Page 29 of The Close-Up
“Good to hear.” Fiona taps on my desk before turning her attention back to Simon. “Naomi and I were just discussing ideas for your upcoming episodes. Viewers seem to want more personal footage of you.”
“Personal?” Simon asks. There’s a twitch in his brow line when he says it. I wonder if that word is conjuring up the same sort of inappropriate images as it did for me.
Fiona nods. “In addition to the qualified and intelligent therapist that you are, people want to see you let loose too. So show them. Don’t be afraid to get real. Show us what you’re like in the mornings before you’ve had your coffee. Show us what you like to do for fun. Show us what you’re like when you get a little flustered.”
Even though I’m sitting down and Simon is standing a few feet away, I can see his eyes dilate the moment Fiona says the word “flustered.”
“Feel free to take off early if you two want to head out and brainstorm ideas,” she says to me. Then she walks to the open doorway and looks between us. “Don’t be afraid to be real. To get dirty. Viewers love that.”
When Fiona’s out the door, a soft strangled noise escapes from Simon’s throat. Her phrasing has made me want to melt into the floor—but that’s not a realistic option. So instead, I do the next best thing I know how to do: I joke.
I muster the last bit of nerve I have and look him square in the eye. “If only she knew just how dirty it’s been already.” I try for a smile.
Simon’s expression goes from flustered to a full-on grin. “Exactly.”
The laugh we share helps melt the tension in the room.
“After I finish up in the art department, should we meet and talk about ideas for what’s next in the series?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say. “Where should we go?”
“How about Spud’s Bar?”
There’s a gleam in his eye I can’t help but chuckle at.
“You think we should meet at the bar where I hit on you, then vomited on you, to brainstorm ‘dirty’ ideas for the series?”
“I can’t think of a better place, given our history.”
“We’re really going for it, aren’t we? Just putting it all out there.”
He shrugs, sly smile on his face. “I’ve been putting it all out there my whole life. I don’t know how else to be.”
Simon’s ability to confront the tension between us head-on with humor has me feeling a million times lighter.
“Spud’s Bar it is.”
The dim lighting at Spud’s Bar illuminates Simon perfectly as he sits across from me in this corner booth.
“Just water for you?” he asks before sipping from his Scotch.
“Remember what happened the last time we were here and I drank something other than water?”
My gaze flits to the bar, then the bathroom. Simon brings the glass to his mouth, hiding his smile.
“I think it’s best I stick with water,” I say.
“Suit yourself.”
I eye my glass of ice water as I work up the nerve to say what I’ve been planning to say ever since he left my office earlier today. Yeah, we’re here to brainstorm ideas for the series, but I also need to address the elephant in the room: how we almost had sex.
Because even though we had a relatively pleasant interaction just hours ago, we still need to actually talk about the event in question. It’s what mature adults would do.
“We should talk. About what happened. In Tahoe.” I internally roll my eyes at my stilted tone.
My nerves go haywire, even though they shouldn’t. Simon’s a cool guy. I probably couldn’t have picked a better person to accidentally have an orgasm in front of, then proposition for a hookup. He’s progressive about sex and is open to talking about anything. But that’s just one part of it. How in the world do I begin to talk about an event that makes me want to melt into the floorboards?
His expression goes soft. “You’re right. We should.”
