So yes, I am posting the new stories I gave you previews for in Jan, but before the new year, I wanted to give you a gift. After watching Wiclked and seeing my fav song performed, I had to make a Samcedes story about it! If you haven't heard the song "I'm not that girl," check it out! But enjoy!
Mercedes Jones adjusted her earpiece, her phone tucked into her bag, as she entered the busy lobby of her building in Midtown Manhattan.
The soft hum of conversations from people both coming and leaving brought a soft smile to her lips. She moved to the side as her older brother, James, also known as JJ, continued to speak; he liked to check in on her weekly to ensure she was okay.
"I said, is everything good, M?" JJ's voice crackled through the earpiece, filled with the same concerned tone that had been a staple of their sibling relationship since childhood.
"I'm good, JJ," she replied, the warmth of her smile reaching her voice even if he couldn't see it. "Getting a new client tomorrow, so that's exciting. A little work-related shake-up is exactly what I need right now."
"Nice, so I'm guessing that means you'll be busy as hell?"
"Yep, right after Thanksgiving, I am going to be on the go." Mercedes said with a laugh, pushing the button to the elevator as she waited for it to arrive. "But that's what keeps the lights on, right?"
There was a brief pause, and then JJ's voice softened. "You sure you're okay, though? You know, with everything."
"I'm fine," Mercedes assured him, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open. Even though JJ left, his concern for his sister never wavered. Leaving her was the hardest thing he had ever done, and though part of him wanted her to move with him, he knew she had to live her own life.
"And your meds still doing their job?"
"Yes, Dad..." She exaggerated, making them both laugh, trying to keep their conversation light; she didn't need him worrying about her.
"I'm serious Mercy."
"Seriously, I've got my routine. I'm about to enter my apartment, get some takeout, and watch Wicked for the millionth time."
JJ snorted on the other end. "You are basically a musical without the music, you know that?"
Mercedes rolled her eyes, amused, but before she could reply, the shutting elevator doors opened again as they, and a man stepped in beside her. He was tall, with a broad frame that caught her attention.
His green eyes flickered to her brown for a second before he looked ahead, his light goatee framing a strong jawline.
The fleeting glance left her distracted for a moment, but she quickly refocused as JJ asked her another question.
"So, you're good...I don't need to pack up Kelly and the kids and come down there?"
"Will you stop worrying? You promised Kelly this year you'd spend Thanksgiving with her family, I will be fine alone JJ." Mercedes said, her voice distracted as she watched the man out of the corner of her eye, trying to keep her thoughts on the conversation. "I'm good; I'll call you tomorrow. Tell Kelly I said hi, and kiss the kids for me."
The elevator dinged softly as it finally closed, and Mercedes pushed the button for her floor as she wrapped up her call. JJ's voice came through one last time. "I love you, sis. Don't let work run you ragged, okay?"
"I won't; love you too, big brother," Mercedes promised, just as the elevator jolted to a stop on the 14th floor.
She tapped her earpiece, hanging up as the elevator doors opened.
The man stepped out with her, giving her a polite nod. His lips curled into a charming smile.
She returned the gesture with a polite nod of her own, her gaze flickering briefly toward his green eyes before she turned her attention forward.
They walked down the hall in silence, the sound of their footsteps the only noise filling the air. Mercedes couldn't help but notice how he seemed completely at ease, a confident stride that matched the self-assurance she had come to associate with men like him—carefree, smooth, and undoubtedly accustomed to attention.
As they reached the corner, he glanced over at her and offered a grin that clearly meant to charm. "Guess we're neighbors," he said with an easy confidence that was clearly meant to make her swoon. "Lucky you."
Mercedes raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a subtle smile as she matched his pace for a moment, considering him.
She was more used to the type of flirtation that came with being in a building full of young professionals who flirted for fun, but something about his vibe just didn't hit the mark.
Instead of engaging in the flirtation, she nodded and kept walking.
"Uh-huh," she said dryly before she finally let the silence take over while she grabbed her keys and moved toward her door.
She didn't need to look back to know he was probably standing there with a grin on his face, wanting to seem charming and in control, but it was the kind of charm that had never worked on her. She had more important things to focus on than whatever game he was playing.
As she slipped into her apartment, the quiet of her own space enveloped her. She smiled to herself, finally allowing herself to relax, ready to sink into her evening routine—take her meds, eat her takeout with a cozy blanket and the familiar comfort of Wicked.
Sam Evans adjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder as he stepped into the elevator, glancing at the woman who stood before him.
His breath caught for a moment. She was striking in a way that he couldn't quite define.
She was not the overly polished beauty he was used to seeing at events or the clubs, but something refreshingly real.
Her dark, curly hair framed her face perfectly, and her outfit—black slacks with leather panels across the thighs, a T-shirt with bold lettering that read Pray Over It, Pray Through It, and Pray On It, and an oversized letterman jacket—gave her effortless confidence. The jacket caught his attention, gray with black sleeves and a bold black M stitched on the chest, falling almost to her thighs. It suited her, casual but unique, just like the energy she carried.
Sam tried to keep his gaze subtle, but it wasn't easy. She was gorgeous. And intriguing.
When her phone call resumed, he leaned casually against the elevator wall, pretending not to eavesdrop as she spoke to whoever was on the line. Her voice was smooth and melodic, and he smiled at her playful tone.
As the elevator stopped on the 14th floor, Sam was pleasantly surprised when she stepped off as well. So, we're neighbors, he thought, his grin widening.
"Guess we're neighbors," he said aloud, flashing her the effortless charm that had worked on plenty of women in the past. "Lucky you."
She barely glanced at him, her expression unimpressed. "Uh-huh," she replied, her tone dry, before walking down the hall without another word.
Sam blinked, caught off guard. He stared after her for a second, then let out a low chuckle as he made his way to his new apartment. Not what I expected, he thought. But interesting.
Once inside, he set his bag down and took in his surroundings. The apartment was sleek, modern, and spacious—everything he'd hoped for. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, the city twinkling like a million tiny stars.
As he wandered into the kitchen, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without checking the screen, knowing exactly who it was. "Hey, Stace."
"Sam!" his sister Stacey greeted cheerfully. "How's the big move? Is the apartment everything you wanted?"
"Better," he said, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping the cap off. "The view is insane. I'm on the 14th floor, and the city looks incredible from here."
"Nice," Stacey said. "So, excited to meet your new team tomorrow? They're really hyped about your book. It's a good sign."
"Yeah, I am," Sam admitted, walking into the living room and dropping onto the leather sofa. He stretched out, letting himself relax for the first time all day. "It's nice to work with people who believe in my writing. I've got a good feeling about this."
Stacey laughed. "You sound like a motivational speaker already."
"Well, it is kind of my job now." Sam grinned.
"Fair point. So," Stacey began, her tone teasing, "have you met any neighbors yet? Or are you planning to be the mysterious recluse on the 14th floor?"
Sam thought back to the woman in the elevator and chuckled. "Actually, yeah. I met someone." He said in a tone that she knew meant it was a girl.
"Oh?" Stacey's interest was immediate. "Let me guess, she swooned over you, and you'll have her in your bed by the weekend?"
He laughed, shaking his head. "Not even close. She ignored me. Barely said two words."
"What?" Stacey gasped, laughing so hard Sam could almost see her holding her sides. "Ignored you? That's a first."
"Tell me about it," Sam said, grinning as he took a swig of his beer. "But she was... interesting. Definitely not like anyone I've met before."
"Hmm. Maybe she's the one who won't fall for your 'charming Southern boy' act," Stacey teased. "You might actually have to try."
Sam chuckled, leaning back against the sofa. "We'll see."
They talked for a few more minutes, catching up on Stacey's latest adventures and her holiday plans. After hanging up, Sam stood and looked around his new space, mentally preparing for the big meeting in the morning.
He set his empty bottle on the counter and headed to his bedroom, already thinking about the team he'd meet tomorrow. But as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted back to the woman in the elevator—the one who hadn't even flinched at his charm.
"Interesting," he muttered to himself with a smirk before turning off the light.
Sam Evans adjusted his leather side bag strap and glanced in the mirror one last time. His dark wash jeans, buttoned-down green shirt, and black blazer were a perfect mix of professional and approachable.
His dirty blonde hair was slicked back, but not overly styled, and his glasses gave him an intellectual edge. He smirked at his reflection, grabbed his phone, and headed out.
Stepping into the elevator, he hit the bottom floor, mentally reviewing what would happen.
The elevator doors were just beginning to close when a hand darted in to stop them.
Sam looked up as the doors opened again, revealing his neighbor—the woman from last night.
Her hair was still in its natural curls, framing her face beautifully. She wore subtle makeup that highlighted her smooth, glowing skin.
Her outfit—a black pencil skirt, a purple blouse tucked neatly into the waistband, and a black blazer—accentuated her curves perfectly. The purple heels she wore added an extra edge of sophistication.
She carried a sleek black briefcase in one hand, and the other housed her phone.
Sam smiled, stepping to the side to make room. "Good morning." he said, tone warm and friendly.
She nodded, her voice calm as she replied, "Good morning."
They rode in silence, the hum of the elevator the only sound. Sam couldn't help but sneak a glance at her reflection in the polished doors.
She looked poised, confident, and completely unbothered by his presence.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, they stepped out together. Burt Hummel, the building's doorman, greeted her with a smile. "Ms. Jones, your cab's ready."
"Thank you, Burt," Mercedes said, returning his smile; she placed a hand on his shoulder before exiting the building.
Sam paused, watching their interaction. Burt seemed more attentive than Sam had noticed with other residents. Curious, he approached the doorman. "How do I get that kind of service?"
Burt chuckled, shaking his head. "You'd have to be her."
As Burt started to turn away, Sam quickly asked, "Hey, do you know how to get to Fabray Management?"
Burt raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "Yes, it's just downtown; Merce is heading there now. Maybe you could ride with her."
Before Sam could thank him, the cab sped off. He jogged to the curb, waving, but it was already too late. With a sigh, he hailed another cab and climbed in, pulling out the folder with his contract. As the car weaved through traffic, he flipped through the pages, reviewing the details one last time.
Sam leaned back in the cab, flipping open the contract again. His eyes skimmed over the royalties section.
"18% on hardcover, 12% on paperback, 30% on e-books… Not bad for a debut." He shrugged, but the next line caught his attention. "Projected sales: 50,000 copies in the first year." He let out a low whistle. "Ambitious, huh?"
He tapped the page thoughtfully, a mix of pride and doubt settling in. People loved the story when they read it, but was it enough to move that many books? Sure, the beta readers had been obsessed, but sci-fi was always hit or miss.
Closing the contract, Sam slipped it back into his bag. "Here's hoping Fabray Management knows what they're doing," he muttered. "Time to see if this hype is real."
The cab slowed, and Sam glanced out at the gleaming office building—time to make his move.
When he arrived at the sleek Fabray Management building, a blonde woman in a fitted white dress was waiting for him in the lobby. Flashing him a dazzling smile, she rushed over to him, linking her arm through his without hesitation.
"Sam Evans," she said brightly. "I'm Quinn Fabray. Welcome! We are so excited to be working with you. Your book is incredible, and we're already brainstorming ideas for how to promote it."
Sam chuckled, charmed by her enthusiasm. "Thank you. It's great to be here."
As they walked through the office, Quinn gestured animatedly, pointing out various space features and dropping hints about her company's success. "The conference room is being set up now," she said, steering him down a hallway. "My father apologizes for being unable to make it today, but you'll be in the best hands. With me, of course."
Sam smirked. "Oh?"
She nodded as they looked at each other for a moment. "Well, yeah, and his second-in-command, Mercedes Jones, is the best at what she does."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Well, now that's high praise."
Quinn grinned. "Well, she's my best friend, so I have to sell her, right?"
They both laughed, and Quinn's hand brushed against his arm in a way that felt intentional. Sam played along, as he always did when women flirted with him, offering her a small smile and matching her light banter.
As they approached the conference room, she stood against him, smiling and happily twirling her hair. Sam stared down at her.
After a moment, someone cleared their throat.
Quinn turned, hiding her frustration at the interruption. Running her hands down her dress, she cleared her throat and introduced herself to the two men standing nearby.
"Sam, this is Sebastian Smythe, our company lawyer. He's the one who wrote up your contract."
Sebastian extended a hand, his smirk a little too confident. "A pleasure, Mr. Evans. Big fan of your work."
"Thanks," Sam said, shaking his hand before turning to the other man.
"And this is Hunter Clarington," Quinn continued, "an associate who works closely with Mercedes."
Hunter nodded politely. "Looking forward to collaborating with you."
Sam returned the nod, but before he could reply, the door to the conference room opened.
Quinn smiled brightly. "And here she is, the woman of the hour!"
Sam turned, and his breath caught.
Mercedes walked in, her presence commanding the room immediately. She looked polished and professional, her outfit from earlier enhanced by the confidence in her stride. But as her eyes met Sam's, she froze, the briefcase in her hand shifting slightly.
"Ms. Jones," Quinn said, oblivious to the tension in the air. "This is Sam Evans."
Sam stood, offering a polite smile, though he couldn't hide his surprise. "Ms. Jones."
Mercedes blinked, quickly regaining her composure. She straightened her shoulders and nodded. "Mr. Evans."
Their gazes lingered for a moment too long before Quinn's cheerful voice broke the silence.
"Well," Quinn said, clapping her hands together, "let's get started, shall we?"