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Ling went to his final day of filming feeling good. Everything had gone without a hitch yesterday, and Sherri had made it her sole mission to bitch about Isaiah Pell, plus the occasional info dump about her family drama.

Ling liked Sherri. He'd taken the Vietnamese woman's number after telling her he was a fashion designer, and now he had a makeup artist for any time he wanted to hire models for his clothing lines.

And then there was James. Ling wasn't sure what exactly he must have said to the youngest Pell, or if he'd even said anything, though Isaiah hadn't bothered him after that little exotic Asian respect speech. That was a relief, because Ling didn't want to get fired for kneeing the billionaire between the legs.

Memphis would be coming today, and Ling was admittedly nervous. If the youngest was an arrogant playboy, and the middle son was a slovenly racist, Ling could only hope the oldest wasn't an ass. Because it was that one who was paying him.

There was something about James still, something familiar he couldn't quite put his finger on, though maybe it was just the fact that he had dimples and so every time Ling reached that hypothesis, he shut it down.

He was so over the concept of dating. There really was no middle ground for him was there? Either they became obsessed with him, or they didn't really care about him at all.

Maybe he should try dating women again?

"You okay sweetie?" asked Roux, driving.

Ling had scoffed, seemingly, for no reason. "Nothing, I'm just hilarious."

The first person he'd ever dated was a girl, though they were both fifteen and he realised he was gay two months in after spending all their study sessions at her house gazing at her older brother. It had ended on good terms though. Lujin even offered to help him turn her gē ge gay.

Looking back, that was probably quite a weird offer to make. Junhui liked her though, and Ling had thought they may have had a thing for a while, even though the other man always denied it.

High school was like a fever dream now, but he had never regretted coming to America. For one thing, he'd never had to hide his sexuality.

They arrived at Lonely Hearts. The setup was exactly the same, though, for the second half of the shoot, he was given a traditional tux and tinted hair gell for a more dramatic look.

He hadn't seen any of the Pells yet, though Ms. Hachette more than made up for it with her miniature dictatorship. Neither had he seen James, but that wasn't important of course.

"Okay, Ling," said Director Chu, after wrapping up a scene in which he caught a glass of the gin that was slid down to him across the bar. Then he had to turn around and very significantly prop his elbows back on the counter with the glass in hand. It must have been a very deep and meaningful glass of booze. "For the next scene, Zinnia will walk over to you, and you'll meet halfway. She'll have the rose, and slip it into your breast pocket..."

Ling knew the rest; he'd read the script too, and as they got through the scene of him searching through the crowded club for the mysterious woman who'd handed him a rose as if this was some intricate film noir concept, he noticed in his peripherals Ms. Hachette go over to meet someone.

"An-n-n-d, that's a wrap. Perfect," announced the director.

The last scene involved Ling walking down the winding staircase and picking up a rose at the foot of the flight, whilst, of course, still suavely holding his glass. He put both on the counter after being ushered over by the director who praised the ending. One person clapping interjected the moment and Ling turned to see Ms. Hachette walking toward them, with two people beside her. James, wearing another fancy suit with swirling crimson designs on the cuffs, as well as an older man.

Ling immediately recognised Memphis Pell. Mr. Pell stopped his joyous clapping as he stopped before Ling.

"Excellent job, Mr. Zhi. I might not have managed to make it for the first day, but I'm glad I made it for this. He leaned in a little closer. "I hope you don't mind, though I was watching from Mr. Abel's office for the majority of this shoot. Apparently, my presence makes people nervous."

"No, of course not," insisted Ling, even if it was only half true. After coming from nothing, Mr. Pell had since become one of the richest people in America. Now in his late fifties, he'd spent the last thirty-five years shaping the liquor business. To say the man with a ruthless reputation in an already cut-throat business was a little imposing would be an understatement. "I'm very thankful that you've given me this opportunity."

"I don't give opportunities Mr. Zhi," said Mr. Pell matter-of-factly. "I offer auditions for those to earn their opportunities. If I hadn't liked what I had seen, I would be currently axing this commercial and cutting any ties between you and my product."

Wow, that was certainly forthright. Ling actually appreciated that.

"But, you are quite talented, and the fact that you are young, handsome, and have already started making a name for yourself as a streetwear fashion designer." He turned to the owner of the club. "James, what did you think of Mr. Zhi?"

The man in the tailored, fancy suit looked at Ling with a hint of a wicked smile, bringing out a ghost of a dimple. "I think he'll attract a lot of attention...for the label. You chose well, Memphis."

Ling eyed both men in surprise.

"Of course I have done my research on you," addressed the man who was equal in height, yet carried a far more monumental gravitas. "I'm rather careful who I associate with. Unless they are family, in which case I, unfortunately, have no choice.

"My point," he continued, "is that I was very impressed with your performance. The ambiance you carry with you is stoic yet alluring. You're a chameleon, Mr. Zhi, and what you evoked on camera was more than enough to take attention away from the commercial's nonsensical and melodramatic nature. But," he concluded. "That cinematic style seems to bring in the sales these days. Mr. Zhi, I have no doubt that this line will take off when your and Miss Wright's trailer drops. When that happens, how would you like to continue to shoot a series of short films as the face of Ardor Gin?"

Shocked at the sudden, and, no doubt, lucrative offer, Ling initially stuttered, "I-I'd have to talk to my agent."

"That won't be necessary," interjected Ms. Hachette, checking her clipboard. "Mr. Mandelo will not be representing you whilst you are under contract with M.P. Enterprises. I have already discussed the matter with him, and your agent agreed to allow you to work as freelance talent."

"I'm sorry?" said Ling, confused, annoyed, and worried about how this would affect Roux and the agency.

"I assure you," Mr. Pell said. "Your agency has been handsomely compensated, so they will not suffer any reparations, and your contract with us has not been finalised, and will be tailored to suit you as best as possible."

✦

After around half an hour of sorting out the contract with Ms. Hachette, Ling had signed it. As Ling actually didn't mind the slightly botanical undertone to the drink – going by the glass he was given after signing the contract – Ling didn't feel like a complete sellout. Not that he would've cared considering the amount he was getting paid. At the rate he was going, he'd be able to outright buy another small factory and store for the business. And hiring more staff would be nice.

"Need a lift?" asked a velvety tone.

Standing in the hall that led to the elevator and exit stairway, Ling had been wondering how he was going to get back with Roux having left. He was just about to call a taxi.

"I'm okay. Thanks though." Ling went back to his phone, though the other man was undeterred.

"You really want to catch a taxi carrying a designer tuxedo and expensive gin at night?" he pointed out.

It was true, as Ling had been gifted a limited edition label from Mr. Pell, and allowed to keep the tux. It wasn't really his style – that belonged more to the man who had come to stand beside him – but there might always be a special event he could wear it to.

"Do you think I might try to do something untoward? I promise I won't bite you."

Ling looked up at Mr. Abel, who wore a barely imperceptible smirk underneath that thick layer of sophistication. "Well, I didn't think that before, but if we're on that topical line, why offer someone you barely know a ride? How do you know I won't try anything untoward?"

A mischievous glint seemed to play in the club owner's eyes at that crack. "I'd hope you would wait until I finished driving, or we might crash."

Ling might have found that a little funny. He didn't laugh though.

Mr. Abel's expression became more genuine. "I actually came here to tell you that Memphis has invited us all to dinner at Zenith Point Tower on Friday...and to offer you a lift."

Ling looked at what he had to carry, and then pondered waiting for a taxi. Even though the club was opening two hours later than normal tonight and there wouldn't be any crowds, the curfew made waiting times erratic.

"It takes an hour to get to my place. East side, near Summer Hayes Park," informed Ling, seriously doubting anyone would want to go that out of their way.

"How convenient, that's exactly where I need to go."

Sure, thought Ling, though Mr. Abel showed him the underside of his suit jacket, which was torn.

"And this is an expensive suit." The club owner sighed. "The closest tailors that are open at this hour are past where you live, so it is no inconvenience. And Azim is more than capable of handling this place in my absence."

Ling knew the place he was talking about. "That boutique is almost two hours away, and is infamous for ripping off tourists, Mr. Abel. I can fix it if you want?" he added without thinking.

Mr. Abel cocked an eyebrow. "Is that an offer I hear?"

Fuck it, they'll be seeing each other at Zenith anyway. Ling shrugged, "Sure."

"In that case, there's no way I'm letting this jacket travel in a taxi." He grabbed his keys out of his pocket, and took what Ling was holding in a single, smooth action. Ling didn't even register it until a moment later.

"And Ling, my name is James."

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Hey there, I'm not sure how anyone is feeling about this slowburn, but a little toxic trait of mine (among many) is that I like to build up the relationship slowly, before tossing in the naughty scenes. Lull people into a false sense of Christian security, you know.

~ Daci