15. KATE
15
KATE
M y head is pounding like a ten-inch drum, with a skin that’s too tight and might split at the next beat. This is the worst hangover I’ve had in months, if not years.
My mouth is parched, my tongue fuzzy like it’s wearing a winter glove. I’m damp and sweaty, and the sheets cling all over. Sheets that are so soft… too soft.
These aren’t my sheets. Where am I ?
Patches of memory float into my awareness. The club, losing sight of Elly and Marie, tequila shots bought by some guy I didn’t know, Michael Drayton pinning me against the wall, and then…Nico.
Nico! My body flushes hot. And that’s saying something because with this hangover I’m already running well over a healthy temperature.
“Oh, God,” I mumble, head in hands, as more sketchy memories of Nico shift in my mind. His scent, the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms as he carried me. All the good memories shatter as his words splinter the remains of my brain.
Stop. Keep your fucking clothes on .
What is it you want ? To drive me to distraction so I’ll fuck you?
Go to bed. Please, Kate. Go to bed.
“Oh, my God,” I wail again, as my drunken attempt to stick my lips on his flashes across my mental screen. Did I lick his finger too?
Oh, fuck. This is truly messed up.
The rush of shame is so violent I feel immediately nauseous. I tried to seduce Nico Hawkston last night, and he shot me down so hard I’m surprised I’m still alive.
What the fuck was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t. I don’t know how I’ll survive this. Maybe my hangover will kill me, because if it doesn’t the humiliation will.
Oh, my God. The hotel. The Penthouse.
Will you sleep with me, Nico ?
Fuck . Is he still here?
I sit up, trying to ignore the pounding in my dehydrated brain, and clutch the bedsheets against me. I hold my breath, listening for any sign that someone else is in the suite. The other side of the bed is unrumpled, the sheets smooth and tucked in, so if Nico stayed, he didn’t sleep in here with me.
I peer beneath the covers. Yup. I’m naked. Completely naked. At what point did I take off my clothes? Where are they ?
I scan the room, but there’s no sign of them. All I see is a thick white bathrobe draped over a nearby chair. A vague recollection of Nico putting the robe around my shoulders slips between the pounding of my headache.
“Nico?”
Silence.
I’m not taking any chances. I reach out of the bed and grab the robe, hauling it off the chair, which falls sideways with a bang.
I wait, but there’s no response. No concerned Nico appearing from the other room. I slide into the dressing gown, intending to head towards the bathroom, when I notice a note on the table by the window.
Kate ,
Gone to a meeting. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back before ten.
Nico.
P.S. Found your driver’s license.
My license sits right next to his note. I pick it up and another wave of nausea rushes over me as the shameful memory bursts open: pretending not to have it so he couldn’t send me home and then sleeping with it in my hand so he wouldn’t know.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Drunken me is a complete idiot.
There is no way I am waiting here for Nico to come back. Where the hell are my clothes?
A knock at the door makes me jump out of my skin. I pull the robe tighter and open the door just a creak. There’s a man in Hawkston Hotel uniform outside with a trolley.
“Room service,” he says. I must look completely nonplussed because he adds, “Breakfast.”
I open the door wider and he pushes the trolley in, setting out an entire spread of food and a steaming pot of coffee on the table.
Then he hands me a bag and I’m too stunned to do anything but cling to it. Inside is my outfit from last night, fully dry cleaned, right down to the black panties I was wearing.
I want to die.
Could this situation be any more humiliating? I wait until the attendant is gone, then put the clothes on as fast as I can, stuff a pastry in my mouth, and down a scalding cup of coffee that burns my tongue. I need to get the fuck out of here.
But I have no shoes. I lost my favourite Erica Lefroy’s. Shit . No time to mourn them. I’ll think about it later.
The only thing I can use instead is the free bathroom slippers. White slip-ons with exposed toes and a grey HH for Hawkston Hotels embroidered across the front, beneath a silver hawk, wings spread wide in its bid for freedom.
And then I make my own dash for freedom, flip-flopping down the corridor, into the lift, and down to the lobby. Nothing says walk-of-shame like sequins, hot pants and hotel slippers. The plastic soles squeak as I walk across the marble floor.
I’m halfway to the exit, heart-thumping like I’m escaping a million dollar heist, when—
“Miss Lansen?”
I freeze. A man approaches, dressed in a black suit and flat cap. I’ve never seen him before. Am I about to be arrested for stealing the hotel slippers? They’re free, aren’t they?
I shift awkwardly on the spot and the slippers give an almighty squeal. The man’s gaze dips to my feet, his brow lightly furrowing. Damn it.
“Yes?” I ask, striving for casual.
“Your car is outside,” he announces.
“My car?”
“Mr. Hawkston said to expect you. Gave me your address. I’m here to take you home.”
Fuck. My. Life .
I unlock the front door of the flat to find Elly and Marie staring at each other over their coffees, seated on either side of the kitchen table.
They both turn to look at me.
“No guesses where you spent the night,” Marie says, looking pointedly at the hotel slippers.
“What happened?” Elly asks with a smirk. “Everyone saw Nico punch Michael Drayton in the face. And carry you up the stairs.”
“Lucky it was a private party,” Marie adds. “Otherwise you’d have been all over the tabloids this morning.”
“Oh, my God,” I mutter, as the last futile hope that I’d dreamt the whole thing collapses around me like a dry sandcastle. “Why didn’t you do something?”
“I would have, but I was so drunk I didn’t even know I had hands,” Elly explains, waving said hands like they’re new discoveries. “Sorry. Besides, Nico looked like he had it under control.”
“So… what happened?” Marie asks, and the two of them sit there staring at me, looking hungover as hell, waiting for an explanation. I can’t tell them all the details. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I’d be able to form the words. Embarrassment would be the glue that would stick my lips together and seal my throat.
I settle for the least of my offences. “I tried to kiss him.”
“I thought you hated him?” Marie reminds me.
Elly perks up. “She doesn’t hate him. She just thinks she hates him because she’s too frightened to admit she’s still obsessed with him.” Elly fixes her attention on me. “Did he kiss you back?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Aww. Babes. I’d have kissed you back.”
I roll my eyes, which makes the sockets ache. “Thanks.”
“Where did Nico Hawkston come from anyway?” Marie says. “One minute you were getting it on with Michael, the next Nico appears like a fucking tornado of masculinity, determined to raze the place to the ground.” She tilts her head to one side, pouting her lower lip. “It was kinda hot.”
My head pounds as I struggle to comprehend what she’s saying. I have no idea where Nico came from last night. He was suddenly there, pushing people around and dragging me away.
“He owns the club,” I explain.
“Ah,” muses Marie. “He looked pretty chummy with Amy Moritz too. I saw her climb right over the table to give him a hug.”
I drop my head in my hands. “I want to crawl under my bed and die.”
“Except you can’t,” Marie says. “Because it’s your mum’s summer drinks party tomorrow.” Marie points to the calendar on the wall behind her where I’ve scrawled ‘MUM PARTY’ in red pen. I groan. I’d forgotten about the glamorous party she throws at the Surrey house every year. If I miss it, she’ll never let me forget it. I have to go. “Shit.”
“And your annual”—Elly makes finger quotes—“‘family dinner’ tonight.” She grins, taking an infuriating delight in my misery.
“You can’t drive like this,” Marie says. “I won’t allow it.”
“I can. I’m fine. I drove hungover in my early twenties all the time.”
“I bet you were over the limit then too,” Marie continues. “But now that we’re all responsible adults—”
Elly giggles, cutting Marie off, and at the same moment, my phone rings.
The contact Massively Hot Nico flashes on the screen.
My body goes hot, then numb, then pins and needles prickle me all over. I didn’t even realise I still had his number. That’s how I saved it in there a decade ago. I stare at the phone like it’s about to explode.
“Does that say what I think it does?” Marie asks, staring at the screen.
“Yes,” I say. “Don’t answer it.”
Elly grins and presses the button to answer the call, quickly putting it on speaker before leaving the handset in the middle of the table.
“Bitch ,” I mouth.
“Kate?” Nico’s voice is so cold I’m surprised frost doesn’t spread across the kitchen table.
If he didn’t hate me before, he does now.
I cover my face with my hands, speaking between my fingers. “I’m here.”
“I’ll pick you up at four.”
“What?”
“You won’t be safe to drive to Surrey.”
He’s coming? It’s predictable, but my mind hadn’t gone there. Before Dad died, Nico always came to our family events. And Mum was so taken with him at Jack’s birthday party that I’m not surprised she invited him. Just like old times.
Marie is making eyes at the phone and nodding in agreement.
I groan. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
“Then you’ll miss the family dinner tonight,” he counters.
I close my eyes, feeling the headache pound behind them.
“Mum won’t care,” I tell him.
Nico says nothing; he knows she’ll care.
His silence breaks me. “I’ll take the train,” I argue.
“And risk vomiting all over public transport?”
“I’m not going to be sick.”
“Good. Then you can come in my car. I’ll be there at 4 pm. Don’t make me wait.”
He hangs up, and all three of us sit in silence for a few moments.
“I think he cares about you,” Elly says, her face a vision of studied sincerity.
To my annoyance, hope is soaring like a drug in my system. Pathetic .
Marie shoots Elly a don’t-be-an-idiot look . “Ooh yeah. He sounded all warm and cuddly.”
Marie’s sarcasm neutralises that pesky hope pretty quick. Although, there is one thing that’s still bothering me about last night. I glance between my friends and say, “Why do you think he hit Michael Drayton?”
“Duh,” Elly says, slapping her hand across her forehead. “Because Michael was trying to make out with you. Green-eyed-monster. JELL-OH-SEE.”
This is exactly the response I wanted, but I don’t dare cling to it because it can’t be true. I couldn’t really make a man like Nico jealous, could I? “What? No…”
“Yes. That whole unrequited crush thing you had going on as a teenager? Not so unrequited now, eh?” Elly grins and strums her hands on the table like a drum roll.
There’s a riot happening inside my chest. My lips itch to split into a smile, but it would reveal too much so I force them into a straight line and say, “Hmm. It’s weird, and more than a little controlling.”
Marie shrugs. “It’s a bit weird, but probably a good thing he stepped in. You were a mess. I guarantee you’d have regretted it.”
“And who cares if he’s controlling? Mmm, mmm,” Elly murmurs, licking her lips suggestively. “He’s still unbelievably hot. He can control me any day.”
At 4 pm, I’m outside the flat with my overnight bag. It’s warm, so I’m in a t-shirt, faded jeans that are ripped at the knee and a pair of battered old trainers. I’m trying to look like I don’t care, but I’m not sure even my casual attire is enough to hide the fact that I do. A lot.
Nico’s car rolls up. It’s a bottle-green Aston Martin. I don’t know much about cars, but this one is special. And it’s spotless. I’m betting Nico doesn’t clean it himself.
He pulls up beside me and lowers the window, resting his forearm on the ledge.
He looks so handsome, so suave, that the scene looks like a cut-out from a luxury car magazine.
What was I thinking, making a move on a man like this? It was only ever going to end in my complete and utter humiliation. I want to run, but I force myself to stay put. The car ride’s not long. A little over an hour. I can do this.
Lowering his sunglasses, Nico gives me the once over, his gaze lingering on my feet before roving upwards again. It’s so invasive, I might as well be standing naked on the pavement.
This man sent my panties to dry-cleaning.
Crap . There is no way I’m recovering from this anytime soon.
He holds a box of painkillers out to me, letting it dangle between his index and middle fingers.
“What’s this?” I ask, nodding at the packet.
“Thought you’d appreciate them more than flowers.” I cringe under the weight of sarcasm in his tone. I’m tempted to tell him to shove his condescending gift up his butt crack, but with a flick of his fingers the packet flies towards me and every remaining brain cell I have is occupied with trying to catch it. Somehow, my fingers clutch around the box in midair.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, opening a water bottle and handing it out the window to me.
I shake my head. “I’m pumped full of painkillers already, but thank you, for—”
“Good.” He recaps the bottle and gets out of the car, taking my bag from me and putting it in the boot.
“Thank you for this,” I say, indicating the box of pills, determined not to be silenced by his abruptness. “And for breakfast. And my dry-cleaning. And the driver to take me home.”
This gratitude list is longer than I realised. I’m about to add ‘ thank you for saving me from having stupid drunken sex with a man I don’t know ,’ or something to that effect when Nico slams the boot closed.
“You really shouldn’t drink that much,” he tells me. “Anything could have happened.”
His tone irritates the hell out of me, but he might have a point. In fact, given how horribly hungover I am and how many pockets of memory blackout I have from last night, he definitely has a point, but I won’t let him scold me like a kid.
“I’m old enough to take care of myself.”
“I beg to differ.”
I exhale sharply. “I’m not getting in this car if you’re going to spend the entire journey treating me like an errant teenager.”
Nico’s eyebrow slides upwards, disapproval pulsing off him, and his words from last night crash into my mind.
Stop. Keep your fucking clothes on.
My memories might be blurry, but I definitely remember the fury in his eyes when he said that. In all the time I’ve known Nico Hawkston, I’ve never seen him look so angry.
I give an involuntary shudder and decide I don’t want to piss him off, so when he opens the passenger door for me, I get in without comment. Nico walks round to the driver’s side and takes his seat.
With the doors closed, the car feels too small. Nico’s energy spills out everywhere, and even though he’s not looking at me, let alone touching me, somehow it feels like he is. Invisible fingers stroke my skin, raising tiny hairs and sending shivers down the back of my neck. Even my toes tingle.
I feel him everywhere .
Nico keeps his eyes on the road and we say nothing as he drives too fast through London’s narrow residential streets, but I don’t feel unsafe for a second. His unwavering focus has an allure I wasn’t expecting, and each time he shifts the gear stick, the movement is so natural, so smooth, so powerful , that it kindles heat between my legs.
His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, and I get the bizarre urge to run my fingers down the veins on his arms, following their path over the back of his hands and between his knuckles. There’s no sign that he hit someone last night. He must know exactly how to throw a punch.
Butterflies dance in my stomach at the thought.
I’m so fucked .
Closing my eyes, I let my head fall against the headrest. No point denying it. I’m just as attracted to him now as I was when I was a teenager, and in the interim, my desires have taken on a far more libidinous edge.
A thick silence falls between us, and for a while, I watch the streets outside flash by. Finally, I summon the courage to address the issue that’s been bothering me. “I can’t believe you hit Michael Drayton.”
Nico glances at me. “Is there a question in there?”
My heart is thumping uncomfortably. “Why did you do it?”
I scan Nico’s face, but there’s no sign he’s remotely unsettled by this line of interrogation.
“He was assaulting you.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Hmm. My mistake,” he says casually, like hitting an A-list celebrity is no big deal, but his fingers clench a little harder around the steering wheel.
“And taking me to the penthouse?”
He shifts gear, not taking his eyes off the road as we slip onto the motorway. He slides through traffic to the fast lane. “You fell asleep. I couldn’t ask you where you lived.”
“You could have called Jack.”
He nods without looking at me. “Next time I’ll do that. Or—” He pauses so long that a nasty feeling bubbles up in the pit of my stomach. If we weren’t travelling eighty miles an hour down the motorway, I’d be tempted to open my door and roll out of the car. “You could have told me your address.”
My chest is tight and hot all at once; there’s no way I can take a breath because my lungs have solidified.
“Couldn’t remember it,” I mumble, so quietly that I barely hear myself.
“Kate,” Nico purrs, and the sound of my name on his tongue makes me ache. When was the last time he used my nickname? I miss the intimacy. Little K was his, and Kate is everyone’s. “No one forgets their address. Even when you’re so drunk you can’t remember your own fucking name, you always get home.”
I could sit here and die of embarrassment, like I’ve been doing every second of the day since I woke up, or I can address this head on. Maybe I’m still drunk, because I pick the latter option. “What exactly are you implying? That I deliberately pretended not to remember where I lived so that we had to share a hotel room?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he taps the steering wheel with his index finger.
Shit . I don’t know why raising this seemed like a good idea.
“Yes,” Nico says.
The word condenses behind my breastbone. I guess we’re not messing around anymore.
I cross my arms. “Well, I think you hit Michael Drayton because you didn’t want him to kiss me. And you know what, Nico? You don’t own me. You don’t get to decide who I hook up with.”
“I know that.”
“So why then? Because I think you didn’t want to have to watch while I hooked up with someone else. Someone who wasn’t you. Am I right?”
His entire face hardens as he stares at the road, lending a dangerous— sexy— edge to his handsome profile.
I want him to say yes. My entire body wants him to say yes.
He takes a moment to answer, making me wonder if he’s thinking up an excuse. “No. You’re not right. I hit him because you were drunk and he was sober and he fucking knew it too. He was taking advantage. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen.”
“I had it under control,” I argue, even though it’s a bare-faced lie. Control was so far out of my reach last night that I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.
“So shitty drunk sex with a movie star you’ve never met before was what you wanted last night? That was the aim? The goal?” Nico’s voice is calm, his delivery casual, but his words are carefully launched grenades and even though I know what he’s doing, I explode, right on cue.
“Fuck you, Nico. Like you’ve never had casual sex with someone famous. Who the hell do you think you are? Some kind of vigilante white knight who saves women from making mistakes when they’ve had one too many tequila shots? Because if that’s the case, turn the car around right now and go back to London because there are thousands of women who are gonna need your help tonight.”
The car shoots forward with shocking speed as he shifts lanes, and I’m jerked back in my seat.
Fuck. I’ve really roused the beast now.
A displeased rumble sounds in Nico’s throat. “What’s with the aggression, Kate?”
For a split second, I don’t know the answer. Then it roars to life and I can’t help but give it voice. “I’m never going to forgive you for what you did to Dad. To Lansen. You can show up at Mum’s and play the dutiful godson, or whatever the hell this is, but it will never be the same. When you killed that deal, you killed him, too.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then explain it to me.”
His nostrils flare as he inhales, like he’s battling for control.
“You can’t, can you?” I argue. “You’re a ruthless businessman who only cares about your bottom line.”
He slams the heel of his hand on the wheel with a bang that makes me jump. “Of course, I care about the bottom line!”
I gasp, bite my lip, and shrink into my seat. I’ve never heard him raise his voice before.
“But it’s not just about me,” he continues. “It’s about my family. The company. The shareholders, the board of directors. The thousands of people we employ all over the world. Of course, I fucking care about my business. That deal no longer made sense. Now it does.”
Nico’s phone rings through the speaker system, slicing through the tension. Seb’s name flashes up. Nico curses under his breath and answers, but before he can say a word, Seb’s voice blasts out.
“You broke Michael Drayton’s nose. His lawyer’s been on the phone. They’ll have to delay filming—”
“Make it go away,” Nico barks. “I don’t give a shit what it costs.”
Seb tuts. “There are photos. Of you. Michael. Kate.”
“Fuck,” Nico curses under his breath. “Get Elliot on it.”
“I already called him. He fixed it this morning. They’re gone.”
“Why are you calling me then?”
“To remind you that you’re a fucking idiot. Have a great weekend.”
The line goes dead.
Nico looks so furious that for a while I don’t dare speak. Then, because I’m far too nosy to hold my tongue, I ask, “Who’s Elliot?”
Nico rolls his lips. “He cleans stuff up for us. There’s nothing to worry about. It’ll be like last night never happened.”
Like it never happened . Didn’t I say something like that last night? Uncomfortable memories tug at my mind, but I can’t put them together.
“That’s good.” I sit back in my seat, but then a thought occurs to me and I lean forward again, turning to stare at Nico. “Hold on. You have a fixer who sorts all kinds of crap out for you, but you couldn’t get hold of my address last night?”
Checkmate .
My words hover in the air, as close to a direct accusation as I dare to get right now. A few moments of silence pass and then Nico mutters something under his breath that I can’t make out.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
It’s only when we finally draw up outside my family home, and we both get out of the car, that the tension in my abdomen releases.
Nico opens the boot, hands me my bag, and lifts his own out, as well as several boxes I assume are gifts for Mum, which he tucks under his arm.
He clicks the boot closed and we turn at the same moment, colliding in an explosion of bags and boxes.
“Shit,” he mutters, as a box falls from his pile.
The lid topples off and the contents slide halfway out. A shoe. A woman’s shoe.
What ?
My heartbeat ramps up. That's not just any shoe .
It’s a pair of shoes, identical to the ones I lost last night. Erica Lefroy’s. It can’t be a coincidence. The side of the box reveals that they’re my size.
But my shoes were last season’s exclusive editions. I bought them in the winter sale, stored them for six months and cracked them out this summer. I’d only worn them a couple of times. How the hell did he source another pair ?
My skin buzzes, coming alive with an emotion I can’t name. I look up, but Nico’s frowning at the lone shoe like he’s never seen it before.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He shifts the other parcels in his arms, a small crease forming between his brows. “That’s for you.”
As if it needs no further explanation, he steps over the box and walks straight towards the house.