“Er, Javier, love,” Maisy blinked at him as she grabbed her purse and followed him out of the office, “now is not the time to be asking about my partner or my nights. As far as this meeting goes, we most certainly do not have this.”
She was probably right. The only reason they were heading to Canary Wharf for a meeting with Brent Singer, the artistic director of Westferry Media Group, was to beg and plead for Brent not to cancel their contract with Rivera Talent. Javier had thought everything was going well with the partnership, but after the problem in Cheltenham with Olivia, things on Brent’s end had gone suspiciously silent.
“All we need to do is sit down with Brent face to face and talk things out,” he assured Maisy as they made their way down in the lift and out onto the street, heading for the Tube. “I know that Brent shares my vision for how talent and clients in this industry should be treated. We were on the same page once, and we can be on the same page again.”
Maisy made an uncertain sound, then rummaged around in her vintage handbag, which looked like someone had handknit it in the sixties, for her bank card to enter the Underground.
Deep down inside, Javier was more worried about their upcoming meeting than he wanted to admit. Westferry Media Group wasn’t just a client, they were essential to the continued success of the agency. Brent was in charge of half a dozen different magazines and other media outlets that routinely needed exactly the sort of talent Javier had in Rivera Talent’s roster and that he hoped to sign going forward. Everything had worked out swimmingly between the two of them before, but if he was honest, there had been a few rumbles of discontent.
He ignored them and put on a smile, listening to Maisy giving him a run-down of her week and how things were going with Melanie, as they made their way down to the platform and hopped on a train. He didn’t want to think about everything that might go wrong when so many other things in his life were suddenly going right.
He only wanted to think about Desmond.
“Since you’re grinning so much and not really listening to a word I’ve been saying, I take it things are going well in your social life at the moment?” Maisy asked above the screech and rattle of the underground train, a knowing grin on her face.
“Last weekend was amazing,” Javier said, unable to hide his giddiness over the whole thing.
“Ooh! And was it more than just the concert on Friday night?” Maisy’s grin widened.
“Yes, it was, but a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Javier replied with a smug smile.
“Go on, then,” Maisy laughed, nudging his elbow as a few of their fellow commuters looked on with veiled curiosity. “I kiss and tell you everything, although from the look of things, your telling will be more interesting than mine could ever be.”
“It was a perfectly lovely weekend,” Javier said cagily, letting the lingering joy push everything else out of his mind, if only for the moment.
“Hold on,” Maisy said, turning to face him more fully as they neared a stop. “Weekend? As in Saturday and Sunday, too? Wasn’t it only supposed to be that concert on Friday night?”
“It was so much more than just the concert,” Javier said, knowing full well he looked and sounded like a dreamy fool. It wasn’t like him at all, but it was nice to step outside the box of seriousness and responsibility he’d built for himself over the past two years.
Maisy clearly wanted to know more, but a large and noisy group of teens on some sort of school outing crowded into the car with them, which made any and all discussions impossible until they reached Canary Wharf. They had a bit more leeway after they left the station and headed south toward the offices of Westferry Media Group, and unsurprisingly, Maisy was still interested in Javier’s love life.
“So you like this guy?” she asked as they walked swiftly along, trying to make up time so they weren’t ridiculously late.
“I do,” Javier confessed, mystifying himself. “I really do. He’s smart and kind and funny, and frankly, he needs someone to look out for him.”
“Interesting,” Maisy said, squinting at Javier in the February sunlight. “I don’t know if I would have pegged you as a daddy that way.”
Javier laughed. “Oh, he doesn’t need a daddy. He needs….” Javier didn’t know how to finish the sentence. He wanted to say Desmond needed a friend, but the very last place he wanted to put himself was in the friend zone.
“He’s a wealthy financial type, isn’t he?” Maisy asked on, a spark in her eyes.
“He is.” Javier nodded. “In fact, he works just over that way.” He pointed down a cross street at one of the tall, shining buildings that had taken over the Isle of Dogs.
“Well,” Maisy went on with a casual shrug, “if this meeting goes the wrong way, then maybe you can hit up your new boyfriend for a bit of cash to see us through.”
She was joking, but her casually lobbed words made Javier feel sick. “I’m not asking Desmond for money,” he said, skin crawling at the idea.
Maisy peeked sideways at him, evidently sensing she’d hit a nerve. “Sorry, it’s just that we’re already hanging on by a thread, and if things keep going the way they’ve been going?—”
“Things will be fine,” Javier repeated his earlier assertion. Only now he didn’t feel as confident saying those words. He’d been floating on a cloud of Valentine’s love when they’d left the office, but now the fluffiness had cleared and he felt like they were tumbling down from the stratosphere.
That uneasy feeling continued once they were in Westferry’s offices.
“Javier, hello,” Brent greeted the two of them as a stony-faced admin showed them into the corner office. “And Maisy. It’s nice to see you. Please, have a seat.”
Flashes of Desmond’s office just a few days before sparked in Javier’s brain. The two offices had a similar view of chrome and glass and city. Even though he’d been dressed in glitter and feathers and forced to sing for Desmond, he’d felt a thousand times more comfortable then as he felt sliding into one of the comfortable chairs in front of Brent’s desk.
That wasn’t saying much.
