Chapter 5
HALLE
So fucking rude.
Who not only takes their phone out on a first date but then also interrupts it to answer a call from another woman?
Jake Myers. That’s who.
I saw the way he winced when her name flashed up on the screen like he’d been caught out.
I knew it wasn’t his mum because from what I’d read, they’d fallen out.
I hadn’t seen anything about his sister in a while, so they probably didn’t speak any more either.
Not that I kept tabs on his life or anything.
Like I said to him, a lot about his life was public knowledge and the co-workers I used to have gossiped about celebs like it was a national sport.
If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, but Jake’s reputation preceded him. He wasn’t known as Hollywood’s bad boy whore for nothing.
When I’d asked if he needed to take the call, I was expecting him to say no. I mean, would it have hurt him to turn it off or at least put it on silent?
By taking that call and leaving me alone at the table, he’d made his priorities very clear: his phone or rather his fuckbuddy was more important than me.
What was he even doing at a place like this? A strip club was more his scene than a hotel designed to help you find your one true love.
And why was I still here? I should find my Love Alchemist woman, Sammie, and ask for a refund, like I’d told myself I’d do when I got introduced to Jake. But then I saw the food some couples were eating and I was starving, so decided I should at least get a meal out of this shit show before I left.
Just as I was contemplating my next move, Jake came back.
‘Sorry about that.’ He pulled out his chair and sat down.
‘Everything okay?’ I asked, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was his granny calling because she was sick or there was some kind of emergency. I wanted to at least be sympathetic.
‘Yeah.’
‘So no major emergency then?’ I asked, giving him the opportunity to get himself off the hook.
‘No.’ He shrugged. In other words, he left me alone at the table for something that could’ve waited. Yep. Just like I said before: rude.
Once the waitress took our orders and our drinks had been delivered, Jake pulled out his phone.
‘We should take some pictures,’ he said.
‘Of what?’ I frowned, before sipping my prosecco which tasted amazing.
‘Everything?’
‘Why?’
‘For…’ He took a glug of beer then fidgeted with his napkin. ‘Instagram and stuff.’
I rolled my eyes so hard they almost tumbled out of my sockets.
They say you shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but so far, everything I’d seen had reinforced all the stuff I’d heard about Jake.
He’d had women swarming around him at the bar.
He’d had a woman call him repeatedly before we’d even ordered our starters.
And now, instead of trying to get to know me, he just wanted to take selfies ‘for the ’gram’.
This was exactly why I didn’t want to date another celebrity. They were always so full of themselves.
Jake started snapping away, taking photos of the sea views from our window, pictures of the restaurant and then he turned to face me. Nice of him to remember that I was even here.
‘I suppose we should take a selfie,’ he said, a wave of something flickering across his face.
He was probably worried that I didn’t fit his social media ‘aesthetic’ which was true. I’d seen the kind of women he dated.
Whenever I walked past those gossip magazines in the supermarket, Jake was often splashed across the cover with his latest squeeze who was normally a gorgeous model, actress or singer. So I knew from experience that being pictured with someone like me wasn’t going to fit his image.
Then again, since that terrible butter jingle came out, I didn’t think he’d been seen out in public as much as he used to.
I knew full well that I shouldn’t listen to gossip, but I’d overheard someone in the juice bar say that he’d disappeared because he went to rehab to treat his sex addiction or something.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t care. Live and let live. It was his life. But now this was personal. Now it mattered, because I’d dropped a shitload of money to be here and arrived to discover that the so-called love gurus had decided that a playboy was my perfect match.
What a joke.
‘As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather lick a pig’s arse,’ I said firmly.
‘If that’s what you’re into, I’m sure that could be arranged.’ He flashed a cheeky smile.
God. Why did he have to have a nice smile? All perfect white teeth and soft-looking full lips.
Arsehole.
‘Obviously I’m not into that, I was just… Never mind. The point is, no, I don’t want to take a selfie.’
‘What?’ He frowned like I’d just sprouted five heads.
‘Listen, I know you’re probably used to people begging to take photos with you and I’m sorry to bruise your ego, but I’m not interested.’
His jaw dropped so hard he was lucky it didn’t shatter on the table.
‘But I’ll tag you. I can even invite you to be a…’ He paused like he was searching for the word. ‘Collaborator! So when I post, I can invite you and when you accept it’ll show up on your feed thing too.’
‘I’m not on social media,’ I said flatly. ‘So I have no interest in collaborating or having any photos with you showing up on my feed thing.’
‘Wait. You don’t want to take a selfie and you’re not on social media?’
‘That’s exactly what I said. You’re slowly starting to get the hang of this listening thing, well done!’ I deadpanned.
Jake sat there in silence, his face contorting in a million different directions.
‘So why did you come here?’ he asked.
My eyeballs trebled in size as I tried to take in the ridiculousness of his question.
‘You’re seriously asking me what made me pay a fortune to come to a place called the Love Hotel? Er, this is probably going to blow your mind, but I came here to… newsflash… find love.’
‘Good one!’ Jake chuckled. ‘Delivered like a true pro.’ He nodded his approval, whilst I crossed my arms across my chest as my expression turned to stone. The silence stretched for several beats before what I’d just said finally started to penetrate his tiny brain. ‘Wait. You’re being serious?’
‘Of course I’m being serious!’ I snapped.
‘Shit,’ he muttered. ‘So… you’re not… what do you do for work?’
‘I work in a juice bar. In New York.’
‘But are you an aspiring singer?’
‘No.’
‘Actress?’
‘No.’
‘Just to be clear, you’re not working in a juice bar whilst you do auditions or wait for your big break?’
‘No!’
Well, that might not be entirely true. I’d always wanted to make a proper go of becoming a freelance nail technician, but I didn’t think that was the kind of ‘big break’ he was referring to.
My mind drifted as I thought about how amazing it’d be if I could follow that dream, but then I dismissed it. There was no point. That was never gonna happen.
‘Fuck.’ His gaze dropped to the table.
‘Why? Is that why you’re here? Are you hoping to meet an aspiring singer or actress?’
‘I was… I just… We should order more drinks.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow.
This was weird. Now he seemed nervous. Whenever I’d seen him in interviews, he’d always seemed confident. And when we’d first sat down, he was full of cocky comebacks. But his body language had suddenly changed.
Maybe that woman had given him an earful when she found out he wasn’t free for a booty call.
‘Good idea,’ I said.
As Jake studied the drinks menu, I caught myself scanning his face.
I’d met a few celebrities in my time, thanks to the ex who won’t be named, and sometimes they didn’t look how I’d imagined them in real life.
All that retouching in magazines made them look so flawless. But in reality, celebs were still people with scars and breakouts, just like us.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. I’d never seen a celeb with a breakout because they probably had facials that cost hundreds of dollars every week to prevent them.
Anyway, the point was, they didn’t always look as perfect as we were led to believe.
But as much as it pained me to admit it, Jake was as ridiculously handsome as he looked on those billboards, TV adverts and music videos.
He was tall with thick dark brown hair, tanned skin, hazel eyes and a muscular body that belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine.
If he was a regular person with a normal career like me and I discovered that a man that looked like him was my date, I’d be doing cartwheels and backflips.
But looks weren’t everything. And if I wasn’t already put off by his reputation, after spending less than half an hour in his company, I knew with absolute certainty that he was not the man for me.
Which was a problem. I didn’t pay to be matched with a walking red flag.
I had to voice my concerns, right? Even if they couldn’t give me a refund, surely they could arrange an alternative match instead?
Either way, I was not going to waste two weeks of my life with a narcissist who was more interested in taking photos than getting to know me.
No way.
I’d decided: once I’d finished dinner, I’d find Sammie and get this resolved.
She might think he was a catch, but I was ready to toss him right back into the Pacific Ocean.
Yep. A replacement was the best course of action. Here’s hoping the next man they had lined up was better than the first.