads turning, the attention they draw. I’m flanked by two famous, tall, powerfully built, fine-ass men cloaked in melanin, but only one of them inspires acrobatic insides, makes my belly turn flips with nothing more than a glance.
Monk’s phone rings, and he answers, but continues walking with us.