Every Breath You Take [RDJ Fanfic] - COMPLETED

One Hundred Twenty Six

I guess he's told them I was working, like I had excused myself, because when we return to the dinner table, I'm asked about what exactly I'm recording.  I just describe the single I wrapped on last week, because no one will know any different outside of my team anyway.  I announce, as if they haven't heard from him already, that the single is dropping in the coming weeks, and leak that it is in fact that song with Taylor.  There's chatter about his movie, but other than that, it's the usual, domestic talk about everyone's lives and drama that isn't in Hollywood with us, which is nice.  

I won't lie, though; I'm still a little more than upset with Devin after our phone call.  Yes, it's a holiday, cool.  But she is also my manager - I'm her boss, and I was only asking for a car.  We haven't spoken since, though I haven't tried to talk to her first, either.  I'll let it play out.  Over dessert, I check into my Twitter notifications and like a few tweets wishing us a happy Thanksgiving.

For the first time in years, I think I have a peaceful sleep into Black Friday.  I'm well aware of what day it is, but this year...I just don't care?  I was afraid I would, or that there would be another nightmare.  I think his sister assumed as much, as well, because everyone insisted they stay up past when we retired to our room, probably in case last year repeated itself.  Fortunately, I fell asleep after agreeing there was no more to talk about about the fight as long as I agreed talking to Charlie again was the worst possible idea for me - maybe reiterating that is what knocked away any nightmares, who knows?

In the morning, Robert insists on an incognito walk to get coffee in Central Park, but I'm too invested in work to enjoy it to the fullest extent.  My phone is out, reading emails forwarded from my front office at the label, and a few from Sydney that are drafts of agreements for the next few events.  

"It's a holiday weekend," is how I'm finally interrupted, my phone being snatched from my hands and tucked into his baggy pant pocket as he replaces it with a coffee instead.  "Work can wait."

My eyes narrow in response, but the warmth of the coffee cup through my gloved hands soothes some of the possible aggression.  "Funny, how often have I said that to you?"

"After yesterday, I thought you'd be wanting to make sure the rest of the trip goes perfectly," Robert replies instead, nodding toward the lake at the park, where he plans to wander around and chat, I suppose.

He's not wrong; I usually over think and panic and want to fix everything that's not broken.

"You said it's fine, so it's fine.  I'm trying to handle the convention at the end of the month," I explain, pouting.  "While you're doing promos for Ultron, I have to be in Pittsburgh, and they don't want to front more than what they did last year."

"Wow," he comments, surprised as he does a double take at my dramatically.  "I never thought I'd see the day when money was a concern to you."

It isn't mean, he's just...confused. 

"It's not a 'concern'," I try to defend, failing.  "But for everyone involved who has to come as handlers, all the advertising...I am a much bigger name than the last time I was there."

"Confident, I forgot."

"I thought you liked it."

"To an extent," he wraps up, then changes the subject.  "By the way, I was invited to present at the Golden Globes."

"I saw the paperwork come through," I confirm.  "Those are what, Feb-"

"January," he corrects before I can finish, then smiles stupidly at a fan jogging by who almost trips over herself when she notices who she's passing.  A sip of his coffee, himself, then, "I'm thinking of declining. No need to make an appearance this year."