Chapter 92
1108words
Ride. Ha ha. I had read between the lines. I had said no to sex. He wasn't used to being rejected. Whatever.
'See you tomorrow?" I asked nervously, suddenly worried that I'd offended him.
His face cleared into an easy smile.
'Tomorrow. Enjoy Brooklyn."
I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
'Always."
His lips twisted up in a smirk.
'Enjoy it while it lasts..."
I stuck my head farther out the window as we began to pull away—sure that I hadn't heard him correctly. 'What was that?"
He just smiled and waved, raising his hand for another cab as I rounded the corner.
The second he disappeared from sight, I stuck my head back in the window, frowning to myself as I played the words back again in my head.
Enjoy it while it lasts? What the hell does that mean?
As it turned out, I wouldn't have to wait long to find out...
* * *
Considering the crazy night I had, the next morning was relatively normal. I woke up, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and headed out to my favorite little café around the corner to grab a bagel for breakfast.
I had made a conscious effort not to check the newsstands that morning, in case I happened to walk past a random picture of me and Nicholas naked in a boxing ring, and decided to keep myself deliberately optimistic instead. Oh my gosh! Listen to myself. He's dragged me into all his craziness.
I remembered the moment of the flash exactly. (I remembered it exactly, because Nicholas had been just a second away from impaling me with the biggest penis I'd ever seen. That's not the kind of moment a girl can forget.) Because of this, I knew for a fact that the cameraman hadn't gotten anything vital—at least, not of me.
Moving with the skill and speed of someone who had been in that position countless times before, Nicholas had shielded me from the worst of the blast—meaning that while naked photos of himself might be spread across this morning's Newsweek, I was pretty much covered.
With that particular worry set aside, I was able to focus on much more exciting things as I sat at the outdoor table and sipped my morning coffee.
Nicholas and I...hooked up.
There were no two ways of saying it. No masterful spin that even I could come up with to paint it a different way. While we may not have actually had sex, we'd done other things. Other things that were also, irrevocably, burned into my mind.
Yes—we'd been drinking.
But we were by no means drunk.
Yes—we'd been in a fucking bizarre situation.
But ever since I'd started working for the Huntington family, it had been one bizarre situation after another. Two years in, that was hardly an excuse.
We had just...done it.
Or at least, we'd tried to. It seemed like no matter how often we attempted to take each other's clothes off, something always got in the way.
Still...it wasn't like either of us had walked away empty-handed.
Have I always liked him? I asked myself the question again and again. Have I just never noticed it before because he's always been a client? Because he's always been with other girls?
Which led me to the obvious, if a little uncomfortable, question.
Jokes aside...just how many others were there?
I was by no means a prude. Before dear Nicholas had come around and ruined whatever chance I had at a social life. I had boyfriends here and there, but I wasn't in the same ballpark as Nicholas. If I was being honest, we weren't even in the same league.
I needed work to distract me. But what was work nowadays?
I had been unofficially banned from the office. While Nicholas might like to present his hard-working girlfriend to the world, the rest of his father's company wasn't so proud. I was allowed to keep my title, and the promise to return, as long as I temporarily relinquished all rights for the time being. That wasn't a problem—given the team that I had set in place—but it did leave me at a bit of a loss as to what to do with myself.
What did Nicholas's girlfriends do all day? It wasn't like they had jobs. Most of them didn't even live in the same country. They were guests—staying at his penthouse. No responsibilities to take care of, no ties to hold them down. So what exactly did they do?
You know exactly what they do, Avy. You started doing a bit of it yourself last night...
Damn this subconscious of mine! Had she always been so judgmental?
Too nervous for my bagel and suddenly eager to be rid of myself, I quickly paid inside and headed back to my apartment. With every step, the questioned weighed heavier and heavier upon my shoulders, but by the time I got to my building, I was brimming with fresh resolve.
What was I going to do with myself? Something positive—that's what.
I wasn't going to just sit on my fake-laurels and wait for boyfriend dearest to get home, I was going to put my fleeting celebrity to good use. Art auctions, fundraisers, charities for schools—I would do the lot. Not only would it be good for the Huntington reputation, but it would give me a sense of purpose throughout this whole crazy debacle. A sense of meaning.
And who knows? Maybe once this is all over—I can keep up some of the commitments I started. It's not like I want my entire life to be public relations. I can branch out and do other things as well. Consider this relationship as a great launching point for other ventures.
It shouldn't be too hard. As long as I keep a clear line between what's real and what's...
I trailed off as I got to the top of the stairs, and peered down the hall at my door. It was open. Even though I was sure I'd locked it shut.
Venturing cautiously closer, I knocked twice before sticking my head inside.
'Hello?" I called warily. It wasn't like a burglar to advertise his presence by leaving open the door, and Larry, my landlord, tended to do spot-checks without my permission. 'Larry—is that you? Is anyone there?"
No response.
Feeling even more cautious than before, I headed inside—walking on tiptoe as I pushed open the threshold and crossed the door.
That's when I stopped cold.
That's when I blinked around in absolute shock.
That's when I realized I didn't live there anymore...
