Perfectly Wrong (Elena & Sam Musical)

Chapter six

Dear God. It’s me, Elena, again. I swear I’ll never get drunk ever again. This hangover is definitely a punishment from hell after last night.

Sam was moving around the room, and I just wanted him to stop. My head felt like it was about to explode, my stomach was on fire, and I was convinced I’d been hit by a truck. The awful taste in my mouth wasn’t helping either. I winced as something clattered to the floor. “For the love of God, Martin,” I groaned. “Can’t you just sit still? People are dying over here.”

He sat down beside me, and I dared to open one eye.

“How are you even alive after last night?”

Sam chuckled. “You really can’t handle your booze, can you?” He handed me a glass of orange juice and a painkiller. “This should help.”

“Doubt it,” I muttered, sinking back into the bed and covering my face with a pillow.

“What time’s your flight tomorrow?”

“I have no idea,” I grumbled. “I think it’s around noon. I’m heading to the airport first thing in the morning.”

He kept trying to make conversation, but I couldn’t handle it. After the third unanswered question, he finally gave up and settled into the armchair by the window. I cracked open my left eye and smiled faintly. He was holding a notebook, scribbling away. I hoped whatever he was writing would turn into the biggest hit of his career.

“Lena?” A familiar voice called softly. “Hey, beautiful. Time to wake up.”

Someone was gently running their fingers through my hair, dropping kisses behind my ear and along my neck.

“Hmm,” I groaned. “Go away.”

A laugh echoed in the room, and I knew exactly who it was. I mean, of course I knew—it wasn’t like there were many options for who else could be in my room. But that laugh, that sweet laugh, confirmed it.

“Wake up. I’m starving, and I don’t want to eat alone.” Sam’s hand was on the back of my neck, kneading it gently.

“If you keep that up, I’ll never leave this bed,” I murmured, smiling as he kissed my cheek. I sat up, still feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. “What time is it?”

“Almost one in the afternoon. I ordered us some lunch.” He gestured to the small table. “Spaghetti with shrimp sauce. I hope you like it.”

I dragged myself out of bed and joined him. Sam handed me a plate as I sat down. The food looked incredible and smelled amazing, but I just stared at it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you like it? I can order something else.”

“No, it’s not that.” My stomach grumbled in protest. “I’m just not really hungry.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I figured. Hangovers suck, eh? Next time we play truth or drink, it’ll have to be with orange juice. You know, the drink you, the oh-so-mature grown-up, offered me.”

“I’m glad my suffering is so entertaining for you.” I rolled my eyes, making him laugh harder.

“You’re not suffering, Elena. Try to eat a little; you’ll feel better, I promise. I’ve been there.”

After a few minutes of me just picking at the food, Sam scooted his chair closer and took the fork from my hand.

“Open up,” he commanded.

“You’re not feeding me.” This was getting way too intimate, even for us.

“If you’re not going to eat on your own, then yes, I am.” His tone was insistent. “Come on, Elena. It’s just shrimp, not a three-course meal.”

“Fine, I’ll eat,” I muttered. He handed the fork back, but stayed close, watching me. “You’re so bossy.”

He smirked and kissed my earlobe. “And you’re so grumpy. Let’s add that to your drunk profile: emotional, sleepy, and grumpy.”

I rolled my eyes, and we finished our meal quietly. After brushing my teeth, I climbed back into bed with my laptop. It was Friday, and I still had some work to catch up on. Sam called room service to clear away the dishes, then settled beside me, scribbling in his notebook, hiding the pages from view.

“Working on new songs?” I asked.

“Hopefully,” he replied, glancing at me. “What is it?” Sam asked, noticing my expression.

“Nothing. Just worried you might write about something... risky.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Worried I’ll write a song about our amazing morning sex?”

“Honestly, yes,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Sam thought for a moment. “Would that bother you? I mean, I wouldn’t use your name, obviously, but what about drawing on our... situation for inspiration?”

“I’d rather avoid the risk.” I shrugged. “You could lose your contract, and I’d get fired if anyone found out what’s going on between us. Besides, I think you can do better than writing about the oldest woman you’ve ever been with.”

“Oh, come on.” He shook his head, grinning. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” I batted my eyelashes dramatically. Sam rolled his eyes.

“You’re right.” He kissed me. “I don’t.”

His phone rang, and he reached over to grab it from the bedside table.

“I’ll be right back,” Sam said, giving me a quick wink.

For some godforsaken reason, he decided to leave the room, but not before I heard him greet his father.

It was nearly five in the afternoon when I decided to take a hot bath, hoping to finally wash away the lingering effects of last night’s alcohol. I’d managed to be incredibly productive at work, thanks to being eleven time zones ahead of my coworkers. That left me with the rest of the afternoon and evening free.

I considered going out for a walk, but with Sam around, that wasn’t an option. I couldn’t leave him alone, but I also didn’t want to risk anyone seeing us together. I sighed as I pulled a towel off the hook. Damn it, Martin and his reckless impulsiveness.

When I returned to the bedroom, he was sprawled out on the bed, hands behind his head, eyes following my every move as I got dressed. His gaze made me blush, which was rare. It wasn’t that I was insecure about my body—I never had been. Maybe it was because Noah had always been there, and I’d never had to go through the awkwardness of winning someone over. It had just felt natural to be with him. And after our divorce, I had no intention of getting involved with anyone anytime soon, so I didn’t really care about how others saw me. I wanted to look and feel good for myself, to prove that I was worthy of this second chance life had given me, even with the scars I’d carry forever. But there was something about the way Sam’s eyes lingered on my hips that made me feel like the most desirable woman in the world.

“What are your plans for tonight?” he asked.

“I thought about exploring Tokyo’s nightlife,” I said, slipping on some sweatpants. “But I’m worried it’s too risky. Someone might see you and start asking questions.”

He nodded slowly. “Would that be so bad?” he asked, sitting up, his tone cautious. “Being seen with me, I mean.”

There it was, his insecurity shining through that perfectly sculpted face of his. I knelt beside him on the bed.

“Sam, it’s not that I wouldn’t want to be seen with you,” I said softly, touching his cheek. He leaned into my hand. “It’s just that it could cause us all sorts of problems, and I can’t risk that. I’ve finally got my life back on track, and things are going really well at work. I don’t want to lose any more than I already have.”

“So you’d rather lose me?” His voice turned cold, and I couldn’t help but flinch at his words.

“I don’t want to lose anything, Sam. If we can keep this quiet and continue as we are, I’d take that. But if it’s too much for you, or if you’re looking for something more serious, I understand. You’re free to go whenever you need to.”

He exhaled sharply, frustration evident. “I thought we were building something real here.”

Oh God, not this again. Not now. I closed my eyes, searching for the right words.

“Sam, I wish we’d had a better start. But this is real life, and things don’t work out that perfectly.” I cupped his face in my hands. “We’re in different stages of our lives, and we can’t fully enjoy whatever this is while we’re both at Icon Records.”

“Then I’ll leave the label,” he said, far too quickly. “Or you could. I don’t care. We can figure it out.”

“I’m not quitting my job, and that’s not how it works for you,” I said firmly. “You’d have to pay an absurd fine for breaking your contract, and your career would be over before it even began.”

“I don’t care, Elena.” He jumped off the bed, his voice raw. “I’ll pay it. I’ll give up everything if it means being with you.”

What?

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“Yes, I am. I’ll give up all of this for you. Forever.”

“I don’t want forever with you!” I practically yelled back. The words flew out before I could stop them. They shouldn’t have come out like that, so harsh and sudden, but I couldn’t hold back. He wasn’t thinking clearly; he was willing to throw away everything for me, and I couldn’t handle that. Not for myself, at least. If he wanted to destroy his life, it wouldn’t be because of me. We stared at each other, both stunned by my outburst.

“Well, I knew I cared more than you did, but I didn’t think…” He shook his head. “What am I to you, Elena?”

“Sam…”

“No,” he cut me off, raising a hand. “The truth now. What is this?”

I’d told him he could leave, right? Maybe it was time to burn this bridge.

“I don’t love you, Sam. I don’t see this going anywhere beyond what we have now. We get along, we have fun, and that’s it. I don’t want a relationship with you—or anyone, for that matter. It’s not you, you’re amazing, and the sex is great, but I just like spending time with you. I’m sorry, but you asked for the truth, and that’s it.”

He stared at me, processing what I’d said before turning and walking out. I tried to stop him, but he needed time, and I couldn’t deny him that, not after what I’d just said.

I felt awful for hurting him, but I felt even worse for letting him think there was something more between us. I hadn’t been fair to either of us.

I didn’t know where he went. I tried calling him a few times before his phone switched off. I was getting dressed to go look for him when he finally walked through the door.

“For fuck’s sake, Martin,” I yelled. “Where were you?”

“Out.” He shrugged, his expression blank.

“Oh, so you chase after me and then vanish without a word? What if something had happened to you? How would I find you?”

He rolled his eyes and sat on the bed. “It’s funny, isn’t it? You let me in, then tell me I’m nothing to you. We’re even.”

I moved closer, reaching to touch his hair, but he pulled away.

“You’re right.” I sighed. “But I’m not ready for this, Sam. I’m not ready for a…”

My phone rang, interrupting me. It was a call from the office in Toronto, so I answered.

“What’s up?” I said. “Yeah, why?” Sam started packing his suitcase. I grabbed his arm, silently asking him to wait. He looked at my hand like my touch burned. “Got it. And when did this get decided? How long? Six months? Seriously?” Sam’s attention shifted as soon as he heard the timeline. “No, it’s fine. I’ll handle it. Let’s see if we can move the venue around. Just keep me updated, okay? Thanks.” I hung up and took a deep breath. “When were you planning to tell me that you’re going to California on Tuesday?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Why does that matter to you? Do you even care?”

I shut my eyes and counted to ten.

“I had a photoshoot scheduled for you on Wednesday. So yes, it does matter. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I’m sure you can reschedule,” he muttered, zipping up his bag.

“It’s not just about the date, Sam! I need new photos; the ones we have are old.” He either wasn’t listening or was pretending not to. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll handle it. I’ve managed bigger stars; I won’t let a spoiled kid get in the way. Victoria can go to California and take some shots of your precious self.”

“What? You’re not coming?” He sounded surprised.

“What difference does it make?” I snapped back. “Do you even care?”

He glared at me. “And stop calling me a kid!”

“Then stop acting like one!” I shouted.

We stood there, glaring at each other, both breathing hard. Without another word, he grabbed his suitcase and stormed out, muttering about finding another room. His plan fell apart when he learned the hotel was fully booked, and he returned, asking if he could sleep on the couch.

“It’s more than you deserve,” I muttered.

After calling Vicky to set up her trip to California, I turned in early, counting down the hours until I could head back home and stay the hell away from that stubborn man-to-be.

Sam and I hadn’t been on speaking terms since I left the hotel that Saturday. Now, three months after he flew to California, I wished I’d at least said goodbye. Vicky had gone to L.A. as planned and returned with some incredible photos. In the end, his “stupid ass” wasn’t that bad after all.

During those months, I realized how lonely it felt to be without him. There was no one I could talk to, no one I could admit that I missed him to. We’d had our ups and downs, but we were mostly good together. We liked the same music, and we both loved omelettes. He even made one once, and I had to admit, it was the best I’d ever had. He’d talk endlessly about his sister, Amelia, a brilliant teenage girl I hadn’t met yet. The way his brown eyes lit up when he mentioned her was heartwarming.

I knew Sam had come back to Canada a couple of times during those months, but pride kept us apart and silent. A knock on my door brought me back to reality.

“Sorry to bother you, Lena.” Morgana poked her head in, and I gestured for her to come in. “The design team wanted me to let you know they’re about to send over the edited photos and the colour palette they’ve chosen for the new material. There’s also a list of TV shows and journalists Vicky and I think would be good for Martin to connect with. We can schedule an appearance on one of the shows or an interview before the album release.”

She handed me a stack of papers, and I started to skim through them. “This looks great, Morgs,” I said. “But I think we should hold off on some of the interviews until after the first single drops. Keep his name out there, but build a bit of anticipation.”

“I’m good with that,” she replied with a smile. “We’ve highlighted the most important ones. Now we just need to narrow it down and figure out the timing.”

“Perfect! I’ll go over these and check in with his assistant to see if there’s anyone specific they want to include.”

Just as Morgana was about to respond, my phone rang. It was Jeremy, calling me to his office. I rolled my eyes at his demanding tone and apologized to Morgana. If Jeremy was calling with such urgency, it probably meant there was a crisis brewing.

“Come in,” Jeremy called as I knocked on his door.

I froze the moment I stepped inside. Rento was sitting in one of the chairs, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Elena, my dear,” he said, crossing the room in an instant and grabbing my hands, kissing each one in turn. Ew. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again.”

“Right,” I muttered, yanking my hands back and moving closer to Jeremy’s desk.

“Sorry for calling you in, Elena. I know how busy you are.” Jeremy’s tone was unusually apologetic, which set off alarm bells. “But it seems our new client was eager to discuss what we can offer for their band here in Canada. They’ve specifically requested you to create a marketing plan.”

“An initial draft, of course,” Rento interjected.

“What?” I practically barked, looking from one to the other. “Jer, you know I’m fully committed to the Sam Martin project. I was in a meeting earlier, planning TV spots and interviews for his new album. I can’t take on another project right now.”

“I know, Elena,” Jeremy said with a resigned sigh. “I explained that, but Mr. Yamamoto was quite insistent.”

“We agreed to sign with Icon Records to work with the best, Miss Vaughan,” Rento added, his voice taking on an unsettling tone as he said my name. “From what I’ve heard, this company only assigns you and your team when they need top-tier work. You’re the best, and we want your expertise to launch our band in Canada.”

“Okay, first off, don’t call my colleagues ‘subordinates,’” I shot back, not bothering to hide my irritation. “They’re talented, hardworking professionals who deserve the utmost respect. Second, I simply don’t have the bandwidth for this right now. I’d love to help, but my team is tied up with two of the label’s biggest projects for the next two years. We can recommend another team who’d do a fantastic job.”

“Well.” Rento sat back down, his smirk growing. “It looks like we’ll need to revisit the contract or perhaps consider terminating it if we can’t get the best team on board. That was the agreement we signed in Japan.”

Jeremy sighed deeply.

“Jer, you can’t do this,” I warned him.

“I’m sorry, Lena,” he said, looking genuinely pained. Rento, on the other hand, looked elated. “You’ll need to delegate some of your responsibilities. We need this marketing plan finalized in two weeks.”

Before I could even respond, Rento was already on the phone, gloating to his colleagues in Japan about the “good news.”