Chapter 13 Show off
I was wondering when she was going to bring that up. Nothing ever slips past her. Ever the great body I know.
“He did. Just a simple catch up,” I say, shifting forward in my chair, already preparing my escape.
“I’m sure he’s looking for a very detailed kind of catching up with you.”
“Vicky!” I shriek, then quickly clamp my hand over my mouth, realizing how loud I was. “I can’t believe you just said that. He sees me like a sister,” I add more quietly, peeling my hand away.
“What?” she laughs. “Look at you. You have a face and an ass people would die for. And him? Good grief. He’s so delicious I could put him on toast and eat him. And he’s famous for what he gets up to in bed.”
“Well, I’m not famous for that, and I do have a boyfriend, remember?” I snap a little, though it barely fazes her. I’ve lied to her more than once about Will Terry being my boyfriend.
“Yes, well, we’re all perfectly innocent until men like him come along and mess us right up, my darling.”
She winks at me, grinning, easing the tension curling in my chest.
“You’re impossible,” I say with a shake of my head, rolling my eyes. “And I don’t see him that way.”
She presses her lips together and narrows her heavily lined eyes at me, studying me closely. “Yes, of course you don’t.”
“And how did lovely Will react to you having dinner with Natte? You told him, didn’t you?” She arches her perfectly plucked eyebrow. Sometimes I get the feeling Vicky doesn’t like my fake boyfriend very much.
“Of course I did,” I reply defensively, without knowing why.
“And?”
“Nothing. He was fine with it.” After a while. I can’t exactly tell her how much reassurance I had to give my mysterious man about dinner with Natte.
She lets out a small laugh. “He was completely fine with you having dinner with the most beautiful, most notorious womanizing rock star in the world?”
I press my lips together and breathe out through my nose. “He was fine because there’s nothing going on. It’s just two old friends having dinner. Nothing more.”
“If you say so, my darling,” she says, brushing her hand through her hair.
“It is,” I chirp. “Now, if you’re done interrogating me, I’m going to do the job you actually pay me for. I’ll type up the interview draft and have it ready for you to review by the end of the day.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you, my darling,” she says, leaning back in her chair and pushing her hair off her face.
I give her a light smile and sway my way out of her office, escaping her curious stare. She’s far closer to the truth than I would like to admit. About Natte, about my reaction to seeing him again, and about Will’s reaction to the news. But most of all, about how I feel about seeing Natte tonight. The only word that fits is exhilarated, happy, eagerly waiting.
Okay. I’m having dinner with Natte.
Natte Johnson.
But he’s still just Natte. The same Natte I knew.
No, he isn’t. He’s a rock god now.
Oh crap.
I’ve been ready for half an hour and have been pacing my flat ever since. Darla is nowhere to be found. I could have asked her about my outfit, but knowing her, she’d probably hiss at me before asking for money. I’d have to pay her for an honest opinion.
I’ve already had a large glass of wine and I’m halfway through my second, trying to calm my nerves.
I wish Darla was here. As irritating as she can be, her constant nagging might actually help right now.
Terry isn’t here either. She was devastated when I told her Natte was coming to pick me up. She’s stuck working late on a project for a new client and couldn’t get out of it.
Maybe it’s better she’s not here. I’m already spiraling. Terry has always been deeply invested in my unreturned teenage love, and she’d only make it worse.
What on earth are we going to talk about tonight?
I’ve known Natte for a long time, but that was then. Not now.
Now he’s insanely wealthy, a global superstar, and a CEO. He even hinted at fully taking over his business after his final tour. And I’m just a regular employee at a resort, earning enough to cover bills and keep my cupboards stocked with food and wine.
He probably makes in an hour what I earn in a year.
I stayed in the same place while Natte shot straight to the stars.
We live in completely different worlds now. I know nothing about his life except what the papers print.
Does he even like the same things anymore?
Of course not. Do I like the same things I did at fifteen? No. Except chocolate sweets.
Once the nostalgia fades, what will we talk about? We’re worlds apart. Beyond childhood memories, what’s left?
I can only hope those stories last us the night.
I take another gulp of wine.
The doorbell rings. One minute past eight. If nothing else, he’s punctual. I was expecting full rock star lateness.
I set my glass down, grab my handbag and keys, and wobble toward the door on nervous legs.
When I open it, he’s standing there looking devastatingly handsome, dressed in dark fitted jeans, Converse trainers, and a pale white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, his tattoos on full display.
And once again, I feel completely out of my depth.
“Hi,” I say.
“You look incredible,” he says warmly.
I flush. “Thanks. You do too.”
Inside, I’m doing a small celebratory dance.
The dress was worth it. I may have stopped by my favorite shop after work and bought the one I’d been staring at for weeks. The one I couldn’t really afford. So thank you, Dad, for the card.
Not that I bought it for Natte. This isn’t a date. But he’s rich, and I wanted to look nice. And the dress really is cute.
It’s a maroon shift dress with silver embellishments, completely my style. I paired it with black heels and a silver clutch. My hair is down and curly, makeup light, just how I like it.
I step outside, deciding not to invite him in for a drink. He probably lives in a mansion. I don’t want him inspecting my tiny flat.
I lock up and follow him down the path.
“Nice place,” he says, nodding toward the building.
“Thanks. Wow, is this yours?” I ask as he approaches a silver Ferrari Roma.
He grins and the car automatically unlocks with his forefinger pointed at it. “This one is fun, but I have another back home.”
Fun. I’d be lucky to afford a scooter.
Once again, the differences between our lives hit me.
“Isn’t this a James Bond style car?” I ask as I slide into the soft leather seat and buckle up.
“Well, not exactly that one, but I have driven his,” he replies casually.
I glance at him. “Show off,” I say, smiling.
“Oh, you have no idea,” he says with a wink, sending my stomach into free fall.