Chapter 8 #2
‘Honestly? No, not really. I went for the experience. My agent at the time said it’d be good for my “profile” too. And it was – it tripled my followers, got me brand deals. I can’t walk into a club without someone trying to buy me a drink or slipping me their number.’
‘Sounds like you got what you wanted,’ I reply.
‘Hmm,’ he says, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts.
‘I suppose I knew it wasn’t a real way to find love.
Not for most people. But you’re there for six weeks with no distractions, no phones, no work, which gives you this odd clarity.
If “the one” had been there, I would have known almost right away, without all the bullshit, and the change of pace was nice.
All the noise now, it makes it harder. I want a low-key life, no celeb bullshit, just normal dinners with a nice girl.
Don’t get me wrong though, I love my fans, they’re the reason I’m here. I’ll never forget that.’
I smile. Honestly, Max isn’t the kind of guy I was expecting at all.
So far, he’s ticking a lot of boxes. Charming.
Funny. Good eye contact. Asks me questions.
Has JJ actually done it? Has she found someone I can see myself going on a second date with?
As much as I want the book deal, finding the real thing for myself – not only for my characters – matters a lot to me too.
‘Excuse me,’ a small voice says. ‘Sorry to bother you…’
We both look up.
She’s maybe twenty, tops. Blonde hair in a messy bun, oversized blazer over a sparkly dress, black tights and chunky white trainers. She’s clutching her phone in both hands.
‘It’s you…’ She swallows. ‘Max Hart! From Welcome to Singledom!’
Max’s whole face lights up.
‘Hey, yeah, that’s me,’ he replies.
‘Oh my God,’ she practically breathes. ‘I knew it. I told them it was you.’
She points back to a table of three girls watching us from across the room, half hiding behind menus. They’re all the same age.
‘Hi,’ Max calls, giving them a little wave. They giggle and duck.
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt your dinner,’ the girl says, flushing. ‘I just… Your season meant so much to me. I was going through a break-up, and watching you all every night just… helped. You were my favourite.’
‘That’s really sweet,’ Max says genuinely. ‘Thank you. You’ve made my day.’
‘Could I… maybe… get a photo?’ she says. ‘If that’s okay?’
‘Of course,’ he says, standing. ‘Come on, let’s make your mates jealous.’
He poses with her, one arm around her shoulders, both of them smiling at her phone camera. He tells her to take a silly one too, pulling a stupid face, making her laugh.
‘Cool trainers,’ he tells her as he takes his seat again. ‘Very cool.’
‘Oh my God, thank you!’ She actually squeaks. ‘I’ll never forget this!’
She skips back to her friends, who immediately crowd around her screen to see the photos, like they didn’t witness it in person.
I can’t help but smile.
‘That was sweet,’ I tell him.
He sits, shrugging casually.
‘It comes with the territory,’ he says. ‘You’ve got be nice. They’re the reason I’m here, like I said.’
It was a cool thing to witness, seeing him make someone’s day like that. I don’t make anyone’s day like that!
‘One minute,’ Max says, catching the eye of a man in a black suit loitering near the bar. The guy looks like security, or maybe front-of-house. Broad shoulders, earpiece. He strides over immediately.
‘Yes,’ he says, leaning in so Max can talk to him.
Max leans in too, his voice suddenly much lower. ‘You see that girl who came to talk to me a few seconds ago?’ He tilts his head subtly towards the table of three.
My heart does a little happy flutter. Is he going to send them drinks? Offer to buy their dessert? My gosh, he really is a dreamboat.
‘She’s wearing trainers, which is against the dress code here,’ Max tells the man.
My face falls. Oh.
The man nods obediently.
‘Got you,’ the big bloke replies.
‘So if you let the waitstaff know, they can have her removed from the restaurant,’ Max continues. ‘And you can also let whichever member of my team let her reach my table know that they’re sacked. Thanks.’
My smile freezes on my face.
The big bloke nods, expression neutral. ‘Understood.’
He turns and walks away, ready to do as he’s told.
Max snaps back around to me, expression instantly bright.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘What was I saying?’
Did that… actually just happen? Is he serious?
‘Uh…’ I manage. ‘You were… talking about how much your fans mean to you?’
I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice, but he doesn’t clock it.
‘Oh yeah. Right.’ He leans back again, getting back into date mode. ‘So yeah, my fans, and charity too. I do a lot with mental health charities now. Use my platform for good, you know? It’s important.’
I nod mechanically, too stunned to say another word.
Across the room, the girl with the trainers looks confused as a waiter approaches their table. I watch, knots in my stomach, as there’s a brief, polite but firm exchange. She glances down at her shoes. Her face drops. Her friends look mortified.
Within two minutes, all of them are grabbing their things and heading out.
Max keeps talking, unbothered.
‘I go into schools too,’ he says. ‘Share my story. Inspire the next generation. It’s so important to give back.’
The girls shuffle past the edge of our raised section, cheeks flushed. I can just about hear their conversation.
‘I didn’t know there was a dress code…’
‘No one said anything when we arrived…’
‘I’m so embarrassed. I hope Max didn’t see…’
That poor girl will probably remember tonight for the rest of her life, and for all the wrong reasons.
He makes himself seem like he’s this great guy, this man of the people who loves his fans, but he’s got himself flanked like he’s a member of MI5, with men in waiting to take out anyone who approaches him.
I guess that’s why tonight seemed so normal, the hidden security, making sure he wasn’t disturbed.
I get that it must be annoying sometimes, being approached when you’re having dinner, but this all feels so icky.
Everything he bangs on about is shit. And even if he didn’t want people talking to him while he’s eating, he didn’t have to get her thrown out, did he?
She came, she stayed because he was receptive, and then she left.
She didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that.
I stare at him. The man who just cost a young woman her dinner because she dared to speak to the great Max Hart. The man who, now that I’m thinking about it, went viral while he was on Welcome to Singledom for peeing in the water source.
My heart bangs in my ears and if it sounds like anything, it’s a door being repeatedly slammed closed, reminding me that this date is so, so over, because Max is the kind of man who will smile at you like you’re special and then flick you away like you’re a piece of dirt the second your back is turned.
It’s all staged, all of it, from the hidden security to his fake TV smile.
I’m falling for a manufactured vibe – thank God I got to see the real deal before I agreed to a second date.
I pick up my wine, take a long sip, and place the glass down again. My heart rate has steadied now. I guess there’s a peculiar kind of comfortable calm that comes with knowing something is absolutely, unequivocally over.
He notices my silence.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘You’ve gone quiet…’
‘I’ve just, you know what, I’ve remembered that I’m allergic to tuna,’ I tell him. ‘Honestly, I’m such a ditz sometimes.’
‘You’re allergic?’ he replies. ‘Do we need to get you, like, an EpiPen or something? I’m sure they have one here…’
He raises his hand to catch his security’s attention.
‘Oh, no, wait,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m just… I’m being… I just meant… it’s embarrassing, but I’m not allergic, I’m intolerant.’
‘You’re intolerant?’ he replies, confused. ‘To…?’
To you. You, you, you!
‘To tuna,’ I say. ‘So I need to go home before… before… well, you know.’
He stares at me.
‘I need a bathroom,’ I tell him. ‘One I can sit in for a long time. You stay here, enjoy your dinner, I’ll go and… yeah. Thanks for a great night.’
Ugh, I’m more embarrassed that I told him it was a great night than I am pretending I’m going to spend the rest of it with diarrhoea.
‘Right, well, that can’t be helped,’ he says, sounding like he wants to have nothing to do with whatever this is, which is fantastic.
As I walk out of the restaurant, past the paparazzi who look briefly excited to see me, then realise I’m a nobody, I feel almost annoyed at myself for getting my hopes up, even if it was only briefly, because I’m sick of going into these things giving men the benefit of the doubt, only to find myself disappointed and making excuses to leave.
I grab my phone. I’d tell Andy, if I could call him, but he’s probably sleeping or working or whatever, so I guess I’ll drop him a quick message and then call JJ, to tell her that her matchmaking skills have once again failed me. Epically.
At least this is the end now. She’ll give up trying to find the man for me.
To be honest, I think I’ll give that up too.