12. Kate
Chapter Twelve
KATE
Drew and I have hardly touched our breakfast since it arrived thirty minutes ago. Our conversation continues playfully. He’s less of a mystery now as I’ve learned his favorite movie, ‘Rocky’, favorite soccer, I mean football, team, Arsenal, and how many motorcycles he owns—fourteen. But he drives Black Jack eighty percent of the time. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him. I like his energy. He feels good to be around.
And I’m really looking forward to being around him tonight for our date. He better not leave me hanging again. If he does, that will be three strikes, and he’ll be out.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I silence it without looking. But it rings again.
“You should probably get that,” Drew says and sips his brew.
“Yeah.” Beau’s name and photo light up the screen. “Hey, you okay? It’s like two a.m.”
“Not where I am,” Beau says, sounding slightly more chipper than our last conversation. Has she gone off to chase Martino in Italy? That’s not typically her style in a distance or breakup scenario. She much more prefers to be pursued. She has her pride. And a thousand other guys who are waiting in line for her.
“Where are you?”
“I’m standing in the lobby at the Royal Regency Hotel, about to head to my room. Where are you?”
My jaw drops. “You’re here?”
“Yes! What’s your room number?”
“Room 532, but I’m out,” I say, glancing at Drew. “Having breakfast.”
“Well, where are you? I’ll meet you there.”
I’m not entirely ready to explain Drew. Especially since her heart’s still mending from Martino. “No, no. I’m done. I’ll head over there. Just text me your room number.” I want to ask her exactly why she’s come all this way to see me. She must not be doing well. I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love with an unattainable man in Europe.
I flick a glance at Drew. I’m not going to fall in love with him. I’ve never really been in love. I don’t even think I’m capable of it. Not like Beau is.
I end the call and try not to let my frown fall too low. “My best friend made a surprise visit all the way from L.A., so I have to go.”
“Is that Beau?” he asks, and I feel my heart skip a little beat that he remembered this small detail from our conversation. A man who pays attention, huh?
“Yeah. I’m sorry we have to cut this short.”
“That’s all right. I’ll see you later. For our date,” he says, curling his lips into a sexy smirk.
My cheeks warm at his words, his gaze. “That’s right.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
I hold out my hand. “Let me see your phone.”
“Why? Want to ridicule my musical taste a little more?”
I giggle. “No, so I can give you my phone number.”
“Oh, well, in that case, it’s all yours.” Drew surrenders his phone, and I add my contact under the name Just Kate. There’s an impulse to add a winky face or kiss emoji to my name, but I think better of it. I bet if I scroll his contacts, I’ll find a lot of those. I know what this is. It’s a London fling. Nothing more. For either of us.
“Text me when you arrive, and I’ll meet you outside,” I say, returning his device. His fingers graze the back of my hand and linger there for a moment. The ridges of his fingerprints feel rough on my skin.
“Or I could come up to your door?” he says with a suggestive tone, and I know what he’s suggesting. He should’ve come up yesterday when I gave him the chance. Now, he’ll have to wait.
“No,” I say, and he frowns. “But maybe you can walk me up to my room afterward.” I’m a lingerie designer, which makes me a professional tease.
His frown slowly reverses. “Maybe.”
I try not to grin like I’m not over the moon about meeting up with him later. I dig in my purse for some cash and toss the bills on the table—enough to pay for breakfast and a nice tip.
“What’s that for?” he asks.
“We agreed I’d pay next time. Remember?”
Drew leans back against the vinyl booth like he’s never had a woman buy him a meal. With his kind of wealth, he probably hasn’t. “Thank you.”
I shrug. “Eh, it’s the least I could do after pounding on your door this morning.”
He bites his lower lip. “Kate, you can pound on my door anytime you want.”
We both know he isn’t talking about his door, but now I’m sure he wants to pound me. Maybe the rumors will be true after all.
I leave Drew at the diner and take a taxi back to my hotel. As much as I want another ride, I can’t risk Beau seeing me on the back of a motorcycle with some leather-clad guy. A hop, skip, and a jump later, I’m pounding my fist at Beau’s door. It swings open instantly.
“Kate!” She beams and hits me with one of her classic, big hugs. The scent of perfume is remarkably comforting. I pull away and rest my hand down on her bare, very tanned shoulder, grazing her sandy-blonde locks and taking in her floral maxi dress.
I stare into her ocean-blue eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Where else would I be? You’re making a comeback, and I want a front-row seat!” She flashes a sunny smile.
“So this isn’t an escape from L.A. trip to get over you know who ?” I ask.
“No!” She knits her brow for a moment. “Okay, maybe a tiny bit. I need something to take my mind off the whole thing.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” If there’s anyone who can get me through this crazy couple of weeks, it’s Beau.
“Me too.” She smiles, revealing her adorable dimpled cheeks. “You look amazing, by the way. Did you have a facial?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Well, something’s different. Did you meet a guy or something?”
No way! Is it that obvious? My cheeks begin to burn. Crap. I can’t lie to her. She’ll smell it and dig the truth out of me anyway. “How did you know that?”
“Cheeri-Ooh-dot-CO-dot-UK.”
My heart plunks in my stomach. “You saw that?” Does the whole world know I’m riding with the bad boy billionaire?
“Yeah, I get alerts anytime my bestie’s in the news. So when were you going to tell me about Blakesie ?”
Blakesie. What a terrible nickname. Could the press be any worse? “When there was something to tell.”
“Girl! You got on the back of a motorcycle in a dress. You. Kate! That’s something to tell.”
I step inside her room, hop on the bed, and hug one of her pillows close to my chest the way I would when we were in middle school. “Nothing happened.”
She shakes her head and crawls on the bed beside me with an expectant look. “I don’t buy it. Something had to happen to get you to take a ride. So spill the deets!”
I spend the next thirty minutes narrating the exclusive story. Beau’s eyes grow wider and wider with every revelation.
“Whoa, you really like this guy,” Beau says, gawk-eyed.
“What’s not to like? He’s a billionaire with a motorcycle and a handsome face. And he’s everywhere.”
“Well, not everywhere.” Beau flicks a glance at my lower region. “So what’s the plan for tonight? Are you going to go all the way?”
“All the way? What is this 1955?”
“Kind of. You’ve been celibate for what? A year?” Her use of the word celibate doesn’t sit well with me.
“That was circumstantial.”
“And your circumstances have changed. You have an actual crush. And he obviously likes you too. I did some digging because what else was I going to do on a fourteen-hour flight with free Wi-Fi? He is like the it-guy of London right now. Everyone wants to bag him.”
“I don’t want to bag him. I just want . . .”
“Him to make love to you like it’s a Boys II Men song?”
My eternal grin flattens. “No, we’re not going to make love .”
“Okay,” she says as if she wants me to calm down. “But you are going to sleep with him tonight, right? And tell me all about it in the morning.”
“I don’t know. Should I?” I ask, even though I want to. I really, really want to. If for no other reason than to get him out of my system.
“Yes! What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Honey, I have the perfect outfit for you. I was going to wear it tonight when we went out, but I guess that’ll have to wait.” She plays like she’s inconvenienced, but I also know she’s a little disappointed that she flew all this way only to stay in her lonely hotel room all night.
I place my hand on hers. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”
“You’re welcome. Now, that glow of yours is making me jealous. Let’s go get a facial and maybe a bikini wax.” Beau’s freshly shaped brows wiggle on her forehead, and I accept.
We spend the rest of the day getting pampered at the spa. It’s supposed to be a relaxing experience, but my stomach is a bundle of anticipatory nerves. I haven’t been on an actual date in over a year. And it’s been even longer since I’ve been on a date with someone I kind of like. Okay, definitely like.
Upon returning to our hotel from an early dinner, Beau brings me the perfect outfit for my date—a black leather mini skirt with a matching jacket and a tight black halter with a plunging neckline. It definitely has biker vibes. Beau has never been afraid to put herself out there and let it all hang out . . . of a low-cut top. You would think as a lingerie designer, I’d be the same. But I’m much more classic. Understated. I’ve never been interested in the attention. I prefer my work to be front and center. Not me.
“What’s with all the leather?” I ask, examining the stitching. Very nice.
“It’s making a comeback. Watch, it will be all over the runway this fall.”
“Do you think it’s too on the nose? Like I’m trying too hard to impress him?”
“I mean, it worked for Sandy in ‘Grease.’” She has a fair point. “And I’m sure Drew will love it.” The mention of his name sends a tingle through my entire body.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
“Are you practicing your lines for tonight?” Beau grins and winks. “C’mon, I’ll do your makeup.”
By 7:59 PM, I’m alone, pacing my room dressed in my wannabe bad girl outfit, smoky eye-makeup, and my straight, dark hair flipped over one shoulder. I check my phone every two seconds, but I haven’t received a single text from him. Maybe it’s broken. Maybe his guy at the store screwed something up when he replaced the screen. Or maybe he’s not coming. And this whole thing is O-V-E-R.
Knock, knock.
I jump at the knock on my hotel door and glance back at my phone. It can’t be Beau. She’s probably passed out by now after her long travel day. It can’t be Drew. He doesn’t know my room number. Unless he got his hands on it like I did with his address. It has to be him, right?
I suck in a deep breath, wipe my damp palms on the sleek leather, and peer through the peephole. It’s not Drew. It looks like one of the hotel staff. I open the door.
“Ah, Ms. Golden. How are you this evening?” A man in a suit wearing a Royal Regency name tag asks in his British accent.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Lovely,” he says, handing me a ballet pink gift box with a black ribbon. “I’m here to deliver a package we just received for you.”
I take the box and immediately feel its weight. “Do you know who sent it?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I did not receive it when it arrived.” He tilts his hat and wishes me a good evening. I shut the door behind him and place the box on the table. My heart thumps in my chest as I slide off the top. A small notecard sits on top of a bed of white tissue paper. My hand trembles as I pick it up.
The best for the best.
-D.
Drew better be in this box. I pull the paper away, revealing a stack of three Fredrickson sketchpads. “Oh, my God.” My face lights up as excitement and relief rush through me. He found them. Now I can sketch. I hug one of the notebooks close to my chest as if hugging a long-lost friend. I can’t believe he did this. It’s the best thing that could’ve shown up at my door.
Or maybe, second best.
Before I have a chance to wonder where he is, my phone dings.
Drew
Meet me downstairs.