Page 27 of The Close-Up
As I hold my breath, I tug at my sopping-wet hair, my brain a flurry of disbelief and panic. How the hell do we move on from that?
Chapter Seven
It turns out that avoidance is my preferred method of moving on.
I avoided Simon’s gaze that entire night when we all had dinner together at the Airbnb. I avoided talking one-on-one with him when I woke up at the crack of dawn yesterday, said good-bye to everyone, and drove my rental car back to San Francisco.
And today as I attack my to-do list at work, I’m trying my damnedest to avoid thinking about him and how, had everyone come back just an hour later from their hike, Simon and I would have totally had sex.
I go dizzy at the thought as I try to focus on my computer screen. What the hell was I thinking? Okay sure, even as I look back on it now, it was insanely hot to have Simon walk in on me masturbating, see how turned on he was, and then to witness him make it very clear that he was down to take it further.
But...
That would have been a mistake. A very foolish mistake. Because as amazing as I’m sure it is to hook up with Simon, it would have derailed me. It would have shattered my self-imposed professional code for this series. It would have most definitely thrown me off my game—I’m already thrown off my game afteralmosthooking up with him. I’m fairly certain that had we actually gone through with it, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything other than just how dynamite he is in bed and how...
I shake my head, annoyed that once again I’m losing focus. This is why getting cockblocked by the couples at the retreat was a good thing. Now, I still have my professional code. I can at least look Fiona in the eye when she asks me how the series is going. I can tell her that I’m working hard on loads of compelling segments instead of fumbling and stammering and hoping she won’t be able to tell something’s off whenever I talk about Simon, which could then lead her to question my capability to spearheadSimply Simon.
Simon.
At some point we’re going to have to talk again. We’re going to have to meet up, I’m going to have to interview him and film more segments of him...
I slump over in my desk chair and groan softly into my hands, cringing at how I’m going to approach the subject with him.
I haven’t even told Harper about it—and I tell her everything. But I can’t stomach anyone, not even my best friend and cousin, ever finding out about my most mortifying life moment. Simon knows, and that’s already one person too many.
“Excellent work on the first cut of theSimply Simonpremiere, Naomi. Everything—the scene transitions, the shots, the editing—is so clean and streamlined,” Fiona says as she walks into my office, snapping me out of my mental reflection. I jerk my hands from my face and straighten up in my chair.
She walks to my desk while reading something on her phone. “We’re still going strong on the views for his first three segments. People are dying to watch the series premiere. And we’ve gotten two more advertisers on board because of his strong showing. A men’s razor company and this custom boxer brief clothing line.”
“That’s great,” I croak out.
“The way you’ve cut episode one is brilliant. Everyone adores this insight into his work life. It’s both slick and compelling.”
I mutter a thank-you, then take a sip from my coffee mug, hoping the caffeine will jolt me out of my humiliation stupor.
“God, this guy,” she says while checking something on her phone. “Good-looking. Sex positive. Smart. Cultured. Sensitive to women’s issues in relationships. Willing to hold other men accountable for their shortcomings.”
I nod along with Fiona’s assessment, chugging from my mug, unsure of just how long I can endure her going on and on about Simon’s appeal. It’s all true, of course, but every mention of him makes it harder and harder for me to distance myself from the memory of him bursting into the bathroom, his eyes bulging at me as I sprawled out all wet and naked just a few feet in front of him, my eyes falling to his crotch because I was so turned on that of course I would gawk at his junk.
“He’s the whole package, wouldn’t you say?”
Fiona speaking the word “package” unfortunately coincides with my recollection of Simon’s package, and I can’t help but gasp as my immediate, involuntary response. Too bad I’m also drinking at that exact moment.
I choke on the sip. When I look up, Fiona is staring at me, something between a frown and surprise clouding her expression.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
I nod before coughing for another several seconds, then swallow.
“Down the wrong pipe,” I say, my voice raw.
“Hate it when that happens.” She waves a hand. “I was thinking, really go for it in episode two of the series. I think it would be compelling to see Simon doing something outside of his work. Something raw. Up close and personal.”
My throat goes dry. If only she knew how up close and personal we’ve already been.
I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”
“Something non-work related. Take him out on the town. Show what he likes to do for fun. Or, I don’t know, working out?”
