CHAPTER THREE
Nate
Listening to the information relayed during the crisis management call was humiliating, and left me feeling as if I’d been gutted, filleted, and splayed open for all to see.
There was a twenty-year age gap between us so I’d always known Erik was drawn to younger men.
He was enough for me, so I foolishly thought I was enough for him too.
Discovering that he’d cheated on me at least sixteen times before and after we’d married hollowed me to my core.
Was I so wrapped up in my personal bubble that I missed the signs of infidelity?
He’d made a promise to be faithful to me, to love and honour me.
What a fucking joke! See, I knew that guy, the raven-haired twink my husband had gone to his knees for.
Cole Svensson was Erik's latest PA. The twenty-one-year-old Norwegian was the son of, Magnus Svensson, a hotel magnate that Erik was doing business with, designing a new landmark Stjerne brand hotel in Oslo. Cole would inherit his father’s company one day and so part of the deal was that Cole would work for Erik and gain experience of international commerce.
He'd been a leech on Erik’s time for the past year. Now I understood why!
No surprise, I didn’t sleep well, and when I did finally drift off, I’d had strange lucid dreams about playing ball with my dad.
He was throwing a football, and little kid me was waiting, waiting with my arms in the air…
for a ball that never arrived. I’d shuddered awake, strangely discombobulated and terrified.
A few drinks from the mini bar followed, but they didn’t make a dent in numbing me to the feelings of unease, and anger rattling around in my brain.
The close protection officers were staying in the suite next door to mine with a connecting door, and they had security camera access to the hallway outside.
Roz advised me not to leave my suite and venture out into night-time Paris, or visit the hotel bar because the Paparazzi were hanging around outside waiting for a shot.
I’d turned on the TV and watched the Sky News Tech Report show which included a segment crowing about Erik’s buddy, tech billionaire Oliver Roux.
He already had the US government in the palm of his sweaty hand, and he was currently courting the EU, investing billions of Euros in European solar energy start-ups.
I’d gotten bored and sleepy then. I turned the TV off at midnight, Paris time, which was six p.m. New York time. Erik hadn’t responded to my messages.
The result of yesterday’s damage limitation meeting was that the studio paid Dominique Le Grand twenty thousand dollars for his interview footage and made him sign a global NDA to shut him down.
Back in bed, I tried to focus on other things, nicer things, like Jack.
Jack was the best person I knew, and our connection was deeper that I’d dared to admit.
There was no need for me to deny it now.
Working with him reminded me what desire feels like.
It was as if I’d been surviving in a grey world, and then suddenly Jack Boyd came along made my world shine in glorious Technicolor.
But…I hadn’t acknowledged that there were feelings until LA.
I wouldn’t, couldn’t act on this new found revelation because, not only did I need to deal with my own shit, but also there was the fact that Jack was seeing a guy named Killian.
I had a job to do and just needed to get through the day, be personable, and smile for photos at the première, and then I could fly home and sift through the ashes of my marriage to see if anything that remained was worth saving.
****
A knock on the hotel suite door pulled me from a dozing, unsatisfying sleep.
I rolled out of the bed and pulled on a pair of compression shorts.
I felt like shit warmed over and probably looked that way too, but I made my way to the door and in a grief-ragged voice I didn’t recognize as my own said, “Who is it?”
“Nate, its Jack.” The reply in that softly spoken British accent made my heart lurch.
I opened the door to see my co-star, my friend, standing there in white wide-legged linen trousers and a white loose shirt, pure, angelic, and divine, like a gift from the gods.
His short russet stubble had grown in overnight and it framed his beautiful mouth.
He wore brown horn-rimmed glasses that gave him a cute, scholarly look, and his coffee gaze was, as ever, thoughtful and kind.
“I ordered breakfast. It’s set out on my balcony; would you like to join me?
” he asked. I rubbed a hand over my mouth, noting the sharp rasp against my palm.
I hadn’t shaved or even showered today. I must reek.
I recalled how Jack had ordered Mac and cheese for me last night to ensure I ate something.
It was a sweet, caring gesture. I was surprised that he’d even remembered my favourite comfort food.
I’d wolfed it down like an automaton and feeling full helped.
This morning the thought of food didn’t sit well, but I couldn’t be on my own any longer. I needed to get out of my headspace of grief and self-doubt before Roz and the circus arrived.
“I guess I could eat,” I lied. “Let me take a shower and get my phone in case—” I trailed off. I hoped Erik was okay…then I caught myself. No, I hoped the bastard was feeling like shit for betraying me. I hoped he ate bad oysters, drank raw milk, and...and…needed to spend a day on the john.
Jack reached out and caressed my bare shoulder, the brush of his soft fingertips pulling me from my fierce internal monologue. “No rush. I’ll leave the door unlocked, come over when you’re ready.” Jack’s brown eyes were full of empathy. I appreciated how gentle he was with me.
****
I stepped into the shower and scrubbed the sleepless night from my skin. When I dried off, I pulled on sweats, and a hoodie. I grabbed my phone and room keycard and then, barefoot with wet hair, I made my way across the hall to Jack’s. I knocked before pushing the unlocked door open.
“Cooie! I’m out here!” Jack called in a sing-song.
Jack’s Briticism’s were like warm honey on my tongue and I couldn’t repress my smile.
I closed the door then strode down the short hall and across a lounge that was a mirror image of my suite.
I stepped out onto the balcony that faced the inner courtyard garden of the hotel.
It was a glorious June morning and so peaceful here without the constant road sounds from the Champs Elysee.
Jack was seated at a table laid for two, reading the London Times.
He glanced up from the newspaper and grinned.
“I don’t even know why I asked for this fascist rag to be delivered.
Maybe I was feeling nostalgic! Anyway, breakfast waits.
” He folded the newspaper and discarded it, and then gestured towards a trolley laden with a continental breakfast assortment of croissants, and pastries, fresh bread, a plate of cheeses, cold meats, grapes, fruit salad, and yoghurt.
My belly growled as my appetite suddenly came roaring back. I guess I was hungry after all!
“Tea or coffee?” Jack asked.
“Oh, whatever you’re having.”
“Very well, tea it is,” he grinned as he poured tea from a white china pot. I placed some oven-warm bread, charcuterie meats, and cheeses on my plate with grapes, apple slices, and melon. Then I took the seat opposite Jack.
“Ah, you’ve gone for the Brie and Camembert. You love your cheese, don’t you?” I smiled, because, yes, I did love cheese. “Give me a block of British Cheddar, and I’d happily snack on it all day,” I replied.
“That makes your Christmas gifting easy enough!” Jack grinned as he added milk and sugar to his tea, stirred it, picked up the cup, and sat back.
I prepared a chunk of crusty bread with a spiced apple preserve and brie then glance up to see Jack was watching me over the rim of his teacup. He took a sip before saying,
“You know I went to ballet school?”
“Yeah,” I replied curiously.
“Well, it wasn’t all dance, we had regular school lessons too. In my second year the class went on a day trip. We all got on a coach and took the ferry to Calais so that we could visit a French supermarket and use what we’d learned in French class in the real world,”
“Wow, that’s so cool,” I said, unsure where this story was going.
“I’d been given my pocket money early so I could buy something…
so I had like, ten pounds I’d transferred into Euros.
I wasn’t money conscious back then so it felt like an absolute fortune.
” Jack considered me with humour in his eyes and took another sip of tea.
The man was a force of nature and being with him in this moment, I felt a little lighter in myself.
“So, what did you buy?” I enquired. Jack placed his teacup on the saucer and held his hands up.
“A caveat…first I have to say, and I know this might shock you because I’m clearly perfect at everything, but when I was a kid I was really shit at French, way better at German.’’
‘’Noh! Say it ain’t so!’’ I deadpanned, playing along.
‘’My mate Gavin was the best at French in our class.
I used to copy his homework…terrible I know.
Anyway, on the bus we had to pick a piece of paper out of a hat to find out which department we were to buy something from.
I got cheese. Gav got fruit. I went to Le rayon fromages du supermarché, which is ‘the supermarket cheese counter’ to you and me! ’’
I snickered at his hammy French accent.