by Emma Quinn
A part of me wanted to go crawling back to him. It would have been easier to apologize, to tell him that I’d been overreacting. But then the logical side of my brain was against it. Nathan lied to me about who he really was. How could we hope to have a relationship when it was built on a lie? He said he hadn’t lied about anything else, but how was I supposed to take his words at face value? It wasn’t worth the heartache to try again.
Once a liar, always a liar.
My phone started ringing. I was tempted not to answer, but a quick peak at the caller ID informed me that it was Rachel calling. For some reason, I was disappointed.
I answered. “Hello?”
“So, what’s this I hear about you ditching your team at the warehouse?”
I winced. “Yeah, sorry.”
“As your boss, I demand answers. As your friend, I want to know if you’re alright.”
I sighed, slumping down onto the floor of my living room, bedroom combo. Heat radiated off my body. Cleaning the apartment was a sure fire way of working up a sweat.
“That guy I’ve been seeing?”
“Yeah?”
“He works at Monteverde, but he didn’t tell me.”
“So?”
“He’s the CEO and he didn’t tell me,” I corrected.
“Oh. Why didn’t he tell you?”
I snorted. “He said he had to ‘protect himself.’”
Rachel sighed. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m getting the full picture here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I mumbled bitterly. “Did Stephen and the rest of the team make it back okay?”
“Yeah. I had to send another one of our vans out to pick them up. It was a huge pain in my ass.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you need me to come over? We can talk about everything in person. Maybe you’ll feel better.”
“You just want the juicy gossip.”
“I run a media company in LA. I always want the juicy gossip.”
I closed my eyes. I really wanted to fall asleep. Dealing with my hazy dreams would be far easier than dealing with reality.
“Maybe later. I kind of just want some space right now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I think if I start talking about him, I’ll just start–” My throat choked up, angry tears welling up in my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about him right now, okay?”
“Okay, honey. Okay. Please call me if you need me. I’ll be over with a pint of ice cream the second you ask, got it?”
I sniffled, nose already stuffing up. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Do you want me to reassign you to a different story?”
“Why would I want to be reassigned?”
“Well, you technically didn’t finish the Monteverde interviews. And I was actually hoping to get a profile on this CEO of yours. But if that’s going to be a problem, I don’t want you to do it. I just got wind that Billie Whaleson’s split for her fiancée. You could cover that story, if you wanted.”
“Billie Whaleson? That didn’t last long, huh?”
Rachel gave me a sympathetic last. “No. No, it did not.”
I wiped my nose with the back of my forearm. My whole face felt gross, sticky, and hot. “I really don’t want either story. Isn’t there an option C?”
“Sorry, honey. These are my two biggest projects. I still need to put my foot down and get the work done. If you want, I can give you a week’s break and give the stories to someone else–”
“No,” I interrupted quickly. “No. I want to do the work. I think I’d lose my mind right now if I took a week off.”
“Okay. Then the choice is ultimately in your hands. You can either work with that bitchy model, or your scumbag ex-fling.”
I grimaced. “When you put it that way, a week off does sound nice.”
“I can arrange it for you no problem. I’d just be putting my best employee on the sidelines.”
“You’re just saying that to flatter me.”
“No, honey. I mean it. Pelican Media wouldn’t be where it is today without you. Remember that peace you did on the climate change rallies in Beverly Hills? That put us on the map. Don’t sell yourself short, Dianna.”
“Can I… Can I have a couple of hours to decide? It’s like picking between two turds.”
Rachel laughed. “Okay, sure. Call me in a couple of hours. I’ll give the other story to someone else.”
“Thanks, Rachel.”
“Take care of yourself. Call me if you want to talk.”
“I will.”
I promptly hung up the phone and tossed into onto the coffee table in front of me. I didn’t know what to do.
Why is being an adult so damn hard?
Billie Whaleson was a plague on the industry. I promised myself that the one time I worked with her would be my last. She was difficult, bratty, and self-centered. If I had to endure another week-long session with her to get the latest scoop on her failed marriage, I’d lose it. Getting hit by a runaway bus would have been less painful than working with Billie again. She’d terrorized my team, made the most ridiculous demands, and honestly ruined my opinion on editorial work.
But the other option wasn’t any easier.
The thought of having to work with Nathan after what he did left a bitter taste on my tongue. I didn’t want to have to see him. I didn’t want to have to talk to him. I wanted nothing to do with him. He could have told me the truth from the get-go. Why hadn’t he? I didn’t consider myself to be a particularly shallow person. Did he believe I’d think differently about him if I knew he had money and power?
I groaned and rubbed at my temples. I didn’t want to deal with this. Any of it. I wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep and let future me handle things.
16
Nathan
M
y texts went unanswered. My calls went straight to voicemail. I even went so far as to stop by her apartment and knock on her door, but I was greeted with complete silence. I considered showing up at her place of work, but I didn’t want to be that guy. There wasn’t any need for me to make things worse by not being able to take ‘no’ for an answer.
Dianna wanted space.
I was going to give it to her.
But that didn’t stop me from being absolutely down about it.
Matty somehow managed to drag me to that damned party of his. He had a way with words. And the fact that he could be super annoying definitely helped his cause.
“It’ll be fun,” he said as he quite literally pulled me into the venue by the arm. If he pulled any harder, my arm would fall right out of its socket. “You got to get out there, man. Socialize some more. Find yourself a new girl and get over your old one.”
“I don’t want to get over Dianna.”
“Jesus. This isn’t like you to get hung up on a woman. Where’d my playboy-billionaire-philanthropist go?”
“His name is Tony Stark and he doesn’t exist.”
“I’m talking about you, dumbass. Let’s grab some drinks and relax, my man. You business types, always so high-strung.”
The party was being hosted at the Four Seasons in the penthouse suite of some local celebrity I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure how Matty managed to get an invite, and I wasn’t about to ask. Music was blaring over the suites speaker system, heavy bass vibrating so hard and so loud I could feel lit rise up through the floor, into my feet, up my spine, and into my skull where it rattled my brain.
The overwhelming scent of alcohol and floral perfume mixed together in the air, disgustingly sweet and bitter enough that my throat squeezed tight. There were young women and men scattered about the suite, laughing and dancing and taking shots of what I could only assume was tequila. I hadn’t even stepped foot into the suite and I was already lost in the crowd, a sea of unknown faces and flashing dance lights leaving me confused. If it weren’t for Matty dragging me in by the edge of my sleeve, I probably would have just left.
I wasn’t in the mood to pa
rty. Especially so when I happened to find the same blonde that had given me Dianna’s business card at the Hexion Literary Association’s charity dinner sitting on a couch surrounded by her cronies.
What the fuck is she doing here?
Her friends –all of whom adorned fake spray tans, filled lips, over-the-top eye makeup, and outrageously long hair extensions– sang her praises.
“Oh my God, Billie,” said one in a nasally voice. “You can totes do better than him.”
“Yeah, girl,” said another, equally as high-pitched and abrasive. “I’m glad you dumped that loser.”
The blonde, Billie, rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. Total loser. What did I even see in him? I mean, only two Lamborghinis? I’d be slumming it with him.”
Matty cleared his throat. “Hello, ladies.”
Billie looked up at the two of us and scoffed. “Oh em gee, who the fuck invited you two here? Look, I’m not interested in giving you my number, alright? Fucking fanboys just don’t know when to quit.”
A tick of annoyance made my jaw snap shut. I didn’t like this woman’s attitude in the slightest. Did she know this was real life? Or was she too consumed in the fantasy that she was the center of the world to care? I crossed my arms and shook my head.
“I have no idea who you are, lady,” I stated bluntly. “Get your head out of your ass.”
The party guests around us gasped, offended on her behalf. Billie looked unphased. Maybe even like she was enjoying the attention.
Matty patted me on the shoulder. “Dude, calm down. This is Billie Whaleson. Singer, actress, model, reality TV star. I thought she looked familiar when we first ran into her. As it turns out, my father’s going to be working with her on a new television show. She’s how I got the invite.”
“And I’m supposed to care?”
“Dude, chill. Uh, Billie. This is Nathan Alexander. He’s the CEO of Monteverde. I think you’ve met.”
Billie rose from the luxurious white leather sofa, an amused spark behind her eyes. She strode over, head held high,. She stuck her hand out to shake. When I didn’t take it, she smirked.
“Who might you be, mister?” she asked, words thick and seductive.
“The guy you gave a wrong number to.”
Billie giggled, a forced politeness to it. “Oh, come on. That was just a joke. Wasn’t it funny?” She looked to her friends who all started nodding and smiling, laughing alone to a punchline I didn’t understand.
Before I had the chance to respond, Billie slipped her arm around mine and began to drag me over to the suite’s bar. Rows upon rows of glass shelves had been positioned behind the bartender, a ridiculous number of liquor bottles of various labels on display.
“Let me get you a drink,” she offered.
“I don’t want one.”
She snapped her fingers at the bartender, who immediately moved to shake up a couple of cocktails. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “You’re a guest at my party, which means I’m going to take care of you.”
“Why? You seemed pretty uninterested before.”
Billie shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t know who you were before. That, and I was engaged.”
“Was?”
“I was engaged when you asked for my number. I didn’t know how to turn you down, so I gave you someone else’s card. Thought it’d be easier on you.”
“How thoughtful,” I said dryly.
“You look kind of stressed. You should stay a while. Let loose.” Billie picked up the finished drinks from off the bar and handed me one. It was some sort of nasty blue concoction with a bit of Sprite and lemon juice, complete with an ornamental mini-umbrella.
I shook my head and turned it down. There was no way in hell I was going to be caught drinking something so girly. I turned back to the bartender. “Whisky on the rocks.”
In a flash, he had a fresh drink in my hands.
Billie leaned up against me and took my arm again, pulling me back to the couch where her friends were all fawning over Matty. She had me sit down beside her. Her freakishly strong grip on me prevented me from leaving. I didn’t have much strength left in me anyways. I’d stay for a couple of drinks. I’d put up with their mindless gossip. When the opportunity presented itself for me to escape, I’d leave with Matty in tow.
I took a big gulp of my whisky. It burned all the way down my throat. Whatever the bartender gave me, it was strong as fuck. I wasn’t even halfway through it before my brain started to get hazy and the floor beneath my feet began to tilt.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Billie said. “Why are you in such a rush to leave?”
“He’s got a girl on his mind,” Matty chimed in.
“A girl? Who’s this lucky girl?”
I shook my head. Took another gulp. The bitterness of the whisky was almost strong enough to overpower the floral perfumes the women were wearing. There was a pressure building behind my eyes, my temples were throbbing, and the ruckus of enthusiastic conversation and awful music filled my skull.
When I didn’t answer, Billie continued. “She must not be that special if she didn’t come to the party with you.”
“That’s not true,” I snapped. I downed the rest of my drink, stomach filling with heat. I couldn’t tell if it was anger over her comment, or if it was the alcohol pooling in my gut.
“Tell me about her,” Billie said. I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. She snapped her fingers and there was suddenly a new glass of whisky in my hands.
“She’s gorgeous,” I mumbled. “Funny and sweet.”
“Funny and sweet? Is that the kind of woman you’re attracted to?”
Another sip of whisky. The taste was growing on me, soaking into my taste buds. “I guess. I don’t know.” Another sip. This whisky wasn’t too bad, actually.
“She must not have been that great if she broke your heart.”
“No. I broke her heart.”
“How?”
I shook my head, disappointed in myself. “I lied to her.”
“About what?”
“I told her I was a web developer. I didn’t want her to know I was rich because I thought that would change how she saw me.”
It was then and only then that I realized Billie was sitting a lot closer to me than I remembered. She placed her hand on my knee. I was too focused on my drink to push her away.
“She dumped me,” I continued. “And I deserve it.”
“So, you’re single, then?”
I nodded slowly. I breezed through my second glass and somehow found myself with a third, and then a fourth. I didn’t drink often. Work was a priority for me, so I rarely made the time to drink. I normally reserved it for special events or celebratory business dinners. Needless to say, I was a bit of a lightweight. But the drinks didn’t stop coming. My limbs felt heavy, my skull felt two sizes too big for my neck to hold up, and the whole room was a mess of sounds and colors and movement that I could no longer keep track of.
I was vaguely aware of Billie beside me. She had her had on my thigh now, the other on my arm. She was leaning against me, trying to be friendly. But she didn’t feel right. Having her body pressed against mine wasn’t the same as having Dianna pressed against me. Billie was bony and heavy and her skin was greasy with loads of makeup and body butter that got all over my suit. Dianna was simple and clean and comforting.
It was a little after midnight now. If I were still with Dianna, we’d probably be curled up in her daybed. My neck would be sore from the single pillow we shared, and my legs would be cramped because I was far too tall for the mattress, but it would have felt safe and familiar and like home. Maybe Dianna and I would kiss until we both fell asleep. We’d sometimes crack open her laptop and watch something on Netflix together until the early hours of the morning.
If I were with Dianna at this moment, I’d be playing with her beautiful hair and drowning in her gorgeous seaside eyes. She’d probably be studying my tattoo, tracing over the lines and areas of detail
ed shading with the tips of her pretty fingers. She liked my tattoo, was fascinated by it for some reason. And in return, I got to watch her watch me, relishing the way I seemed to be the center of her attention.
Not hearing from her this past week was torture. I hated the silence. I wanted nothing more than to hear her laugh one more time. She’d been so preoccupied with taking pictures of me that I hadn’t thought to take a picture of her. I had nothing to remember her by, and that fact alone hurt me to no end. It made my heart ache to know that I may very well never see her again.
I want to see her.
I struggled to get up from the couch. When I did, Matty asked, “Where you going, man?”
“Bathroom,” I grumbled.
Billie pointed down the hall. “It’s over there.”
My way over wasn’t graceful in the slightest. I stumbled and I swayed. Avoiding people in my drunken state was impossible, so I was fairly sure I accidently body checked a couple of guests. I had to lean up against the hallway wall and use it to brace myself. I got to the bathroom somehow, sinking to the floor with my back against the door.
I pulled my phone out. Naturally, I dropped it because my fingers were too numb.
“D’mmit,” I slurred as I fumbled to pick it back up.
It was a miracle I even had enough sense to navigate the screens. Pulling up the messaging app was a drunk man’s equivalent of climbing Everest. I didn’t even know what I sent or who I sent it to. I simply heard the familiar swoosh sound of the text being sent, dissipating into the air to travel invisibly across an impossible distance to someone else’s device.
Technology’s amazing.
Three sharp knocks on the bathroom door kept me from passing out entirely.
“Hello?” Billie called in a sing-song voice. “Are you doing okay in there, Nathan?”
I groaned. “Go ‘way.”
I didn’t remember the door opening. I didn’t remember Billie helping me up onto my feet. I wasn’t even aware we’d made it outside of the hotel until I the cool rush of nighttime air hit my face. The alcohol hit me hard. The rest of the night was a blur. I remember giving the taxi driver my address, though it had been a struggle to get off the tip of my tongue. We drove for a bit, the pretty lights of the city through the cab window lulling me to sleep.
