Happy New Year! May this be a wonderful year for all of you.
May you be blessed with happiness, love, peace and great health and may it continue throughout this year and beyond.
Much love to you and yours.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Chasing Christmas Eve.
That afternoon, Sam was trying to apply himself to his computer.
He needed to be working on the software, for the security of the cargo on the drones he'd built, but he was getting nowhere fast.
He couldn't concentrate or focus to save his own life.
Instead, he kept picturing Mercedes' fathomless brown eyes and how they revealed her thoughts, more than her words.
So when Kitty showed up carrying his first choice of poison...coffee, black and strong...he was grateful for the interruption.
"You also got another present in the mail," Kitty said. "One of the Real Housewives producers is apparently a fan and she sent a box of your favorite candy. Oh...she wants to know if you date cougars."
Sam slid her a look and she laughed.
"Right. I'll decline politely." She paused. "Your newest tenant has been busy," she said casually.
Sam raised a brow, because, here's the thing...Kitty was never casual.
"Yeah? Doing what?" he asked.
"Asking questions about you, trying to figure out what you do for a living."
Sam shrugged that off.
"It's just a little game between us. Relax...she's not the press."
"As long as you know what you're doing. Oh, and check your e-mail. I sent you some things I need you to go over and get back to me on. I'll be in my office."
"Ah, don't go away mad," he said.
A little humor came into her eyes.
"Just go away?"
"That'd be great," she said, rolling her eyes. And then, as she was heading to the door,
"Fine, follow your heart, whatever. Just promise me, you'll take your brain with you. Oh..."
She stopped short and turned back.
"I almost forgot the best part..."
She set her iPad on the desk in front of him, her browser opened to an article that read...
SAN FRANCISCO'S TOP TEN MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS
'Jesus!' Sam swore internally.
"Tell me I'm not on this list," he said.
But Kitty didn't speak.
"Shit! Tell me I'm not number one on this list."
She let out a breath.
"You're not number one," she said.
"Number two?"
She grimaced.
He scrolled through the list and felt insulted.
"Number four?"
She laughed at him as he pushed the iPad away.
"So let me get this straight. You didn't want to be on the list, but now that you are, you want to be number one?"
"Well, yeah. Anything else just sucks."
"It's not a poker game you lost...you do realize that, right?"
He shrugged.
"Maybe if you went to more of the social events, you'd get bumped to number three," Kitty teased, because, he'd gone to a grand total of zero society events.
"Kitty..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Go away."
And thankfully, she did, leaving him alone. Just how he liked it.
When Sam had sold the start-up, it'd been a life changer.
It'd given him the freedom to do what he wanted...when he wanted.
Like buying this building, for instance.
Then moving in and filling it with people he cared about, allowing him to burrow in and create his first real 'home', where he knew everyone and he felt comfortable.
He was grateful for that.
It'd allowed him to keep the real world at bay too.
For a while, he'd been hounded for interviews, but for the most part, it'd been easy enough to dodge them.
That is, until a month ago, when an old college roommate had re-surfaced, begging him for a sit-down.
College hadn't been a great time for Sam.
He'd gone at age sixteen, which had put him at a big disadvantage on all levels.
One of his roommates, Finn, hadn't exactly been a friend, but at least he'd allowed him to tag along to frat parties and drinking nights with him.
Then, Sam had graduated before him, and he in turn, stopped speaking to Sam.
All these years later, Sam hadn't wanted to give the interview, but...hell. He'd been hired right out of college at age eighteen, to a government think tank.
And he'd gone from there into business with Christian, a kid he'd met in the think tank.
Both adventures had been hugely successful, which meant that he had gotten lucky.
But Finn hadn't been nearly as lucky.
Nothing had worked out for him after he'd finally graduated.
He was a struggling tech writer for a second-rate online magazine. And feeling bad about that, Sam had very reluctantly agreed to an interview...on the stipulation that they talk, only about his work.
But Finn had used his personal knowledge of Sam from their college days, to spice up the final piece.
Deeply private stuff...including his screwed-up beginnings...not to mention, his spectacular failure with media darling, Dr. Cindy Hubbard.
Now, the whole world knew things he'd kept private. Such as, just how socially inept he was, how out of step with the rest of the world he felt, and how he couldn't seem to manage to sustain, any sort of intimate relationship.
Worse, the article had turned his life into a living hell.
The press had leapt on it like Christmas had come early.
And to this day, Sam still didn't understand why. But for some reason, people were fascinated by him...the poverty-stricken kid, turned Forbes Top 100, who was now one of San Francisco's most eligible bachelors.
That was a joke in itself.
There really wasn't much that embarrassed Sam, but this...this did the trick.
He was pissed as hell at Finn and pissed at himself for letting it happen.
Some smart guy he was.
Sam's phone had been having seizures, which he was ignoring. But the sound was driving him crazy, so he turned it off.
"Now, maybe you'll shut the hell up..."
"Talking to yourself again?" Christian asked.
His sometime business partner and one of the few people in the world who had access to this apartment, strolled in.
Sam narrowed his eyes.
"Hey. You made millions on our last deal, where we sold the start-up."
"Yep." Christian headed for Sam's fridge. "What's your point?"
Without waiting for the answer, he helped himself to the refrigerator, which was stocked by Nancy...the building's housecleaning supervisor.
Nancy loved Sam. But she also knew he didn't cook...unless popping a Hot Pocket into the microwave counted...and she knew his tastes.
He wasn't fond of vegetables...aside from corn on the cob...he hated anything green...unless it was a gummy bear...and basically, he had the appetite of a tween.
"My point," Sam said, watching Christian shopping his fridge shelves, "Is that, you're not being hounded by the press."
Christian shrugged.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't stupid enough to talk to them in the first place. Nor do I have a tragic background or fumble the ball with the ladies."
Sam scowled and slouched further in his chair.
"I thought I was doing a friend a favor."
Christian pulled out some Tupperware, and when he moaned, Sam knew he'd found Nancy's homemade lasagna.
"Oh my God," Christian said. "I want to marry Nancy."
"She's twenty years too old for you and she's currently married for the third, or maybe it's the fourth, time...to her ex-husband Leo, who would kick your ass."
"I don't even care." Christian was eating right out of the container. "Oh...and we have no friends to do favors for, remember? Not real ones, you know that. Or you should by now."
"I have friends."
"Yeah, I know. Me, Artie, Fergus and Wendy." Christian cocked his head and gave it some thought. "Oh, and possibly Kitty, though I'm still not convinced she's human."
"No one's convinced she's human." Sam shrugged. "But you guys are all I need."
Christian jabbed his fork in Sam's direction.
"If that was true, you wouldn't be moping around like you have, since you sold your start-up. Or maybe, it's since Cindy."
Getting up, because the lasagna sounded good, Sam snatched the Tupperware from him.
"I don't mope," he said.
"Yes you do. Like a baby wanting its mama," Christian said.
Undeterred, he turned back to the fridge, to see what else he could mooch.
"I take it you're suddenly blocked on your drone project?" he said.
"So."
"So you're blocked. It happens."
"When? When does it happen?" Sam asked. "Because, more than anyone else I know, you're a lot like me and you're not blocked."
"First of all, we're not that much alike."
Sam just looked at him.
"Okay, so we're both smart and a little bit techy. Whatever. But on me, it's sexier."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"And second of all," Christian said, "I don't get blocked as much as you, because I get sex regularly. Sex is the answer, man."
"To what?" Sam asked.
"Everything," Christian said. "Sex is always the answer. And I'm pretty sure, you haven't had any in way too long."
All true, but he'd never been all that good at emotionless, unattached sex.
And, unfortunately, he was even worse at emotional sex.
Christian didn't seem bogged down by the same baggage.
And Sam was pretty sure, the rugged cowboy look, didn't hurt much either.
The guy was every bit as smart as him, but unlike Sam, he didn't struggle in social situations. He could talk to a five-year-old throwing a tantrum in the courtyard, the geriatric blue-hairs who spent their mornings in the coffee shop, or anyone in between and they all unequivocally loved him.
Christian's phone buzzed.
He pulled it out and frowned.
"What?" Sam asked.
"It's Kitty. Which isn't fair. She told me to lose her number and yet she's allowed to contact me..." He broke off as he read the text.
"What?" Sam asked again.
Christian lifted his head.
"There's a woman? Why didn't you say so? Now you can test my theory, about the sexy times unblocking you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Kitty said there's a new woman in the building and that you're going to be stupid about her and go for it, so I should babysit you so that you can't. Except, I'm all for you going for it."
He deleted Kitty's text.
"Whoops!" He looked at Sam. "So, is she hot?"
Sam closed the fridge and gave Christian a nudge, that might've been more like a shove to the door.
"Let me guess. Visitation time is over," Christian said dryly.
Sam remained silent, as he opened the door.
"Fine," Christian said, in the hall between the front door and the elevator, as he turned back to him. "Do me a favor. Don't give her an interview."
Then, cracking his own ass up, he got on the elevator, just as Noah came out the stairwell.
Noah looked surprised to see Sam just standing there in the hallway.
"Hey. What's up?"
Sam crossed his arms, no longer willing to even pretend to be having a good time.
"You first."
As a rule, Noah was unflappable and impenetrable. A virtual stone when he wanted to be. Always cool under pressure and usually makes-a-joke-in-every-situation, and yet, he rocked back on his heels, his hands shoved in his front pockets, looking uncomfortable.
"Talk," Sam said.
"It's...nothing."
"Or...?"
Sam blew out a breath.
"She wants me to run the new girl."
No need to ask who 'she' was. It was Kitty, of course, being a mama bear.
Noah, in fact, had access to some serious search programs.
Once, Sam had run himself on the system and had learned he'd skipped both first and second grades, going straight to third...which he'd actually had no memory of doing.
He scrubbed a hand down his face.
"Why didn't she ask Artie to do it?" he asked.
"Because, she knows he would've said no. He's not afraid of her like the rest of us are."
"You were Special Ops," Sam said. "You still have all your skills. You could just stand up to her."
"Look, no one says no to Kitty, okay?"
"Well start," Sam said.
Noah pulled his not-ringing phone from his pocket and stared at the dark screen, like he wished a call would come through and save him from this conversation.
"You're not going to research Mercedes," Sam said. "It's no one's business if she's got secrets. And tell Kitty, that I'll fire her nosy ass if she doesn't chill."
Noah grimaced.
"Aw, man, I can't tell her that. Why do you hate me?"
Sam shook his head.
If Noah told Kitty no, she'd just find another way.
"Okay, new plan. Just find a way to put her off, before you run her. Blame work, I don't care."
"I'll try," Noah said. "But it's going to cost you man. Big."
"You're not going to fly one of my drones again," Sam said. "We never found the two you lost."
"Hey, those drones were faulty."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Fine. What I want, is an entire tray of Nancy's five-meat and cheese lasagna for myself."
Noah was constantly hungry, and constantly on the hunt for food. The guy was built like a fighter...lean, solid muscle.
And Sam had no idea where he put all the food.
"Seriously, you're a grown-ass man, one who's been trained in a million different ways to kill someone. Why do you let Kitty terrify you?"
Noah didn't bite. He just pointed at Sam.
"Forget it. Deal's off." And then he pivoted on his heel and headed back to the stairwell.
"Chickenshit," Sam called.
"Sticks and stones, man. You're on your own."
Which meant leaving Kitty sniffing around, and butting in, because that's what she did.
Most of the time, Sam appreciated it. But for whatever reason, he didn't want her snooping around in Mercedes' personal life.
He wasn't trying to be stupid, but it felt wrong.
"I'll pay you a thousand dollars to hold off checking into Mercedes' background for at least a week."
Noah turned back, both brows raised.
"Okay, you have my full attention."
"Are you serious? You'll get Kitty out of my hair for money?"
"Hell yeah!" Noah paused. "But when she finds out and kills me, I want an open casket. A week is all you want?"
"I'd ask for three weeks, but even I know you can't put Kitty off that long."
"True."
Sam shook his head and strode back into his apartment.
He stared at the computer screens he was getting nowhere on and left again, hitting the stairwell too, needing to clear his head.
This drone project was really weighing on him.
Work always did, since he put it first. But there'd been bonuses to that. He'd been able to take care of his family, for one.
His mom had never had a penny to her name, so she hadn't wanted anything from him, when he'd sold the start-up, but he'd bought her a house on the coast anyway.
It was about an hour south of here, the perfect distance for the both of them, and she felt like she'd won the lottery.
Sam got to the courtyard and turned to look down the alley.
The homeless man who lived in it, was called Old Man Steven by all.
Too many times to count, Sam had tried to get him a safe, dry, warm place to live, and too many times to count, he had told him where to shove it.
The old man liked the alley, as much as he liked the special brownies he'd learned to bake, way back in the early seventies, and no one could tell him otherwise.
He looked like Doc Brown, from the Back to the Future movies...if Doc Brown had baked his brain at Woodstock...and was currently sitting on an upside-down crate, twirling several coins between his fingers like a magician.
Or probably more accurately, like a con artist getting ready to find a new mark.
His favorite, were ladies of a certain age, several of whom lived in the building, and all of whom had crushes on him.
"I didn't do it," Steven said at the sight of Sam.
"Do what?" Sam asked.
"Whatever you're going to bitch at me about."
Sam blew out a sigh.
Last year, Steven had been caught selling mistletoe, that had turned out to be weed. And just last week, he'd had to warn him, it wouldn't be tolerated this year.
It hadn't gone well.
"I'm not here to bitch at you," Sam said.
"Well that's a change. Wanna play a game?"
The last time Sam had played cards with Steven, he'd actually lost a hundred bucks, because Steven could count cards.
"Do I look stupid, Grandpa?"
Steven's smile widened.
He was Sam's only other living relative besides his mom, except, his grandpa wasn't nearly as easy to take care of.
The man was nontraditional, incorrigible, and mischievous to say the least, and he couldn't be reined in.
Sam did the best he could, to always have the old man's back, but he made it more difficult, than getting medical care to countries in need, via his drones.
"I just wanted to make sure you're warm enough," Sam said. "The nights are getting cold."
"I'm good."
It wasn't really an answer, which didn't make Sam feel any better. His grandpa was a good guy, a smart guy, but he was also good at putting distance between himself and any sort of emotional attachment.
He'd always said he was meant to be alone for the rest of his life, and Sam knew he believed it.
Thing is, Sam knew the same thing about himself, which was ironically also his biggest fear...ending up alone.
So far, he'd made that a self-fulfilling prophecy.
But he knew without a doubt, that he didn't have the ability to love someone and give her everything she needed. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man and work came first, because, well, that's who he was.
"You know how to get ahold of me if you need anything."
"That I do," Steven said. "And right back atcha."
Sam let out a low laugh and his grandpa's good-natured expression faded.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit!" Steven said. "You're saying this is a one-way street, that you help me but I don't do shit for you."
"I'm not saying anything," Sam said.
Steven stared at him and then blew out a breath.
"You don't have to," he muttered. "Because it's true."
"Grandpa..."
"Go away, boy." And then, instead, Steven walked out the alley to the street and vanished.
Sam shook his head, went to the coffee shop, bought two cups to go, and two bags of mini muffins. He left one of the coffees and bags on Steven's crate and took his breakfast back to the stairwell.
Then, he went straight up.
To the roof.
There, he strode across the rooftop to the far corner of the building.
He hoisted himself up on the ledge and, as he'd been doing since he first bought this building...swung his legs over the side, lean back, and try to do what he had a hard time doing anywhere else.
Relax.
He let out a long breath and waited for calm to come over him.
But it didn't.
Not this time.
He'd long ago learned how to compartmentalize each section of his life. But at the moment, he had so much going on, that his brain raced over each problem, touching down and bouncing back up, unable to settle on any one thing.
Part of this was his ADD.
He had some serious attention deficit problems, always had. And he'd gotten pretty good at managing it.
Mostly.
But not today.
Today, his brain felt like he had a full dozen massive flat-screens on, each set to a different channel and all at full volume.
It actually physically hurt and he rubbed his temples.
"Headache?" asked the soft female voice, that had seduced him in his dreams last night.
A new voice that belonged to the woman he'd seen wet more times than dry...
Mercedes.
Stay safe!