Chapter 8 – Willa
EIGHT
WILLA
Even though I’ve received at least three different offers for dinner, I politely decline Hallie, Wren, and Nat’s offers, telling them I’m planning to just hang out and settle in for the night.
And while that’s the truth, it’s not completely the truth.
The real truth is that I need time to decompress and be alone after nearly two full days of excitement, and maybe, hopefully, possibly, write something.
Unfortunately, when I sit down to write, nothing comes.
Well, actually, that’s a lie.
Things are coming. Lines and lyrics and even a couple of melodies, but none of them are what I need. Instead of hopeless love and sweet crushes or even saucy, heated innuendos, everything sounds… annoyed.
Angry.
Frustrated.
And even more unfortunately, I know the exact reason.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Leo and that irritated look he gave me when he saw me walk out of my house.
I feel the heat emanating off his body, the fury rolling off him in waves when he stands, towering over me.
My emotions went from excited to see a familiar face to annoyed that, while I came here to escape the pressure and expectations, here was yet another person telling me how to act. And it was honestly disappointing that Leo seemed so miserable that I was here.
I haven’t thought about Leo Sinclaire this much in years, a very careful decision I made forever ago, not long after I met him.
But today, I let my mind drift back there for the first time in a long time, to eight years ago
Because there was a moment, a brief glimpse in time, when I thought Leo Sinclair and I could be something.
I met Leo as just Willa, nearly eight years ago, when I was barely twenty. It was a bit after my second album came out, and that morning, Jackie was trying to convince me into participating in what would end up being my very first fake relationship.
The first of many.
“At the very least, go to this meeting,” Jackie said that morning, her voice low and a bit irritated. “Go in with an open mind. I think they have a really great plan and that you could really benefit from it.”
The plan she was talking about was a fake relationship with Riggins Greene to build public interest in a whirlwind romance and, by extension, in my third album.
It seemed that Riggins had a drinking problem and was headed to rehab, but the label was desperate to keep that out of the media.
His publicist was suggesting a fake relationship with a sweet, wholesome child star-turned-pop star to balance it out.
My second album had done substantially worse than my first, and Jackie was sure that creating interest in a relationship, and then writing an album around it, would be the key to the stardom we were after.
I wasn’t fully on board, still a hopeless romantic at heart who wanted to write songs about my real life, including love. I’d told her this before, but she was pushing harder than ever. “Jackie—” I started, but she cut me off before I could give her my normal argument.
“One meeting. If you say no, then that’s it—I won’t bug you about it again.” With a sigh, I nodded, then agreed verbally.
“Fine… One meeting, but no promises. I’m serious, Jackie, don’t get your hopes up.”
“Of course. Of course!” she said, and I smiled to myself, shaking my head at her clear excitement. “Okay, the meeting’s at one, and I’ll be at your place in an hour and a half?” I agreed, she said goodbye, and hung up.
Knowing I had a long day ahead, I decided, more than ever, that I needed my Monday morning sweet treat.
Back then, every Monday before my day really got started, I would sneak to the little coffee shop down the street for a coffee and a cookie.
I slipped down there that morning in a baseball hat, my hair in a low ponytail at the back of my head, no makeup, and an oversized sweatshirt and sweats.
Back then, before I was Willa StoneTM, in the hustle and bustle of the city, I could slip in and out of places unnoticed.
I didn’t have near the level of media intrigue, and I surely didn’t have a bodyguard following me around.
It was late fall and unexpectedly freezing—I remember that most of all, because when I stepped outside, I thought I should have worn a jacket, but since it was just a few blocks, I figured I’d be fine.
I got my drink, an iced concoction that the place was best known for, despite the cool temperature, as well as a chocolate chip cookie, and turned to head towards the door.
That’s when a man ran into me, not paying attention to what he was doing.
He had dark glasses on and a sweatshirt of his own, and despite his irritated look, the second he realized he’d effectively drenched me in cold coffee, he stopped, his face going aghast.
“Fuck, I am so sorry,” he said, sliding his glasses to his head.
His eyes were sky blue. I remember thinking that’s what my contacts were supposed to give me.
“I didn’t see you there.” I lifted my eyebrows in challenge, and he gave me a sheepish smile before confessing.
“I was out last night celebrating, and I might be a bit hungover. I wasn’t paying attention in my quest for caffeine. ” I give him a small smile and a nod.
“Totally understandable,” I lied, because I had never been hungover, so it wasn’t understandable to me. “No worries at all.”
Finally snapping out of my daze, I tossed my now-empty cup in the trash and moved to grab napkins. He did the same, moving to sop up the coffee on the ground as I got what I could off my sweatshirt, pulling it away from me so it wouldn’t sit against my tank top and soak it, too.
“Shit, you’re drenched,” he said, eyes moving over the light colored sweatshirt now covered in a brown stain. I shivered, then decided the sweatshirt needed to go—it was doing more harm than good. I tugged it off over my head, then draped it over my arm. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s fine, really. I don’t live far from here,” I said with a smile. “I won’t be in the cold for long.”
“You walked here?” he asks, looking confused, brows furrowing.
“Uh,” I start, biting my lip, because every safety conversation I’d ever had told me disclosing that would be a terrible idea, even though everyone walked there. But right now, I was just Willa. But he shook his head quickly.
“Not in a weird way, I just…you can’t walk home in your wet sweatshirt, and it’s freezing outside.” I looked down at my balled-up sweatshirt and smiled, giving him a small wave of my hand.
“I’ll be fine, seriously.” He shook his head and sighed, rubbing a hand at his temple, and I wondered if the headache was his hangover or mine.
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“Do you always spill coffee on unwitting suspects?” I countered with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
“Touché,” he said with a grin. Just then, someone walked in, a cold rush sweeping in and carrying a fierce, cold breeze.
I was in just a tank top and leggings, and I shivered.
His face went contemplative, his lips tightening with dislike.
“You can’t walk home in that.” I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, the man was reaching behind him, tugging off his own sweatshirt, and handing it over to me.
He was giving me the literal shirt off his back.
“Take this.”
I stared at him, baffled and awestruck.
“What?”
‘It’s the least I can do. I can’t have a pretty woman freezing to death on my conscience.”
I shook my head.
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“If you don’t, then we’ll both just freeze.
” Without meaning to, I looked over the plain white T-shirt he was wearing underneath, which fit and showed off every defined muscle hidden beneath the sweatshirt.
Another shiver went through me, but this time, it had absolutely nothing to do with the cold.
“Come on. Put it on,” he said, misunderstanding my chill.
His voice was low and smooth, and that rolled through me as well, and without giving it another thought, I threw the sweatshirt on.
He smiled at me, another panty-dropping one, and then nodded like he was happy I was now safe and sound and warm. “What were you drinking?”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, still in a daze.
“I just made you lose your drink. What was it?”
“A, uh, cookie butter latte.” He nodded.
“Iced?” I bit my lip, then smiled.
“I think a hot would be better this time.” A small laugh left his lips this time.
“Fair enough.” I stopped and stood there like an idiot, watching as he walked back into line and ordered. I stepped aside and apologized profusely as an employee came out with a mop, but they waved it aside, and I made the mental note to leave a huge tip next time I came here.
“Are you in a rush?”
“What?”
“Are you in a rush to get back to wherever you were headed?” I checked my phone, biting my lip. Jackie would be at my place in an hour and a half, but it was less than a 15-minute walk back, so I should be more than fine to stay for a coffee.
And with the way my heart was racing, I really didn’t want to leave just yet.
“No,” I say. With the single word, I broke into a wide, happy grin.
“So, you’ll have coffee with me?”
“If you tell me your name.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, not even bothering to play it cool, he put a hand out to me. “I’m Leo.”
Leo.
I loved the name instantly. Simple and strong, different enough but not too far out there.
Kind of like Willa.
But Willa was too obvious, and since it was clear this man had no idea who I was, and I was giving into the fairy tale of meeting him here, I decided to do what I hated to do: lie.
“Marie,” I said, giving him my middle name. Giving it dimmed my joy just the tiniest bit, even though I knew it was a much-needed deception.
“It’s nice to meet you, Marie.” The barista called his name, sliding a hot paper cup across the counter, and he stepped away to get it. Then he was back before me, holding both cups, and tipping his head toward an empty table in the corner. “Come, sit,” he said.