A Gentleman's Persistence.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and events depicted in this book are entirely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or real-world events is purely coincidental.
The show had been nothing short of breathtaking. No matter how irritated Nalani had been earlier, she couldn’t deny the undeniable brilliance of the Os’Lisa. The intricate designs, the vibrant energy, and the aura of creativity captivated her so thoroughly that, by the time Margaret took her appreciation bow, Nalani found herself clapping with such enthusiasm her palms began to sting.
"Not the greatest show, huh?" Elijah teased from beside her, a sly smile playing on his lips.
Nalani shot him a dismissive glance and ignored his comment, instead standing up and scanning the room. She spotted her professor halfway through the show and had been waiting for the right moment to thank him for the tickets. Brushing past Elijah, she made her way toward the professor when suddenly Elijah stepped in front of her, cutting off her path.
"Hey," he said, his tone awkward, his gaze momentarily dropping to his shoes before meeting hers again.
"Excuse me?" Nalani raised an eyebrow, her irritation apparent.
"I mean—uh—I just wanted to say… I’m sorry," he stammered, one hand fiddling nervously with a loose curl in his hair.
"Are you being serious right now?" Nalani asked, her tone a mix of sarcasm and genuine confusion.
Weirdly enough, Elijah nodded. "Yeah. I just wanted to apologize for what happened at the coffee shop. I know you were at fault, but maybe I should’ve handled it better. You know, shown some concern. So… sorry."
For a moment, Nalani stared at him, unsure whether to laugh in his face or unleash her frustration. But the professor caught her eye in the distance, still scanning the room. She sighed, dismissing him.
"Yeah, yeah, it’s fine," she replied curtly before sidestepping him and jogging toward her professor.
"Oh, and you look good, by the way!" Elijah called after her, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd.
Nalani glanced back, flashing him an exaggeratedly seductive smile before disappearing into the crowd.
"You’re not going to get her like that," Jules said, appearing beside Elijah as if out of nowhere.
He turned to her with a blank expression. "What? What do you mean? I was just being nice."
"I see through all your crap," Jules replied coolly. "Listen, Nala’s a sweet girl, and I’m not about to let jerks like you mess with her."
"Who said anything about messing with her?" Elijah protested, sounding defensive.
"I’m just saying," Jules continued nonchalantly, "I’m not like Nala. If you so much as touch a strand of her hair, I’ll burn your house down. Cool? Cool." She smiled as if delivering casual advice before turning to glance at Nalani, who was now engrossed in conversation with the professor.
Both Elijah and Jules turned to watch Nalani, who briefly smiled at them before continuing her conversation.
"Listen, I don’t know who you are—" Elijah began, his voice filled with exasperation.
"Jules. Call me Jules," she interrupted.
"Alright, Jules, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m not going to hurt her. Like I said, I was just being nice."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel good," Jules replied, waving him off as she strutted toward Nalani.
Elijah watched her go, a faint scowl on his face. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much or why he felt the need to defend himself. Shaking his head, he fished his car keys out of his pocket and headed toward the back exit. He tapped his phone on the way out, already done with conversations for the night.
Meanwhile, Jules slipped an arm around Nalani as they left the venue. The two giggled, chatting about the evening as they made their way to the curb.
"What were you guys talking about?" Nalani asked, glancing at Jules.
"Nothing serious," Jules replied with a mischievous smile, pulling out her phone to show Nalani the ride app. The screen read: Ride full. Book in 30 minutes.
Nalani groaned in frustration, her aching feet screaming for relief. "I just want to go home," she muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her heels.
The two stood near the curb, chatting about their favorite outfits from the show and already planning to attend the next one. Despite her exhaustion, Nalani couldn’t help but admit that the night had been worth it.
“You seem to be having fun,” a voice cut through the chatter, and Nalani turned to see a striking woman standing beside them. She was tall and slender with straight, jet-black hair that cascaded down her back. Her golden-brown eyes gleamed with an icy sharpness, and her features—pointed nose, full lips, and high cheekbones—looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine. She wore a long white dress with bubble sleeves, the neckline plunging low enough to reveal an abundance of cleavage. Everything about her screamed “boss lady,” the kind of character you’d see dominating scenes in high-powered dramas.
Jules raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” she asked, her tone dripping with annoyance as she noticed the towering 6'5" muscular man in an all-black suit standing behind the woman like a bodyguard.
“I said, you’re having fun after stealing my gig, bitch,” the woman snapped, her sharp tone commanding the attention of those nearby.
Nalani blinked, momentarily speechless. Jules, however, wasn’t one to back down. “Do you know this chick? Because I’m two seconds away from giving her a free face reconstruction,” she declared, already slipping off one of her heels.
“Jules, stop!” Nalani grabbed her friend’s arm, trying to defuse the situation even as her own irritation bubbled beneath the surface.
The woman’s expression darkened, her voice growing louder as she stepped closer. “Oh, playing dumb now? Does ‘Nalia Padrón’ ring any bells? Thought you could just waltz in and take what’s mine?”
The name struck Nalani like a bolt of lightning. Nalia Padrón. Of course, it was her. The woman who was supposed to get the job Nalani now held.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding—” Nalani began, attempting to smooth things over.
“Don’t give me that fake-ass apology!” Nalia cut her off. “I don’t know how many men you had to sleep with to get the job, but I know your type.”
“Excuse me? My type? What the hell are you talking about?” Nalani shot back, her temper finally snapping.
Jules broke free from Nalani’s grip, her other shoe in hand and ready to strike. Just as she lunged forward, a sleek car pulled up to the curb.
“Get in!” Elijah called from the driver’s seat, unlocking the doors with a quick click.
Nalani hesitated for a split second, glaring at Nalia before deciding she wasn’t worth the drama. A crowd was beginning to form, murmurs and camera flashes heightening the tension.
“Jules, let’s go,” Nalani said firmly, grabbing her friend’s arm and pulling her toward the car. She climbed into the front seat while Jules reluctantly slid into the back. Elijah didn’t waste time, stepping on the gas and speeding away.
Nalia stood on the sidewalk, her expression cold but triumphant. This wasn’t over. She pulled out her phone and dialed. It was time for Plan B.
“What the hell is wrong with that woman?” Jules exploded from the back seat, her voice cutting through the tense silence.
Nalani didn’t respond, staring down at her phone. The time read 11:30 PM. Her feet ached, her head throbbed, and she just wanted to go home and collapse into bed.
“Are you okay?” Elijah asked softly, his eyes darting from the road to her face.
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Nalani stayed silent for a moment before whispering, “Stop the car.”
“What?”
“I said stop the car!” she snapped, louder this time.
Elijah braked abruptly and pulled over. Before he could say another word, Nalani pushed open the door and stepped out, walking quickly down the curb.
“Nala, wait!” Jules called, scrambling out of the car and chasing after her.
Elijah followed, catching up to Nalani and grabbing her by the arm. “Hold up,” he said firmly, his grip steady but not harsh.
“Let me go!” Nalani protested, struggling against him, but he didn’t release her.
“Calm down, Nala,” Jules urged, stepping to her side. “Don’t let that drama queen get to you. She’s not worth it.”
Elijah stayed quiet, simply holding Nalani in place until she stopped fighting. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a shaky breath.
“Let me drop you off,” he said gently.
Nalani didn’t argue, allowing him to guide her back to the car. As they reached it, she winced. “Ouch.”
“What’s wrong?” Elijah asked, concern flashing across his face.
“My ankle. I think I twisted it,” she muttered, glaring at the offending limb.
Without hesitation, Elijah scooped her up into a princess carry, ignoring her protests as he carried her to the car. Jules followed, shooting him an approving glance.
The ride was quiet, the soft hum of music from the radio filling the space. Nalani stared out the window, her face unreadable. When they arrived at her house, Elijah got out to help her.
“I can manage,” she insisted, though her limp betrayed her words.
“You should get that checked,” he said softly, his hand hovering near her arm in case she needed support.
“Thank you,” Nalani said, turning to face him. Her voice was quiet, but there was a flicker of gratitude in her eyes.
“I’ll drop Jules off,” Elijah replied, lingering for a moment before stepping back. Nalani nodded and disappeared into the house.
Inside, Denise and their mother scrambled away from the window, pretending to be busy as Nalani limped in.
“How was it?” Denise asked, but Nalani didn’t reply. She headed for the stairs, her movements slow and strained.
“What happened to your foot?” her mother asked, frowning.
“Nothing, Mama. I just need some rest,” Nalani replied, her tone clipped.
They watched her climb the stairs and heard her door shut moments later. Then, the familiar thrum of music filled the air.
“She’s probably crying, isn’t she?” their mother asked, sighing.
“Yep. That’s her cry song,” Denise replied, shaking her head.
******
Kate woke up wishing she hadn’t. That gnawing, hollow feeling in her chest had returned, the kind that made her fantasize about slipping into sleep and simply not waking up. She would never take her own life—too much of her was wired to fight—but the quiet idea of disappearing felt oddly comforting. Of course, life wasn’t so kind.
She sat up, wearing nothing but a black Tommy Harper bralette and matching underwear, the chilled morning air brushing against her bare skin. Around her, the king-sized bed was a mess of white sheets and scattered pillows, looking more like a battlefield than a place of rest. With a groggy sigh, Kate reached for the small button on the bedside table. The lights hummed to life, and the motorized blinds slowly slid open, revealing the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that surrounded her room.
Kate rose to her feet, her stride deliberate but unsteady, and wandered toward the window. The sprawling cityscape greeted her, the constant stream of traffic below making her feel simultaneously connected and isolated. She pressed a hand to the cold glass before turning away. Coffee. She needed coffee if she was going to survive the morning.
Downstairs, the aftermath of the previous night greeted her like a cruel joke. The TV was still on, casting muted shadows across the room, and the coffee table was littered with empty wine glasses, whiskey bottles, and half-eaten takeout containers. Kate grimaced, remembering how she’d stayed up late, watching The Os’Lisa from home while drowning herself in alcohol. It had been fun in the moment, but now her pounding headache was punishment enough.
She shuffled to the kitchen, her bare feet cool against the marble floor, and brewed herself a strong cup of coffee. The rich aroma offered a small comfort, and she followed it up with a handful of vitamins from the cabinet. After taking a long sip, she felt marginally better.
There wasn’t time to wallow; her schedule didn’t allow it. In a few hours, she had a photoshoot to attend, and being late wasn’t an option. With another sip of coffee, Kate headed upstairs for a shower.
Getting dressed was never stressful for Kate. It was more a matter of choosing from the endless supply of designer outfits that filled her expansive closet. Some pieces hung so far in the back she often forgot she even owned them until their label tags reminded her of the brands that had sent them.
She settled on a sleeveless black cropped tank top and matching baggy pants from the Trek Sport collection. Her blonde hair was tied into a sleek ponytail, and she finished the look with lime green and white Kive sneakers. Satisfied, she stood before her full-length mirror, her eyes tracing her reflection critically.
After snapping a few mirror selfies, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast. The housekeeper wouldn’t arrive until 9:00 AM, and waiting wasn’t an option. She decided she’d stop at the Early Breakfast Club downtown before heading to the shoot.
Grabbing her lime green tech bag, she threw it over her shoulder and turned to leave. But before stepping out, she paused in front of the mirror again. “Kate, you are bold and beautiful. The world belongs to you,” she murmured, her tone determined but hollow. She didn’t believe it, not really. Her confidence was paper-thin, and deep down, she knew she was barely holding it together. Still, fake it till you make it, right?
When Kate opened the front door, she was greeted by James standing on the porch, a white box in his hands. The red lettering on the box read Early Breakfast Club.
“Good morning, Katey,” James greeted her with his usual warmth.
“Morning, James. What do you have there?” she asked, already knowing the answer but playing along anyway.
“I made a stop for breakfast,” he replied with a grin. “You know I wasn’t going to let you head to your shoot alone, right?”
Kate smiled faintly, stepping out as James moved aside to let her pass. Together, they walked down the porch toward the garage.
“So, what are you driving today?” James asked, stopping by the key rack.
“Hulvian,” Kate replied, motioning toward the sleek electric car parked in the corner. James retrieved the keys and handed them over as they climbed in.
The drive through the city was peaceful. James had connected his phone to the car’s auxiliary, and the soothing sounds of Sweet Martha played softly in the background. Kate leaned back, letting the music and the hum of the car calm her nerves.
When they pulled into the parking lot of the studio, the car jerked slightly over the uneven pavement. Kate stepped out, adjusting her bag and glancing around.
The loud, grating blare of a megaphone shattered the calm.
“Good morning! You’re late!” a voice shouted.
Kate flinched, throwing her hands over her ears as she looked up. On the roof of the studio stood a familiar figure holding a megaphone: Nalia Padrón. She smirked down at Kate, tapping her wrist to signal the time before disappearing from view.
“That bitch,” Kate hissed through clenched teeth, turning to James, who had come around the car to stand beside her.
“Who the hell was that?” she demanded, her tone sharp.
“That’s… our sponsor,” James said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation.
Kate stared at him, her disbelief slowly turning into frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
James shrugged helplessly. “Welcome to the industry,” he muttered.
Kate exhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She could already tell it was going to be one of those days.
James had never seen Kate this pissed off before. Sure, she could get frustrated, but this was on another level—dangerously close to full-blown rage. It was the sixteenth time they had redone the fifty-second ad, and with each take, Kate’s patience unraveled further.
From her high perch on a director's chair, Nalia—whom James had secretly nicknamed "the she-devil"—barked through her ever-present megaphone. “It’s too short! Too inorganic! I can’t feel any real expression. What are you, a doll?”
Kate clenched her fists, her jaw tight as she fought the urge to lunge at Nalia. James quickly stepped in, pulling her aside before she could do something she’d regret.
“Kate,” he said gently, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s the first day. This is normal. Shoots are always rough at the start.”
“I swear to God, if she mentions my boobs one more time, I’ll shove that megaphone down her throat,” Kate hissed, glaring in Nalia’s direction.
James raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Your boobs? That’s what’s got you this mad?”
Before Kate could respond, Nalia interrupted yet another take.
“A lot of fake talent these days,” she called out mockingly through the megaphone.
“Excuse me?” Kate snapped, her voice sharp as a blade.
“You heard me,” Nalia retorted, jumping down from her chair with an exaggerated air of confidence. “If you had any real talent, you wouldn’t be here, wearing a tube top, selling ads for a second-rate company.”
“Your company,” Kate shot back, her tone dripping with venom.
“Exactly,” Nalia replied with a smug smile. “Second-rate as shit.”
Kate’s temper boiled over. “I’m so pissed off! Run it back? No way. That was a good shot!”
From the sidelines, James tried to intervene. “She’s right! That was solid!”
Nalia turned her venom on him. “I’m not talking to you, baldy.”
James froze, his hand instinctively going to the missing hair that was once perched on his bald head.
“Hey!” Kate interjected, stepping between them. “I don’t care if your mother never taught you manners, but you don’t talk to my manager like that. Ever.”
Nalia smirked. “Or what? You’ll walk away? It’s not like you have a choice.”
“Oh, fuck you!” Kate yelled, throwing up her hands. “I’m done with this bullshit.” She turned on her heel and started walking away.
“You can’t leave! You signed a five-hour contract—three times a week for two years. I own this time,” Nalia barked, her voice echoing across the set.
Kate paused at the door, looking over her shoulder with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Good thing I haven’t signed it yet.” And with that, she disappeared into the dressing room.
“What does she mean by that?” Nalia snapped, her frustration spilling over. “Anyone care to explain? Elise?”
Elise, the production assistant, hesitated, her arms full of files. “Um… it means this was supposed to be a test run before the formal contract was signed,” she stammered.
And you didn't think to inform me about that? Nalia shot at her.
James grinned as he stepped forward. “And you just screwed it up. Have fun commanding your minions, dumbass.” He tipped an imaginary hat and walked off.
Nalia’s face turned red as she screamed after him, “You’ve got to be kidding me! Get back here! NOW!”
******
Elsewhere
Nalani lay sprawled on her bed, her hair a tangled mess and her mood even worse. She wore nothing but an oversized T-shirt, her injured foot propped up on a pillow. The dull throb in her ankle was bad enough, but it paled in comparison to the sting of rejection she felt every time she reread the message on her phone:
Fuck off.
Kate’s response from the night before echoed in her head like a cruel taunt. Nalani stared at the screen, willing the text to morph into something more positive—something like Yes, let’s work together! But of course, it didn’t. She screamed into her pillow, flailing her legs in frustration until a sharp jolt of pain reminded her why that was a bad idea.
A knock at her door broke her pity party. She lifted her head reluctantly. “Denise?”
“Good morning, sis,” Denise called through the door. “I know it’s a bad time, but… someone’s here to see you.”
Nalani groaned. “Who?”
“It’d be better if you just came downstairs,” Denise replied, her voice wary.
Nalani sighed, reluctantly pulling herself out of bed. She slipped on some underwear and hobbled to the door. Ignoring the sharp pain in her foot, she made her way downstairs.
When her eyes landed on the figure in the living room, she froze.
“Elijah,” she whispered, stumbling back a step before turning and retreating upstairs as quickly as her injury allowed.
Denise rolled her eyes, her glare boring into Elijah, who sat casually on the couch. Their mother emerged from the kitchen, balancing a plate of mashed potatoes and baked ribs.
“Thank you,” Elijah said politely as she handed him the plate.
“Oh, don’t mind Nala,” their mother replied with a warm smile. “She’s just a bit shy.”
“What are you doing here?” Denise demanded, crossing her arms.
“Denise!” their mother chided.
“Mama, this dude is an asshole,” Denise snapped.
“No cursing,” their mother warned, her tone sharp.
Elijah muttered something under his breath, but Denise wasn’t having it. “What did you say, punk?” she demanded, stepping closer.
“I said… I’m sorry for what happened in the coffee shop,” Elijah replied, his voice low but sincere.
Denise blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected apology. She didn’t know what to say, so she simply stared at him, unsure of whether to forgive him—or punch him.
“That… that doesn’t change anything,” Denise muttered, her voice stubborn but faltering.
“Dee, the lad has apologized. Stop teasing him and go get your sister. Drag her if you must—”
“What do you want?” Nalani interrupted, her voice sharp as she descended the stairs. She was more appropriately dressed now, wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants tucked into white socks. One foot sported a rubber shoe, while the other held its match, dangling in her hand.
Elijah stood and offered her a smile. He looked put-together in a striped purple-and-white button-up shirt, brown slacks, and polished dress shoes. “I’m here to take you to the hospital,” he said, his tone light but firm.
“No, thank you. I can manage,” Nalani replied, limping slightly as she struggled down the last few steps.
Before she could object further, Elijah strode up to her and lifted her into his arms with little effort. “You’re stubborn,” he remarked. “And that’s bad for you.”
Nalani didn’t respond, avoiding his gaze as she stared at the floor. He carried her to the living room and gently set her on the chair. “You really need to get that checked,” he said, pointing at her swollen ankle.
“Oh my gosh, Nala, what happened to your foot?” her mother exclaimed as she entered the room.
“It’s nothing serious. Just a minor accident,” Nalani said dismissively.
“Minor, my ass,” her mother interjected. “I’m taking you to the clinic.”
“Mama, no—” Nalani began to protest.
“I’ll take her,” Elijah cut in confidently.
“I’m coming with—ouch!” Denise added, grabbing her side dramatically.
“Good,” their mother said, clapping her hands decisively. “You and I will head to the supermarket for groceries, then.”
“You can’t just—” Nalani started, but her mother silenced her with a wave of her hand.
“Listen, Nala, let the gentleman take you to the hospital, okay?”
“Gentleman?” Nalani and Denise said in unison, their tones dripping with disbelief.
Elijah smiled faintly as he walked toward the kitchen to return the empty paper plate. Their mother blocked his path, snatching it from him. “I’ll take this. You take her,” she said, nodding toward Nalani.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Elijah said politely, turning back to Nalani. “Shall we?”
Nalani scowled, crossing her arms as he approached. “Just so we’re clear, this is not a date. Or anything remotely like that.”
“I never said it was,” Elijah replied calmly, lifting her once more.
As he carried her out of the house, Denise and their mother stood by the door, watching the scene unfold. Denise leaned toward her mother and muttered, “I still think he’s an asshole.”
“Hush now,” their mother replied, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smile.