20. Natalie
CHAPTER TWENTY
NATALIE
“Are you hurt?” Dash asked.
They were a safe distance from the patio now.
Dash held Natalie by her shoulders, his gaze surveying her person for signs of injury.
She could only answer with a nod. To make an utterance of any kind, no matter how small, would release a floodgate of emotion.
Any vocalization would have been drowned out by the sirens of fire trucks and first-responder vehicles anyway.
A moment later she felt the protective, comforting arms of her father and sister around her.
Dash walked away, giving them some privacy in this harrowing moment.
Kate smoothed Natalie’s hair with a loving touch. “It’s gonna be okay, Nat …”
“It was an accident, sweetheart, and by no means your fault,” Foster added.
But it is my fault!
I let that piece of shit into this event knowing he was married!
Because I was so hungry for a celebrity endorsement!
“I need to find Hans.”
Natalie spotted him across the parking lot, now a carnival of chaos as patrons from the public dining areas poured out the front of the building.
She bolted toward him. Together, they made a quick headcount, confirming that all her guests were accounted for and unharmed—except for the jazz trio.
While the musicians themselves were safe, their instruments and equipment were currently being deluged by Nashville FD.
It would be a total loss. Both Natalie and Hans reassured the students that somehow, someway, they would be fully reimbursed, once insurance adjusters weighed in.
Hopefully, I won’t have to sell a kidney to cover the cost, but if I do, so be it.
Natalie circled through the parking lot again, checking in with each guest, extending her most heartfelt apologies.
While reactions were kind and supportive, no one made mention of a future with Natalie & Co.
Foster and Kate joined her and the three of them huddled together on a curb.
Natalie pulled her knees to her chest, burying her head in her hands.
“My purse … and my work bible. Oh my God! All the photos on the memory table,” Natalie said.
“That’s why we used copies of photos and not the originals. Once the fire is fully out, we’ll ask a fireman to check,” Kate said.
“This place has insurance out the wazoo, honey. I wouldn’t worry about a thing.” Foster patted her shoulder.
“It’s not your fault the beignet station wasn’t secured. That’s one hundred percent on them,” Kate insisted. “My God, you were standing right there. You could have suffered serious burns.”
“Speaking of, where’s your author friend?” Foster stood up, a hand shielding his eyes as he skimmed the crowd.
Hopefully, on the next flight back to Chicago! Back to his wife and kids and his dog, that for some unknown reason he named after a goddamn salad!
Foster pointed. “Looks like he’s being treated by a paramedic.”
Natalie looked up and followed her father’s finger to an ambulance.
A medical technician stood wrapping Hart’s hand in a white bandage.
As mad as she’d been, she’d never meant for him to sustain any sort of physical injury.
Wound his pride? Hell yes! But nothing that would leave a visible scar.
She stood and dusted off the back of her dress.
“Kate, can you help me?” Natalie asked, pointing to her downed zipper.
“How did your dress—” Kate began.
“Don’t ask.”
Natalie drew several deep breaths as she walked toward the ambulance.
Smoke billowed around her. With a visual sweep she assessed the situation, still amazed at the sheer lunacy.
Fire hoses were concentrated on the patio area—the hallowed grand oak, the private dining room, and the anterior roof line.
Thankfully, there were no signs of flames attacking the main building itself.
When she looked back toward the triage area, she found Hart’s eyes waiting, as well as a haughty expression.
Are you kidding me? What a jerk!
Express regret for his injury, then tell him to pound sand.
“There she is, the woman who tried to turn me into a lump of fried dough,” he said as Natalie approached.
“How’s your hand?” she asked, ignoring his comment.
“Small cut. I’ll survive.”
“Have you reached out to your wife to let her know?” she asked.
Hart snickered. “And there it is—the real reason for your little outburst. I guess Natalie Powell doesn’t like to share.”
Natalie locked her arms across her chest. “You’re not serious right now. You’re cheating on your wife, and yet this is somehow my character flaw?”
Hart examined the paramedic’s work, avoiding her eyes. “If you’d done your homework, you’d have known from the start.”
“I’m not a homewrecker, Hart, or anyone’s sidepiece. The fact that you kept your marriage hidden from me—”
He raised his voice. “I never hid a thing from you. But let’s talk about what you’ve kept hidden from all your guests here today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about London, about Blaze—which, now that I think about it, is pretty ironic, given the current state of affairs.”
“Listen, if you think for one minute—”
“Think anyone here would be anxious to part with their hard-earned dollars knowing your track record in this industry? And how you ran off and left your clients hanging just to get laid by some race-car driver? You couldn’t handle a simple black-tie event.”
Natalie’s mouth fell open. Her eyes narrowed with rage when she said, “You’re unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.”
“No, I’m honest. And unlike you, brutally successful. And when it comes to this event planning business of yours, you’re delusional.”
“Get out,” she demanded.
Hart made a tsking sound, his mouth drawn into a sarcastic frown. “We’re in a parking lot, babe. As if you have the power to—”
“Listen, this macho bullshit might work with your pubescent readers, but it certainly won’t work with mine.”
Hannah Hunt, all five feet nothing of her, stepped in between Hart and Natalie. Where’d she’d come from was anyone’s guess. Had she heard everything? About London … and, God forbid, their affair?
“Excuse me, but this is a private conversation. Move along please,” Hart snapped.
Hannah tsked, mimicking his exact look. “In a parking lot? As if you have the power … babe.”
Hart looked back at Natalie, his expression suddenly softer. “Can we continue this conversation somewhere else?”
No, asshole, we canNOT. You straight up lied about your wife and kids and nothing you say will change that.
“Perhaps you’d like to make an official statement,” Hannah continued.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but this is no concern—”
She extended her hand. “Hannah Hunt with Nashville Now magazine. I’m sure our one-point-two million followers, as well as your wife, would love to hear more about your recent infidelities.”
Hart puffed out his chest. “Ma’am, you do not want to tango with me.”
“Try me,” Hannah countered with a saccharine smile.
“Natalie, please …”
Hart reached out to her with his non-injured hand. Natalie knocked it away in disgust.
"Let me make this abundantly clear. Do not call, text, email, or contact me in any way, shape, or form ever again, you lying piece of shit."
“This chapter of your life is now closed. But don't worry. Big famous author like you? Well, you'll probably be writing a new one before the sun sets. I'd stick to sci-fi though. Clearly, romance is not your genre,” Hannah said.
Hart’s gaze—equal parts anger and disbelief—bounced between the two women. With a huff, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. Natalie and Hannah stood in silence for a moment.
“We’re gonna end up villains in his next book,” Hannah said matter-of-factly. “I sure hope he spells my name correctly. So many people leave the h off the end.”
Natalie touched the woman’s arm. “I honestly can’t thank you enough.”
Hannah laughed. “Thank me? I should be thanking you. This cover piece is going to be amazing.”
Natalie recoiled at this comment.
“No, no—I don’t mean in a scandalous way. Not scandalous for you, anyway. No, I have an idea of exactly how to approach this story. And I’d love to talk more with you about it, but obviously now is not the time.”
Natalie turned to survey the scene once more. The fire department, still hard at work. Restaurant patrons playing vehicular Tetris, trying to maneuver their cars through the confusion. Out on the street, crews from local news stations assembled their gear.
“The good news is that my photographer got some great shots before all hell broke loose, especially one of you and your father. Talk about a money shot.”
“I’d love copies of everything when you have the time.”
“Absolutely. When I get a rough draft typed up, I’ll send it your way. You weigh in and we’ll go from there.”
“You have no idea how much I appreciate this. Thank you.”
Hannah extended her hand again. “I give you my word that I’ll spin this whole situation into a positive, with zero mention of Hart Lockwood. As if I’d give him the satisfaction.”
The two chatted for another minute before parting ways.
Natalie turned to rejoin her father and Kate but the waving arm of Hans emerging from the crowd caught her eye.
The reprieve from doom she’d felt during her exchange with Hannah had dissipated.
Natalie walked toward him, hoping her face and body gave nothing away.
All I can do is be honest and see where the chips fall.
Be calm, rational, and professional.
“Ms. Powell, I never asked if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
Relief flooded the manager’s long face. “Thank goodness. Please, please accept my most sincere apologies.”
“No need to apologize. It was an accident.”
“A freak one at that, I’m sure our security cameras will confirm. I’m just thankful there were no major injuries to our guests.”
Security cameras? I didn’t even think about that.
It’s just a matter of time before word of me and Hart gets out.
Oh my God! I’m gonna get sued into oblivion when they see I started the chain reaction!
“Uh, yes, I couldn’t agree more.”