society or something. But Boston is looking very fine, so I focus on that. The white of his shirt is crisp against his dark suit and hair, and once again I’m taken aback at how very handsome he is.
Boston looks at me on the desk, Erik next to me, and his gaze hardens. He strides up to Erik and sticks out his hand. “I’m Parker Minelli. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Erik stands up and gives over his hand. “Likewise. I’m glad to work with you and Abby. I have the rev zero contract drafted up for your approval. Let’s all sit at my conference table,” he gestures to the side of the room where a round table is surrounded by padded chairs, “and I’ll go through it with you both.”
Boston rotates his shoulder and adjusts his sleeve, then sits down. He glances at me. “So we just, are we goin’ to read the whole thing right here?” His gaze moves, uncertain, to the stack of legal-sized printouts.
Erik answers, “I’ll go through it page by page, but we don’t need to read all the fine print. I’ll tell you everything that’s included, and you let me know if it matches what you want.”
Boston nods. He’s sitting upright, his back straight, tapping the fingers of his left hand on the tabletop. But as Erik starts to detail the line items, his body relaxes and he leans in, adding comments. I let my mind drift, thinking about how well the suit fits him. Erik is always stylish, cute, but Boston is—hot. Erik is suave and trendy, Boston is hard-edged and gritty and oozes sexuality. I find myself tilting in my seat to lean just a little bit closer to Boston, and right myself with embarrassment. I’m such a dork.
Oh. They’re waiting for me to say something. “Abby? ” Erik raises his eyebrows, taps a passage with his silver pen.
“Um, say it again?” I flush, scanning the text.
“Parker suggested adding a section about payments for Annalise O’Reilly and Chelle Lambeau, since they’re working with you, too. I agree that it makes sense to include them upfront, instead of trying to work out a payment in a separate contract.”
Boston adds, “I’m covering the cost of Annalise’s modeling fee, and Chelle’s salary, but we need to add in that they won’t get royalties from future sales like you and I will.”
“Yes.” Why didn’t I think of that? I’m such an amateur when it comes to things like contracts. But that’s why we came to Erik, right?
“So we’ll need to review with Annalise and Chelle then, and once all of you sign it, it will be official.” Erik caps his pens and picks up the contract. “I’ll edit and get this back to you soon. Sound okay?”
I stand up and glance around the room as my stomach rumbles. “It’s great. Hey, I only had coffee this morning and I need a pick-me-up. Do you still keep snacks around?”
He points to the low counter with a Keurig, and I prance over, open the cupboard above it, and pull out a package of Oreos. I shove one into my mouth. “These are more addictive than cocaine,” I announce, wiping my hands together and grinning. “I heard it on NPR. Want one?”
Erik shakes his head. “I keep those for the kids who come in with parents, Abby.” But his voice is fond. “Parker, feel free—if you want anything.”
I close the cupboard more firmly than necessary. “I think Boston is allergic to these.”
Boston snorts. “High fructose corn syrup, saturated fat, mono- and diglycerides—that shit is poison to the system, Abby.”
I bite my lip and lick off more crumbs (God. How does one cookie make a million tiny shards of Loser on my face?), feeling like a disgusting slob. “Yeah. Um, you know, they’re good for a quick energy rush, though.” My voice is kind of mean. “For us mortals who aren’t built like Greek gods or who never had time to work out five or six hours a day because we had to attend graduate school and stuff.”
“That’s not what I—” Boston begins, a frustrated look on his face.
Erik steps in. “And
Boston looks at me on the desk, Erik next to me, and his gaze hardens. He strides up to Erik and sticks out his hand. “I’m Parker Minelli. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Erik stands up and gives over his hand. “Likewise. I’m glad to work with you and Abby. I have the rev zero contract drafted up for your approval. Let’s all sit at my conference table,” he gestures to the side of the room where a round table is surrounded by padded chairs, “and I’ll go through it with you both.”
Boston rotates his shoulder and adjusts his sleeve, then sits down. He glances at me. “So we just, are we goin’ to read the whole thing right here?” His gaze moves, uncertain, to the stack of legal-sized printouts.
Erik answers, “I’ll go through it page by page, but we don’t need to read all the fine print. I’ll tell you everything that’s included, and you let me know if it matches what you want.”
Boston nods. He’s sitting upright, his back straight, tapping the fingers of his left hand on the tabletop. But as Erik starts to detail the line items, his body relaxes and he leans in, adding comments. I let my mind drift, thinking about how well the suit fits him. Erik is always stylish, cute, but Boston is—hot. Erik is suave and trendy, Boston is hard-edged and gritty and oozes sexuality. I find myself tilting in my seat to lean just a little bit closer to Boston, and right myself with embarrassment. I’m such a dork.
Oh. They’re waiting for me to say something. “Abby? ” Erik raises his eyebrows, taps a passage with his silver pen.
“Um, say it again?” I flush, scanning the text.
“Parker suggested adding a section about payments for Annalise O’Reilly and Chelle Lambeau, since they’re working with you, too. I agree that it makes sense to include them upfront, instead of trying to work out a payment in a separate contract.”
Boston adds, “I’m covering the cost of Annalise’s modeling fee, and Chelle’s salary, but we need to add in that they won’t get royalties from future sales like you and I will.”
“Yes.” Why didn’t I think of that? I’m such an amateur when it comes to things like contracts. But that’s why we came to Erik, right?
“So we’ll need to review with Annalise and Chelle then, and once all of you sign it, it will be official.” Erik caps his pens and picks up the contract. “I’ll edit and get this back to you soon. Sound okay?”
I stand up and glance around the room as my stomach rumbles. “It’s great. Hey, I only had coffee this morning and I need a pick-me-up. Do you still keep snacks around?”
He points to the low counter with a Keurig, and I prance over, open the cupboard above it, and pull out a package of Oreos. I shove one into my mouth. “These are more addictive than cocaine,” I announce, wiping my hands together and grinning. “I heard it on NPR. Want one?”
Erik shakes his head. “I keep those for the kids who come in with parents, Abby.” But his voice is fond. “Parker, feel free—if you want anything.”
I close the cupboard more firmly than necessary. “I think Boston is allergic to these.”
Boston snorts. “High fructose corn syrup, saturated fat, mono- and diglycerides—that shit is poison to the system, Abby.”
I bite my lip and lick off more crumbs (God. How does one cookie make a million tiny shards of Loser on my face?), feeling like a disgusting slob. “Yeah. Um, you know, they’re good for a quick energy rush, though.” My voice is kind of mean. “For us mortals who aren’t built like Greek gods or who never had time to work out five or six hours a day because we had to attend graduate school and stuff.”
“That’s not what I—” Boston begins, a frustrated look on his face.
Erik steps in. “And
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