Chapter 3
Hayleigh
He’s infuriating.
That is the only way to describe Nate Peterson, who is sitting right next to me, looking all angelic after telling me precisely what he would do if we were having sex. So now, naturally, all I am thinking about is having sex with him.
You know you want to.
Oh, shut up, brain. I don’t have time for you right now.
“Is that a yes then?” Nate looks at me expectantly, and I’m mortified that I didn’t even hear his question. Wait, did he ask me to have sex or something normal? Sex mad.
“Shut up!” Oh my god. My cheeks are like a furnace. Why did I shout that out? It’s not my fault. I close my eyes and squeeze them tight before taking a deep breath. When I open them, Nate looks amused. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking to you just then; I didn’t hear the question.”
He leans his elbow on the arm of the couch and rests his head on his fist, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Aren’t you odd?”
I bristle. “Well, that’s a bit rude.”
He laughs. “You just told me to shut up, then told me you weren’t talking to me. Wait. You don’t see dead people, do you, because I really don’t like the idea of ghosts.” He shivers dramatically, and I find myself rolling my eyes.
“You’re ridiculous. Why are you even here, Nate?”
He sits up a little straighter and waggles the paper and pen in his other hand. “I honestly want to help. I promise there’s no hidden agenda, I don’t want anything from you but honesty.”
I furrow my brow. “Yes, but why? I don’t understand why you want to help me so much?” Am I being an ungrateful, bratty bitch? Yes, I am. Why? I don’t know because as soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back.
But Nate takes it in his stride and shrugs.
“Because I want to. Now, the list.” He poises his pen like a therapist, and some part of me wants to tell him all of the things inside of my head, but the other part is sick to my stomach at the mere thought of him knowing more about me than he already does.
Before I can open my mouth, my phone rings from inside the bedroom, and relief floods my system. I jump up. “I'd better get that. I’ll be two minutes.” Saved by the bell, but when I get to my phone, the name flashing across the screen sends a rush of adrenaline through my system.
Mother.
The longer I let it ring, the worse it will be when I do answer. But maybe I could say I was by the pool? Then Nate shouts from the living room. “Are you getting that?” I nod even though I know he can’t see me and slide the answer button across the screen.
I don’t even get the chance to say hello.
Morgana Wallcroft talks first, as always.
“Hayleigh, really. Keeping your mother waiting is not ladylike in the slightest. You’re required to be home this weekend for a family meal.
Your sister has news.” There is no ‘how are you’ or ‘what have you been up to?’ No, not from Morgana.
She’s to the point, and you listen; that’s how it’s always been.
“Hello, mother. I already told you, I’m away for the next two weeks-”
She cuts me off, as always. “Yes.” That’s it, one word.
I paste a smile on my face, a trick I learned in my first job answering customer service phone calls. “Well, mother, that means I’m not home yet.”
“Get a flight. We’ll pay, of course, as I doubt that silly little job you have pays much.” She clucks her tongue, and I have to bite mine. That silly little job she’s referring to is a job I worked hard to get, and as an HR manager, I’m pretty proud of where I’ve gotten to.
“Mother, that isn’t going to happen. I’m away with my friends.”
“Ah, yes. Emily. The cause of your engagement to break down. I mean, I have to say it, Hayleigh, I am disappointed in you. As a Wallcroft, there are certain expectations that we must uphold, and one of them is our outward appearance to others. The fact you let that-”
I’ve heard enough. “Don’t you dare utter those next words. I am well aware of what it means to be a Wallcroft. I had the best example out of the lot of you. I won’t be home when you tell me because I am in another country having fun with my friends. I’ll speak to Thea and explain to her myself.”
“My father was a sentimental old fool, not the best of us. She’s getting engaged. Let’s hope she manages to do something you didn’t. Make it down the aisle.” After she leaves the stinging barb, she ends the call, and I’m left reeling.
She’s cruel; I’ve had it all my life, but that was the lowest she has ever gone. Did she really blame Emmy for Pete being an utter fucking psycho and kidnapping her? That was why my engagement ended: he was a monster.
A throat clears behind me, as I close my eyes against the tears that are threatening to fall and ruin my very sexy makeup.
I expect questions from Nate: ‘What was that? What did they say? Am I okay?’ All the usual questions the rest of the Petersons and work have been bombarding me with since it all came out about Pete.
Yet when I turn around, there is no pitying look, no pen or paper in sight. Only Nate Peterson is standing in front of me with two mini bottles of vodka from the minibar, a cheeky grin on his face. “Let’s get fucked up in Vegas and do some shots. You in?”
He tosses me the bottle before I can reply, unscrews his and gives me a pointed look. I unscrew mine, and somehow this feels more intimate than it should; this feels like I’m making a significant choice. I nod. “I’m in.”
**********
Ouch. My head hurts.
No, it doesn’t hurt; it feels like elephants are trampling all over it. How much did we drink last night? We had the meal, we said goodbye to Cas and Emmy, and I cried, then she cried, then Archie cried, ugh, what a mess. Then followed shots, lots of goddamn shots.
I look to my side and relief courses through me when I realise, I’m alone, I was worried I would’ve done something idiotic like have sex with Nate Peterson.
I turn my head slowly to the nightstand, the clock telling me it’s after 8:00 am, so I pull the covers over my head and decide to go back to sleep.
CLANG.
What the fuck was that?
Footsteps in the living area.
Oh my god. Someone's in the hotel room.
I slither out of my bed as quietly as possible and hold a hand to my head because fucking OW!
I grab the vase of flowers off the table; it feels light in my hands, but I don’t have time to analyse it.
I creep slowly to the closed bedroom door, plaster myself against the side, and hold the vase above my head.
I’ll get the fucker. No one messes with Hayleigh Wallcroft.
The door handle turns. The sneaky little fucker is trying to be stealthy.
Well, jokes on you, pal.
I let out a war cry loud enough to shatter glass and smash the vase over his head. Only it must be made of plastic because it bounces off his head, and he doesn’t go down.
“Ow! Fucking hell, Hayleigh!” Oh shit.
I flick the light switch on and see Nate rubbing the spot where the vase hit him.
He points at me. “What the hell was that for? You’re making it up to me for that!” He rubs his head again before mumbling. “Breakfast is on the table.”
I call out a feeble apology as he shuts the door. “Sorry.” Then I immediately look at my bed, the opposite side to me definitely hasn’t been slept in, and I’m in my dress from last night. That’s when I spot the note on the nightstand underneath a glass of water and some painkillers.
‘Drink this and take these as soon as you wake up.
I stayed in the living room, didn’t want to leave you drunk and alone.
I’ll wake you up at about 8:00 am.
Nate x’
Whoops. Guess I should’ve read this first.
I throw the pain killers into my mouth and quickly rush a shower, brush my teeth and use the loo because my bladder is about to burst, and in ten minutes I’m feeling a lot fresher.
When I leave the bedroom, Nate is waiting at the breakfast table with a spread in front of him. He looks sheepishly. “I didn’t cook; I can’t cook very well. That’s Archie’s job at home, but I ordered, then I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a bit of everything.”
I smile at him and sit, taking a bit of absolutely everything. “Thank you, I’m starved.”
He looks at me, impressed. “How the hell are you going to fit all of that in there?” He waves his fork around in the air and gestures at my body.
I stuff a chocolate pancake into my mouth, then bite into it. “Easy. Like this.” My words mumbled and garbled around the food.
I don’t know why I do it, but I expect him to recoil like Pete did the one time I tried to be funny with him.
I expect him to tell me it’s disgusting and not ladylike.
What I don’t expect is for him to stuff a chocolate pancake in his mouth, chew for a moment, then smile.
Chocolate covers his teeth as he pulls his lips inward and sticks his tongue out.
It’s utterly ridiculous and pretty disgusting, but it’s also exactly what I need.
We finish our breakfast in almost silence, except for occasionally catching each other's eyes and then bursting out laughing.
When we’re finished, Nate rubs his stomach. “I think a day at the pool is needed, don’t you?” I nod. “Okay, well, I'd best go and make sure Archie’s okay, and then we can head down.”
“Sure. I’ll meet you down there.” Maybe it will give me a bit of time to cool down.
He starts cleaning up the plates, and I give him a hand, so it gets done quicker. Then he walks over to his pad and pen and snatches it up.
He stalks towards me, and I’m frozen in the moment, not sure what he’s doing or which way this is going to go. His hand finds mine, and he squeezes it, then kisses me softly on the cheek before whispering in my ear. “We’ll get to that list later, Shortcake.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone once more.
I snatch up my phone and type a message out to Emmy.
Me
Oh my god, Nate stayed in my apartment last night to make sure I was okay
Nope. I hit delete because there is no way I can say that.
Me
So, I think my lady parts want sex with Nate Peterson!