Make the Cut (SAMPLE)

Chapter Two: Naoya Sugawa

A friend.

As I sit across from Poppy Black, waiting for her response while she digs her spoon into a cup of mint ice cream, I wonder if I've ever actually had a female friend. I'm not sure. Usually, something always goes awry. One of us gets attached and before I know it, I'm either fending off clingy, emotional girls or trying to get them to agree to my one-and-done terms.

"Right." She nods, spooning ice cream into her mouth. "We're friends."

Friends. I am friends with Poppy because, with her, it's different. It being the usual hubbub about fame, celebrity, and the fear of my secrets being sold to the press (even if she was just exposed for having a celebrity gossip blog). Maybe because she's half-in, half-out of my world, being the sister of an equally famous person (Ryder Black), or because the way we met was on equal footing when neither of us was famous enough to account for all sorts of strings. When I met her, I was a starving artist who bought clothes so I could wear them once and then return them so that I could pay my rent. Now, I have no trouble buying clothes or paying rent.

No, that's not entirely true. My stylist buys all my clothes because if I'm being honest, picking out my own has landed me on worst-dressed lists. Multiple times.

"Cool." I fiddle with the zipper on the cooler bag. "Hey, what are you doing after this?"

She arches an eyebrow. "I was going to eat ice cream and watch Bridgerton. Tell me your plans are more fun. And no, a high school reunion is not more fun than period dramas."

"Oh, I assure you, I'm in total agreement there." I consider tonight's plans and decide high school reunions are not on the agenda. Jake, my old high school friend and the only one who doesn't call because he's asking for concert tickets or favours, cancelled on me. His wife is having a baby. He's living a normal life. Me? I haven't had a serious girlfriend since the seventh grade. "Mind if I derail your Bridgerton watching? I was thinking we could head down to the pier and eat ice cream there."

"Well, you've made me an offer I cannot refuse." She grins, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin and pulling a strand of her black, shoulder-length hair away from her face with a grimace. Usually, it's cut shorter, chin-length and just short enough to show off her dangling earrings. I wonder if she's been too busy to get it cut. "Mostly because there's ice cream involved."

"Good to know how much you esteem my company." I grab the bag of ice cream and gesture for her to follow me. "Let's get out of here."

My bodyguard, Gustav, catches wind of my proclamation and finishes his waffle cone, before getting up to follow us. I wave at him. "You can head home. I think we'll be fine."

"You sure?" He glances at Poppy like she might be concealing a pipe bomb in her purse or anthrax in her compact mirror. Even though I've been friends with Poppy for nearly as long as I've been in L.A., Gustav has never quite warmed to her—or any of the women I spend time with. I'm sure there's judgment buried deep beneath his stony exterior, but he hides it under a veneer of gruff professionalism.

I know he's worried since I technically have a stalker out in the wild somewhere, on the loose, whose identity is still a mystery to my security detail, but... Right now, I feel like doing whatever I want to. And part of that is spending time with Poppy.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Whatever you say, boss." With that, he retires for the night, heading off to do whatever off-the-clock bodyguards do. Play video games? Head home to a wife and kids? I've never asked him about his personal life, he's never discussed mine, and we're perfectly happy with that arrangement. Or lack thereof.