Perfectly Wrong (Elena & Sam Musical)

Chapter two

Monday finally arrived, and I was so excited to present the SM Project that I woke up an hour early just to prepare. I took a long shower, enjoyed an amazing and fulfilling breakfast, and headed to the office feeling light, chipper, and happy, like a little fairy.

Most of the team hadn’t arrived yet, so I invited my faithful sidekicks, Katie and Peter, to hang out at the cafeteria at Icon Records.

“So, how long until we get a little spoiler?” Peter asked, pulling out a chair at the table near the door that we had managed to score. The competition for seating was fierce at that time in the morning.

“Yes, please, Lena! Jeremy took all our projects; it must be something big! I barely slept a wink this weekend; I was so anxious for today’s meeting!”

“Calm down, you weirdos,” I laughed, stirring my juice nonchalantly. “Let’s wait for the rest of the team so I can present the artist and my marketing ideas all at once. What I can tell you now is that it’s really cool; the artist is a big deal, and we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

“Any chance we’ll get to travel this time?” Katie asked excitedly.

“Maybe. I’m not sure yet, but I think so.”

As they continued to pry for information, my eyes met his again. Sam Martin was standing by the door, looking shocked to see me there. We had a meeting later, but I hadn’t expected to run into him in the office this early. Jeremy was to his left, and another suited man was on his right. When our boss spotted us, he decided it was a good idea to stop by our table.

“Good morning, Elena,” he said, directing his attention solely at me, a habit that irritated me greatly.

“Jer, good morning.” I stood up. “You remember Katie and Peter from my team?”

Once again, he ignored them. “I’ve got Martin here,” he introduced, gesturing to Sam, who looked like he was about to pass out amidst our pleasantries. I could bet he never expected to see the woman he’d tried to seduce in the coffee shop again. And there I was, all smiles and politeness, shaking his hand while trying not to laugh at his expression.

“I thought our meeting was closer to noon. Did I misunderstand?” I asked.

“No, no, it’s set for 11 a.m. Sam and his lawyer just came early to settle some contractual and bureaucratic details, but the meeting with the marketing team is still on.”

I nodded and took a seat as I watched them look for a table. When I glanced back at my colleagues, I found them staring at me, mouths agape.

“So…” Katie mumbled, her fingers gripping the table so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Sam Martin is our next project?”

My only response was a wink, followed by the realization that it was time to head upstairs to our floor. The rest of the team was probably already there, and a busy morning awaited us.

“YOU’RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!” Katie practically burst through the door of the meeting room, startling everyone inside.

“Hey, hold your horses there, girl,” I said, trying to hide my laughter. “Good morning, everyone. I scheduled this meeting to announce that we’re about to embark on a new project. It’s such a significant project that we’ve been booked to work on everything from the album concept to the world tour production. So get your hearts and minds ready—it’s really amazing.”

The five pairs of eyes remained fixed on me, waiting for more instructions, but no one dared to speak.

“I’m calling it SM Project to keep it under wraps. SM stands for Sam Martin, the teenage heartthrob and, apparently, Katie’s crush. He’s our new artist, and our focus will now be entirely on his career.”

Katie couldn’t stop bouncing in her seat, Morgana was almost hyperventilating, and Jordan looked like he might burst into tears. I had completely forgotten that he had been a Sam Martin fan since the days of his early videos, and he’d been pestering me to catch a glimpse of the singer in the hallways. Maybe I should have talked to him about this sooner, so he’d have had time to prepare his heart. I had no interest in causing any of my employees to have a premature heart attack.

“I understand he’s a big deal, but is it really enough to stop working with anyone else?” Matthew asked. “I was enjoying working with that indie group, and our plan for them was solid.”

“I know, Matt, but half our team isn’t enough for what Icon Records has in store for Martin. We need to elevate his career to intergalactic levels. To do that, the best marketing team in the label—us—will work exclusively with his team, creating the entire aesthetic, visual identity, and marketing plan for both his album and tour. Guys, Icon Records is investing a huge amount of money into this; I can’t even say the number. We need to ensure Sam Martin sells enough to justify it and fund the label’s holiday party at the end of the year. So, who’s ready to take on this challenge with me?”

I wasn’t surprised when they exchanged excited glances and every single one of them raised their hands. My team lived and breathed new projects, and nothing excited them more than one as big as this—one capable of frying all our brain cells. They were, after all, my team.

When I said they were awesome, I truly meant it. It didn’t take long for all of us to start talking over one another, each contributing ideas better than the last. We took notes on Post-its and arranged them on an impressive timeline. When Victoria and I entered the meeting, we felt confident, sure that everything would go perfectly.

Vicky was one of the most dedicated members of my team. They were all incredible, but I couldn’t bring Katie to a meeting like this one, for instance. Fainting would be the best she could manage in front of Martin, effectively ruining all our hard work. Victoria was different. She possessed exceptional communication skills and was a tremendous help in preparing presentations, in addition to being highly organized. No matter how many papers and files we brought, she always had everything ready to present at the right moment.

On the other hand, Martin didn’t seem prepared for the meeting. He looked quite uncomfortable around us—or more accurately, around me. I tried my best to avoid his gaze, thinking it might help put him at ease, but it was impossible. Sam had this strange energy that practically compelled me to meet his brown eyes. At one point, we locked eyes, and it was so intense that he became agitated and dropped his glass of water, soaking the entire table. And, man, could he talk! It was as if some supernatural force had taken over, preventing him from stopping!

“So, before we can redefine the points you made, we need to know where you stand with the new album,” I said to his team. “Is there an estimated release date? How is it progressing? How many singles will we have to work with?”

Sam and the others exchanged glances. “Actually,” he started, “we don’t have much ready yet. I have four songs written, and we’re about to start recording, but that’s it.”

“Our star isn’t in a great place with his writing,” his manager explained, trying to elicit sympathy. “So we’re waiting for inspiration to finish the album.”

Had I misheard? What on earth did he mean by "our star isn’t in a good place"? That they didn’t have anything finished or defined? How were we supposed to promote something that didn’t even exist?

“I see.” I attempted to mask my shock but barely succeeded. It was a lie… I didn’t “see” anything. “So, what are we promoting then? A greatest hits tour?”

Jeremy was taken aback by my question, his eyes widening to the point where I expected them to pop out of his sockets and land on the table. The manager took a deep breath, and Sam appeared embarrassed. It wasn’t uncommon for struggling artists to release an album of past hits to hold onto their fans for a little longer, but, as I mentioned, those were artists on the decline.

“I think we’ll have to redo all our planning and marketing strategy.” Victoria sounded frustrated, and I understood her feelings. We had very little time to prepare and had done our best to create a solid plan for Sam Martin. When we were finally ready to set a date, we faced the reality that there wasn’t even a flipping album!

“Why would you? It’s a fantastic plan; I really like it.” Sam nearly jumped out of his seat, despair taking control of his perfectly chiseled jaw.

Vicky took a deep breath, probably counting to ten in her head, clearly trying to avoid ending the meeting by punching the singer in the nose. I appreciated her restraint and thanked her with an encouraging smile. Honestly, at that moment, I would have let her advance over the table and pull his hair just to see if it would spark some inspiration in him. Who knows, right? A little excitement could work wonders, firing up his brain cells and getting whatever was inside him flowing again.

“Because we based our plan on a specific timeline. Your tour dates were carefully chosen based on school holidays and other factors. Your downtime was actually scheduled for the low season of concerts on each continent. Now, since we have no idea when to start, the entire plan needs to change. We need to redo everything!”

And that’s how our first meeting with our new prince of pop came to an end. Victoria and I returned to our room to inform the others about all the news we didn’t even have.

Man, let me tell you something: you should never underestimate the power of the universe. Seriously! I heard that Sam had other meetings around the office, but I had no idea he would show up at my desk, asking for a private meeting at the end of my workday.

“We can use this room,” I suggested, inviting him into our creative area filled with sofas and scattered paper and crayons. This was where our brainstorming sessions happened, where we unleashed our wildest ideas and then organized them into something coherent. It wasn’t the most suitable setting for the kind of meeting Martin had in mind, but I wasn't in the mood to hunt for an empty room.

“I know it’s not the best time to clear things up or anything,” he began. “But I didn’t want you to have the wrong impression.”

What exactly was he referring to? His awkward attempt to flirt with me at the coffee shop, which had led to an uncomfortable reunion? Or the meeting where we discovered there was no album to promote? I simply nodded, signaling that he had my attention.

“I’m doing my best to write the song so we can finish the album on time.” Oh, that. “But I haven’t been feeling very inspired. My agent pressuring me has only made it worse.”

“Right. Why are you telling me this?”

He shifted on the sofa, clearly uncomfortable. “Because I could tell you guys were frustrated, to say the least, with the outcome of the meeting. I know you had very little time, and your team is only working with me now, so I wanted you to know that I really loved your plan and appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this.”

It was heartening to see him being so honest. All I saw then was a young man doing his best to deserve the opportunity that had been handed to him, even if he didn’t quite grasp what that contract really meant. Among so many artists, Icon Records had chosen him, and Martin knew he had to deliver in return. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, after all.

“Sam,” I said, trying to keep my tone conciliatory. “Things don’t always come easily, but you’re here for a reason. I know what talent is. We don’t sign people who can’t at least earn back the money invested in them. Just remember, success and fame are like a train: you’re on it, and suddenly someone new takes your seat. If something else is distracting you right now, we need to know. It’s better to tell us you need more time so you can eventually bring something solid to the table than to push hard when you’re not ready. Is there anything I can do to help you? Not with marketing. We’re going to work together for a long time, and I hope we can establish a good working rapport, but what can I do for you as a person?”

And that’s how I ended up in an apartment in the Trinity Bellwoods area, near Little Italy, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating pizza and playing video games with Sam Martin. His team had rented the place on Manning Street to serve as a temporary home for the singer until renovations on his newly purchased apartment were complete. I thought he’d say, “No worries, I’ve got it handled, everything will be fine,” and we’d move on with our lives. Instead, he asked me to dinner, which I politely declined for many reasons. Sam insisted he knew it wasn’t a good idea for us to go out together, but no one would see us in his apartment. We could order something and enjoy each other’s company for a while. The worst part? That actually sounded good to me.

After beating him three times at Mario Kart, we talked about his new album. Sam wasn’t suffering from writer’s block; rather, it was his pride that prevented him from letting others help. His songs were well-written, at least as far as my musical knowledge went, and they would easily fit any melody. Even though his team liked them too, they felt something was missing. I knew what it was: his songs lacked commercial appeal. They would be perfect for when he had established himself enough to do anything he wanted, but that wasn’t the case now. He needed something catchy, something that would draw new fans to his music.

The label had offered many expensive and experienced partners from the music industry to help, but their styles clashed, and Martin was growing frustrated at not being able to deliver what Icon Records wanted.

“Why don’t you try writing new songs?” I suggested. We were still sitting on the living room floor, papers scattered around us as I read through the lyrics of songs he had written but never performed. “I mean, they’re amazing, but they’re not working the way Icon Records wants, so maybe you should change your approach.”

He didn’t seem convinced but acknowledged my advice, knowing it was true. Every artist needs to adapt to the label until they’re strong enough to succeed and sell without commercial assistance. Beyond that, there was no way to proceed. Music was the most important part of my life, and I loved it. I listened from the moment I woke up until I went to bed, but I couldn’t deny it: music is a product, like any other. People invest time and money into writing melodies, recording, and trying to convince others it’s good. There was no way for us to release an album we weren’t 100 percent sure would sell.

“Look, I’ve got to get going. Tomorrow is a big day for my team, and we have a lot to do from now on. I promise we’re going to create the best marketing plan for you, Sam. We want you to grow in the industry and become one of the biggest artists out there.” A genuine smile spread across his face. It was cute. “Think about what I said; open your heart and mind. You can do this.”

I gave him a kiss on the cheek, like I would probably do with a nephew. He offered to take me home, but that wasn’t necessary. I ordered a cab and stepped out into the cold Toronto night, counting the seconds until I could finally see my bed again.

The following week felt like hell, and when Friday finally arrived, I was ready to set off fireworks. After endless hours of Jeremy trying to teach me how to do my job, all I wanted was to go home, eat something, take a long bath, and hibernate in bed until Monday. My plan was to not even get up for food, which was very unlike me, but I was utterly exhausted and needed the rest. And just so you know, Sam Martin didn’t show his face at the office for the rest of the week.

I kicked off my shoes in the foyer and walked barefoot to the kitchen. My stomach had been grumbling for a while, and I figured I should take care of it before my hibernation began. I wouldn’t take too long—just a sandwich and some wine would suffice. I lit a candle by the fridge, placing it atop a wooden box where I kept my tea. The scent of lavender quickly filled the room, and I breathed in deeply, allowing the first hints of peace to wash over me.

I opened the fridge and pulled out some ham and catupiry, along with the wine. If you’ve never heard of catupiry, it’s time for a little education. Have you ever tasted cream cheese? That delightful stuff we all know? Well, catupiry is even better! Imagine cream cheese made for humans, while catupiry is made for the divine. When Jesus came to Earth, He likely said, “Son, take this recipe with you and leave it somewhere,” and He left it in Brazil. Just so you know, catupiry is lightly processed cheese that complements just about everything. They put it on pizza, hot dogs, and it tastes divine in any dish. Every time I visit the Brazilian market around the corner, I spend a shameful amount on it, but I have no regrets—it’s always worth it.

I took a spoonful of catupiry and spread it on the bread I had left sliced on the counter. A few slices of ham later, and it was perfect. The first bite was pure ecstasy! It was so good that I immediately forgot about the stressful week I’d just endured, the team working tirelessly and blindly each day. I didn’t waste any time moving to the table; I simply stood there, savoring the wonderful sensation of food settling in my stomach.

About fifteen minutes after I got home, the doorbell rang, interrupting my blissful moment. Who the hell was brave enough to disrupt my peace? A shiver ran down my spine. It couldn’t be! Noah wasn’t stupid enough to come to my house, knowing full well I’d call the cops. Besides, he was in jail—it wasn’t even possible. The doorbell rang again. I took a deep breath, leaving my sandwich on the plate, and approached the front door. Still a bit traumatized, I sneaked a peek through the small glass pane above the door.

“What the heck?” Thank God, Noah wasn’t on the other side! Instead, it was… “Sam? What are you doing here?” I asked, opening the door.

“Hey!” He greeted me with a charming smile, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder. “I was passing by and thought I’d repay your visit. Plus, I have a new song, and I’d love your input.”

I was completely taken aback. What the heck was happening?

“Okay, first of all, you weren’t just passing by. You live pretty far from here, and I don’t believe in coincidences, especially when you happen to have a new song to show me. Also, I don’t babysit in my spare time.”

He laughed and tilted his head, unfazed by my rudeness. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

To my rational side, the right answer was “No, man, go away and leave me alone!” But my parents raised me to be more polite than I wanted to be, so I stepped aside for him to come in. As he walked past me, I inhaled his scent and felt a bit dizzy for a second. Despite being at the peak of his eighteen years, Sam’s cologne was different—unique, unlike anything I had encountered before. I shook my head and dismissed the thought before closing the door.

“And by the way,” he was saying, “I’m grown, okay? I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Great,” I grunted, heading back to the kitchen. Not even Sam Martin could stand between me and dinner, no matter how good he smelled.

“Sorry, I guess I came at a bad time.”

“No worries. Help yourself if you want.” I gestured to the ingredients still on the counter.

“Thanks, but I ate on the way.”

I nodded, and the kitchen fell into silence. As I finished eating my sandwich, I noticed a curious Sam Martin standing a few meters behind me, looking around and taking in every detail of my house.

“Okay, so… how can I help? You said you have a new song to show me?”

“You’ve got a nice little house,” he said with a shy smile. “Very cozy.”

I had no idea how to tell him that yes, it was a nice, cozy place that I could only truly enjoy once he left and let me relish my solitude and my bathtub. Goddamn politeness!

I brought him to the living room and gestured toward the couch. Before making himself comfortable, he respectfully waited for me to sit on the other couch. It was starting to get to me how he could be so good-looking, smell so amazing, and still be a gentleman all at once. He cleared his throat, getting my attention, and I nodded for him to begin.

“Well, the song isn’t finished yet. I was hoping you could share some ideas for it.”

“I don’t know if I can contribute much, Sam,” I admitted. “No false modesty here—I’m good at writing, but I’ve never been involved in songwriting. There are some nuances in that area that I obviously don’t master.”

“Just listen.” He winked as he said it, which was quite attractive, I might add.

His fingers started to pluck the strings, creating a light, almost cheerful melody. I watched his large hands skillfully sliding over the instrument when his voice filled the room.

“I saw you for the first time / in a faraway coffee shop / You just looked at me once / My heart sped up and my hands shook / and that was enough.”

Coffee shop? Looked at him once? What the…

“You asked your friends about me / and that was more than I could expect / Because I’ve been asking about you / not knowing you were already in my head.”

To say I was shocked was an understatement for the expression on my face. Sam noticed right away, and to my great despair, he smiled that timid grin of his. He arched his brows ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but adorably all the same.

“Thinking of you makes me restless / I get nervous when you look at me / Anxiety takes over / when you stand next to me.”

Let’s get things into perspective for a moment: I had a very nice guy in front of me—though he was only eighteen—on my couch, singing a song that was essentially about us, and I had absolutely no idea what to do, think, or say. He caught me completely off guard; I never expected this in a million years. And the worst part? He wouldn’t shut up. Sam Martin never shut the hell up!

“I talk way too much when I’m near you / I get embarrassed when your eyes are on me / But the thought of never having you makes me panic.”

His voice faded with the last notes of his guitar, and for what felt like an eternity, neither of us spoke. He looked at me anxiously, waiting for a reaction—a positive one, at that—to his latest masterpiece. I, on the other hand, stared at him in disbelief. Sam Martin had written a song about an innocent moment we shared, and if that wasn’t a sign that things were going awry, I couldn’t guess what was.

“So?” He broke the silence first.

I blinked a couple of times, trying to process the situation. “Listen, I want to explain the part where you said I asked my friends about you. That was professionally—”

“No need to explain,” he cut me off with a smirk. A tiny dimple appeared on his chin, and my eyes immediately went to it. “I just wanted to say I’ve been asking about you too. I mean, it’s not unrequited, you know?”

If I knew? IF I KNEW? Oh, my boy, you’ve completely lost it!

“Sam, there’s been a mistake!”

“There’s no mistake.” He set his guitar aside and knelt in front of me. “I know we’ve only just met, but we can take things slow.”

I jumped off the couch, moving away from him. That boy’s cologne was intoxicating, practically searing itself into my nostrils. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was panting, feeling a bit intimidated by the whole situation. Here I was, a woman ten years older than this boy, feeling like a deer in headlights.

“What the hell are you talking about? Are you insane?” I practically yelled. “Martin, there’s no chance in hell of us taking anything slow, even at the slowest pace for humankind.”

He looked surprised but also excited. “Really? I thought it’d be better for us, but I’m cool; we can go as fast as you want.”

My jaw dropped. That was definitely not what I meant. I could feel my whole face burning as I looked around for a way out.

“I need a drink.” I practically ran to the kitchen, with Sam following right behind me. The glass of wine I’d been drinking was still on the counter, abandoned when he interrupted me, and in a fit of despair, I downed it in one go. “There’s orange juice in the fridge if you want.” I rested my hands on the counter and closed my eyes, taking three deep breaths. My head was spinning, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the wine or the entire situation. When I turned back around, he looked offended. “What? You’re not old enough to drink. Not to mention, even when you’re sober, you cause way too much trouble.”

“All right, I get it already.”

“Jesus Christ, finally!” I threw my arms up, thanking divine intervention for bringing some light into his empty skull.

“I know it’s too much to take in, so I’m just going to let you think about it,” he said, moving even closer to me. My heart raced, and I tried to step back, but my back was already pressed against the counter. “Maybe the song was too much. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you; I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft as velvet, and his brown eyes searched mine with a mixture of interest and understanding. Sam gently brushed a lock of hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear, stroking my cheek with his thumb and causing my skin to tingle. I could feel his breath on my lips, and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t enjoy it, but for God’s sake, he was only eighteen.

“I’ll see you later.” He kissed the corner of my lips, and I almost had a heart attack. Just when I thought that hurricane of a boy had finally left, he poked his head back into the kitchen with a smirk on his face. “Just so you know, Spanish wines are my favorite!”

With a wink, he left.