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My face is heating up, and I cover myself up, unable to control myself anymore. “I’m so screwed,” I say, choking on my own words.
Cody only hums, and crosses one leg up over his other knee, crossing his arms with a small smile on his face. “Oh, honey, it’s okay! You’re finally allowing yourself to feel things,” he advises, sincere and warm, something anyone would ever want from a best friend. “It must have been so hard trying to keep it bottled up all this time, and when your issues arose, it just pushed you over the edge. And that’s okay.”
“Is it?” I inquire, totally unsure. “You’re smart enough to figure out why we’re engaged in the first place, aren’t you?” Cody’s nod confirms everything, but he doesn’t seem to shame me about it. “Is this actually okay? Something that stems from a lie to turn into something real? Is that a healthy thing that happens organically? What if we're just fooling ourselves and we're getting played by our own game?”
Cody raises his hand to stop me before I hyperventilate, and I appreciate it, really. He’s always there to bring me back down to earth. “Isa, I think you’re forgetting who you are,” he calls me out, sitting up in the chair as he leans forward to emphasize his point. “You’re the girl who values marriage above everyone else in this entire godforsaken town. You would have never agreed to marry him if you didn’t feel anything for him.”
My mouth hangs open but I’m silent after his statement, remembering the words I’ve told him: about how marriage is a huge thing for my culture, and that I would one day want to get married to a person I truly love. Someone who knows my ins and outs, and someone who’s been there with me throughout our darkest days.
“He’s…” My words fall short. And I’m slowly getting a good grasp on the entire thing. And it’s fucking terrifying.
Cody simply stands up and pats me reassuringly on the shoulder. “Just because you and Leo didn’t start the way you imagined it, doesn’t mean it’s not real, and it doesn’t mean it’s not worth fighting for,” he says to me, voice emotional but still reassuring. “I know that feeling like the back of my hand, Isa, and I fought for what I wanted to keep in my life. And now, my boyfriend and I are happier than ever,” he adds, walking toward the elevator and pressing the button. “I think you have a lot of thinking to do. Just make sure whatever it is, it’s something youreallywant.”
But what do I really want? I spun around in my chair as the question spins around in my head.
Chapter 22
Leo
“Dude,that’salotof shit in such a short amount of time,” Jordan tells me as we arrive back at Camden Studios after a lengthy and highly unnecessary meeting with the other studios’ executives to establish connections. Isa was going to come with me, but I had her stay back because I needed to get everything off my chest to Jordan, knowing that he’s one of the few people who can help me through this issue I’m having.
“I mean, that’s a lot of things to just happen so quickly,” Jordan basically repeats his words. I guess he’s still processing everything I told him — at least everything that’s relevant to how I’m feeling. Of course, some things remain private between Isa and myself.
“Yeah, well, that’s why I was a little lost. You know I’ve devoted my entire adult life to running this place, and…” I stop for a second as we get out of the car and walk into the studio lot, seeing everyone busy on their respective films. It’s one of those moments that just tells me that I’vedevoted my entire adult lifeto this place. I actually did that, and now I’m experiencing life in a different way than anyone my age did. “You know what, it doesn’t matter,” I dismiss, walking into the main building with Jordan trailing behind me.
“Wait, you said youwerea little lost. Was that when we had that phone call when you were in Manila?” he asks as we wait for the elevator. I look outside, seeing the sun about to set in California, reminding me of the sunset in the Philippines. “Then what happened? What gave you clarity?” Jordan continues as we get on the lift, pressing the button to my office.
I sit on his question for a minute, not really knowing what or why or how I came to this state of mind. “It just happened, I guess. I don’t really know what else to tell you,” I answer, knowing I’m not making it any easier for him. The elevator door opens, and a part of me is still hoping that Isa’s at her desk, waiting for me to come back when I’m also aware that I’ve asked her to go home early today so we can get some much needed rest. Both of us have been moving non-stop since our flight back from Manila, and a hazy mind isn’t going to do us any favors in Dolores Langley’s interview at the end of the week. I guess my concerns apply to myself as well, but I just have some more business to wrap up for today.
“What do you mean ‘it just happened’ like what the hell does that even mean?” Jordan continues to grill me as we walk into my office. It’s when I notice that my father’s chair is facing away from us and toward the panoramic window. I’ve been sitting in that chair for almost two decades now, and I’ve never left it facing the sun.
I stop and hold my hand up to Jordan to signal him to stop talking. He stops in his tracks as well, noticing what I have, and he knows me well enough that I’ll never leave my father’s chair like that.
The chair slowly turns, revealing a person I would have never expected to sit in it in a million years.
“What he means by that, I think, Jordan, is that things just happened so that Mr. Lover Boy over here retains ownership of the film studio,” Peyton snarkily tries to clarify, seemingly enjoying his time in my father’s chair.
I mean, I would feel angry, but it’s not the right time. Besides, it’s not like it’s the first time Peyton has sat in that chair. We used to play here as little kids. It’s just that I never expected him to sit in it, knowing his intentions in taking over Camden Studios.
“It’s nice to see you again, Peyton. I hear you’ve been in touch with Dolores Langley?” I greet him like an old friend, but I inject venom in the professional way: straightforward, polite, but cold.
“I’m just doing my part as an American citizen, cousin,” Peyton responds, not denying the allegations. It was pretty easy to piece together that he was the one who gave Dolores the tip about the conditions set to me on my father’s will. I guess I just didn’t think he would admit it. Usually, he’s a bit more underhanded and cunning. He must be going all out now that the date of Isa and my interview is a mere couple of days away.
Jordan snickers; he never really got along with Peyton, and I can totally understand why. They’re two stark contrasts of each other. “You’re usually more indirect than this. Run out of options, have we? Or is it just a sheer lack of brain power?” he taunts. Jordan may not be family to me by blood, but he always treated me as if I were, and he knows Peyton’s trying to play me for a fool right now, and he’s not having any of it.
“Oh, go work on your art. The leadership is talking here,” Peyton sneers, not holding back whatsoever as he gets up from the chair and slowly walks toward us, maintaining a distance. He probably doesn’t want to get clocked in the face by Jordan.
“Well, when your cash-grab-trashy-films earn an Academy Award, maybe then you can speak to me like that,” Jordan retorts, and the irritated expression on Peyton’s face immediately shuts him down.
After that, I just walk toward my chair, fixing its orientation after Peyton left it haphazardly off-center. “Alright, enough of that from the both of you,” I reprimand the two before they start throwing things at each other. “Is there a reason you’re here other than to express your disbelief at my engagement to Isa, Peyton?” I ask. “Perhaps you also want to share some more tactics you’re about to use in order to make sure we fail our upcoming interview with the immigration officer.” I’m practically taunting him, which I know is playing with fire. But Peyton’s scowling face tells me that my frankness is working.
“When Uncle died, I thought I would at least have a shot at his company. I wasn’t even given the chance to put my bid in. Everything just went to you… all because I was born to the wrong father of the family,” Peyton spits, seething with anger. It’s rare to see him so riled up. Maybe my pure nonchalance against the very real possibility of me losing ownership of this film studio is making him so worked up. He swipes at the dust on his suit before walking back to the elevator. As he presses the button, he looks back at me one more time. “You’re not the only one who dreamed of running this company, cousin,” Peyton spits out in a hushed tone, but it rings clear in my head. He leaves Jordan and me alone in the office.
I sigh loudly, rubbing my temples as I feel a headache coming on. “Well, that was something,” I say, even though I really have nothing to say. Everything Peyton said was true, after all.
“Man, that guy’s crazy. It’s not like he got kicked out of the business or anything,” Jordan points out, shaking his head in disbelief at what just happened. “He should just learn to be happy with what he has instead of stepping over people.” Again, he keeps making good points, but it’s hard to reason with Peyton. Believe me, I’ve tried to do that all too many times throughout the years. “Alright, well, I need to get back to the studio. Call me if you need anything, bro.” Jordan waves before heading toward the door.
“See you later,” I say, still feeling tension in my scalp. I close my eyes as I lean back in the chair, trying to relax all my nerves. Could this day get any worse?
