by Holly Rayner
Still, she was tired, and eventually the willpower to keep herself from looking over at the man waned. She let her glance shoot back to where it most naturally wanted to go.
But he wasn’t there.
Josie’s heart sank. The background noise of the bar felt quieter and more somber as she stared at the place where the man had been. She hadn’t lost anything—it wasn’t like she was going to talk to him. Especially in her current state, and with all the emotions that running into Lewis again had stirred up, throwing herself at some random man in a bar wasn’t exactly a good idea. She was cautious about relationships under the best of conditions, and these were hardly the best of conditions.
She hadn’t lost anything, but she was amazed at how much it felt like she had. Just another little weird emotional blow in a day that had been full of them.
“Something wrong?”
She startled, jolted out of her uncharacteristic melancholy by a smooth voice with a hint of an accent.
The man she’d been trying not to stare at had reappeared just as suddenly as he disappeared. She had been so focused on not noticing him that she’d managed not to notice him sitting a few seats down from her.
Up close, she could see more of him. It was suddenly the most important thing in her mind to keep from getting drawn into looking at him the way that she had when he had been focused on the TV. That would be far too embarrassing. So she had to be subtle as she noticed the way his pants were just as well-fitted to him as his shirt was, and the enticing smell of his cologne that she was now close enough to be drawn in by.
She had managed to affix her aloof, sophisticated expression back on her face. She felt that she shouldn’t really pursue anything with this man, but there is no point in not making him think the best of her, was there?
“Should there be?” she asked.
He smirked, and for a moment she felt that he had seen through how she looked to detect how she felt. It made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t in years—not since she had been new to modeling and had to get used to the idea of others seeing her wearing nothing, or next to nothing. But at least this time she was ready for it—the strange way this man was making her feel on this strange day—and she didn’t let the discomfort show on her face.
And it was a false alarm, anyway. He hadn’t seen through her.
“Not if I had anything to say about it,” he said.
Now that she was able to focus on the sound of his voice, and it wasn’t coming out of nowhere in surprise, she found it even more pleasant. The accent was noticeable but natural. She had met more than enough people peddling fake accents in an attempt to make themselves seem cultured or worldly. It was a relief to come across someone who’s accent was real.
“Then why assume there is?” she countered.
He looked her up and down, and again she felt exposed. But again, this time she was more prepared and didn’t let it show. Still, she was taken aback by how different his gaze was on her body compared to what she was used to. How many countless eyes had been fixed on every square inch of her? And she had felt all of those eyes, and all of the different ways they demanded to be felt. She felt their desire, and their admiration, and their lust. She felt their judgment and their appraisal. She felt it all. But she had never felt anything like this.
It wasn’t that it didn’t feel like he wanted her—it did feel like he wanted her. And that was an extremely pleasant surprise. But there was something different and not wanting, and she couldn’t quite place it.
“Do you always interrogate men who are considerate?” he said.
“Do you always interrogate women who are minding their own business?”
He smiled. What a difference there was between his smile and his smirk! A wonderful, wonderful difference. She realized he had dimples, which she wouldn’t have expected from the chiseled, taut look of his face. But now that she noticed them, they seemed as natural a fit for him as the slight trace of the five o’clock shadow already on his face well before five o’clock.
He leaned in conspiratorially.
“Are you sure you were minding your own business?” he asked. “Or were you minding mine?”
Josie didn’t blush. Ever. But if there were ever a time to blush, it would be now.
“I noticed you,” she admitted. “You’re noticeable. Mostly because you don’t seem like you should be here.”
“Don’t seem like I should be here?” he repeated.
She noticed him readjust so that he was facing her more, although the way he did it made it seem so natural. It was like he was moving toward her a little bit more with every breath in every motion, but that movement didn’t seem presumptuous the way it usually did when men were hitting on her. It felt inevitable somehow.
“Are you insulted that it doesn’t seem like you should be drinking alone in a bar in the early afternoon?” Josie asked. She had a teasing smile on her face, and she found she meant the smile more than she meant the tease. Especially when he stood, walked a few steps, and settled in on the stool next to hers.
“Well, now I’m not drinking alone. And besides, weren’t you also drinking alone in a bar in the early afternoon?”
She nodded her head once. He had her there. And he had managed to ask her what a pretty girl like her was doing in a place like this without actually voicing the cliché question—she had to give him that.
“I was starting work on a reality TV show that set up on the beach outside. I’m done for the day, but I didn’t feel like dealing with those people anymore.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? You can’t stand anyone involved in the production?”
Again, she almost felt herself blush. He hadn’t said Lewis’s name, or in fact knew anything about Lewis at all. But it still felt downright weird to have anything that this man said have anything to do with Lewis. They had barely spoken a handful of sentences to each other, and yet, this stranger in a bar had somehow put Lewis and everything that she had thought and felt about him in an entirely new context.
“It’s not that I can’t stand them,” she told him. “But it’s not like I want anything to do with them if I don’t have to.”
She was surprised to find that what she was saying was true. But she was also confused. Her words elicited a grin from the man that showed off his dimples again, making it hard to think. What did he know that she didn’t?
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
She shook her head tentatively, at a loss. She was missing something, she knew, but she didn’t know what. She took a long sip of her drink.
“I don’t blame you for drinking,” he said when she had set her drink back down. “You are sitting with a very rude man, after all. How have I possibly gone this long without introducing myself?” He held out his hand and Josie tried her best not to get too wrapped up in the way the movement shifted the light fabric of his shirt around his toned core. “My name is Matteo Bonnuci. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Josie felt her eyes go wide. A laugh escaped her lips quite without her meaning it to, and she felt her body shift involuntarily to face him.
“Isn’t speaking English against the rules?” she asked him, thinking quickly. “Someone’s going to come in and catch us talking, and then we’ll be in trouble.”
He winked. “I won’t tell if you don’t. Besides, you’re the only one that would get into trouble. I’m not on the clock yet.”
The smile hadn’t left her face. It was stuck. Expressions weren’t supposed to get stuck on her face—that was a rule of her occupation. There he went again, making her break another rule.
“Well, I’m not on the clock anymore,” she told him.
He made a show of looking down at his watch, and Josie got the impression that he was doing so in order to make some clever little comment. But what he saw there when he looked seemed to stop him in the act.
“Speaking of, it’s time for me to get over there.”
He took a quick swig of t
he rest of his drink, raised his eyebrows, and stood. Josie finally shook his offered hand, and the thrill she felt at his touch almost counterbalanced the sinking feeling she felt as he began to walk away.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he called back over his shoulder.
She hadn’t told him her name. She hadn’t told him anything about herself. They had barely spoken. And now, she wouldn’t be able to have a real, genuine, understandable conversation with him until the entire show was over. They may have met by happenstance in a bar, but she was pretty sure the producers—Lewis, especially—wouldn’t allow this kind of happy accident to happen again.
She had come in here to find a little clarity and peace of mind, but instead she had just made both her excitement and her reluctance to do the show so much worse. She was going to be close to that man, and yet, somehow further away from him. This was going to be torture. But without the show, she wouldn’t have the divine opportunity to experience it.
She looked up at the bartender, with the intention to order another. Apparently, her expression was clear enough that she didn’t even need to speak. She was visibly a woman very much in need of another drink.
Chapter 6
Matteo
Matteo wasn’t used to this. Even before he had made his fortune, he’d never felt quite as off-balance when talking to a woman as he had just now. Josie Green had absolutely lived up to everything he had assumed about her when he had seen her photograph. A woman capable of vulnerability, but also inscrutability. She was mysterious and expressive at the same time. Impossibility made flesh.
And she was very, very much a distraction.
He made his way out of the bar and onto the beach. He pulled out his phone, absentmindedly making a few notes about the bar and whether or not he should reach out to them for inclusion in his app. The place was classy, sure, and the drinks were good, but he wasn’t sure about the atmosphere.
He usually made these decisions quickly, deciding whether an establishment was worth inclusion on his platform in a matter of seconds. But meeting Josie there had clouded his mind, and swayed his judgment, and that snap judgment was no longer reliable.
Josie. She hadn’t told him her name. He was proud that, in the moment, he hadn’t accidentally revealed that he knew. He didn’t know any of the other women’s names, though he could see them standing around and laughing in a group some ways down the beach. He recognized a few of them from their pictures, although very few of them were memorable enough for him even to recognize.
He realized now that it had been quite a risk assuming that Josie would even have been picked, as there were more pictures that Lewis had spread out in front of him than there were now women standing under the tent. But, at the same time, Matteo couldn’t imagine a world in which Josie wouldn’t have been chosen for anything she put herself forward for.
The women had noticed him. A couple of them were even calling out and waving, although the wind picked up their words and carried them away before they reached him. They were attractive, some of them in swimsuit tops, others in short shorts. Even on the first day of production, the general vibe that the director was going for was all too clear.
“Mr. Bonnuci! So glad you’re here. We’ve finished with almost all of the girls, and we should be ready for you as soon as you’ve gone through hair and makeup. What you’re wearing is great.”
The production assistant that was speaking was a young woman, and Matteo wondered for a moment how she felt working on a show like this. But this was all too much of a well-oiled machine for him even to have a chance to ask her, even if that would’ve been an appropriate question. Not that he would’ve been able to stand still and her answer even if he had. He was here, on the beach, and he was supposed to be paying attention to the new job that he was starting.
The job he was starting. It seemed weird even to think that to himself. When his first app—a social network—had taken off, he’d thought to himself that he would never need to take a “job” again. No, all he was going to do from then on was take on new and exciting projects. Ones he could apply all of the things that he had learned from his first project into.
So how had he found himself here? Oh, sure, it was George’s suggestion. And it might even be a good suggestion if he went through with it, and if he actually trusted the producers to do what they had said they would. Would they give him the final approval of the product that he had negotiated for? There was something about that Lewis that he had met in the first meeting that he didn’t trust, and this kind of instinct about a person was usually right, in Matteo’s experience.
So, no, this was not where he should be. This was not what he should be doing. And the strange and unfamiliar assembly line he was being put through only made him feel more and more so. Sure, he’d been on a few shows that had required him to go through hair and makeup, but there had been so few of them that he agreed to do after the first were so unpleasant. This was not a comfortable experience.
And his sense of this only grew when they set him up on his little stool with the ocean as a backdrop and began guiding him through his initial interview.
He agreed for this to be acting. And, he had agreed on what his persona would be. He was supposed to be the one who women wanted but who only wanted women for what he wanted women for. And that was his reputation, right? Nothing wrong and just painting a larger version of what the world already thought of him for everyone to see.
He had been telling himself over these past few weeks that it would get easier. He had thought that once he got into the swing of things, he would get used to acting, and it would no longer feel so strange. But if he was ever going to get to that point, he certainly wasn’t there yet. And the more he talked in his interview, the less and less he felt like he was ever going to get there.
It didn’t help that he was distracted. He hadn’t expected to get to meet the woman in the photograph so soon, but now that he had it seemed like it had been inevitable. He didn’t believe in fate—never had. But there were some things in life that made you reassess previously held beliefs, and this was one of them.
He’d been kind of ferreting away the knowledge that he agreed to the show to be able to meet her. He’d justified the decision to himself and found ways of making it feel less of a laughable fixation and more of a smart business decision. But their short, enlightening conversation from the bar kept playing over and over in his head, and it became harder and harder to hide from the truth.
And the truth was, he had put himself in the worst possible position to get to know her. The director, Arsenio, asked him to talk about how fun it was going to be to speak to the women only in Italian. He would have to watch them try and figure out what he was saying or what he meant and scramble to meet his expectations. The game was for Matteo to express joy at the prospect.
But all he could think about was how difficult it was going to be to try and express anything of who he was or what he thought was important to the only girl he was really there to see. And how was he supposed to find out anything about her? If she was smart, she would be playing just as much of a role on the show as he would be.
He could see a list of questions and topics in the director’s hand. It was a variety of things that he was supposed to cover. They’d get footage of him talking that they could use throughout the season. He had agreed to this, and he’d even vetted the list. So he knew that they were only halfway through the questions when he stood up.
“Sorry to waste your time, Arsenio. I’ll make sure that they pay you, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”
The director, understandably, was worried. He stood and took half a step toward Matteo with an appeasing expression. Matteo knew what would come next—talking back the talent from their tantrum. But he also knew something that the director didn’t: this was not a tantrum, and Matteo was certainly not that kind of talent.
He began removing his lapel mic and issuing his brusque apologies. He was burning t
he house down, he knew, but they could always rebuild. And it was not a house he wanted to spend any time in. He didn’t have the time to spare.
Chapter 7
Josie
Josie thought that when she got home, she would start to feel a little bit more like herself. She’d had two drinks at the bar and had waited a bit before she was good to drive home. And, when she got home, she found herself maneuvering for a glass of surprisingly high-quality wine that she’d been given—quite inappropriately—by a photographer.
She drew herself a bath and poured herself some wine. Then she fully luxuriated in being a cliché. After all, wasn’t a glass of wine and a warm bath a cliché for a reason? Surely, it was going to make her start feeling better.
But the problem with wine and a bath as a solution to your problems is that they don’t change anything. And, though her mind was fuzzier and her body more relaxed, the facts of the situation remained the same. She was still stuck—forced to be around a man that she wanted, but without the ability to pursue him naturally. And, she thought to herself, without the knowledge of how to pursue a man in the first place.
Oh, she had been pursued. That was a position she was comfortable with. Lewis had pursued her, as had many more men who had been significantly less successful than he had been. It came with the territory of being a model. A certain kind of man decided that making a living off of your beauty meant that you had more intrinsic value than other women.
The only problem with that was that the kind of man who thought that way was not the kind of man she wanted to be with, and it could be hard to know the difference sometimes. It was probably the fear of that sort of man that had made it so that she had had so very few relationships in her life. For as short as her and Lewis’s relationship had been, it had been the most serious. Fear of men like that is probably why, Josie thought, I’m still a virgin at 23 years old.
