Chapter 24 #2
I wasn’t expecting a reply, since Naomi had said Henry was stuck in a call, but to my surprise, I got one right away.
Snowflake:
You’re welcome. I hope you like it.
Me:
It’s perfect, so much better than my old one.
Snowflake:
I’m glad.
Me:
You really don’t need it?
Snowflake:
No, you can have it.
Me:
OK. I just don’t want to take advantage of you.
Snowflake:
You’re not. Anyway, it’s not like I’m getting nothing out of it.
Me:
Oh, really?
Snowflake:
Yes. Now I can message you.
Me:
That doesn’t sound like a fair exchange.
Snowflake:
It is. Believe me. I need to talk to someone who doesn’t make me want to rip every single hair from my head.
Me:
Is it that bad?
Henry was typing, but it took a while until he sent his answer.
Snowflake:
Worse. We’ve had another resignation and more cancellations.
And my dad is furious because his case is being taken to court.
He’s mad about how much the bail is, even though his wife has gone on shopping sprees before where she’s spent more than the bail.
He’s fired and rehired his lawyers at least seven times in the last six days.
Vivian, his crisis manager, is going berserk about the media coverage, and she’s trying to talk me into doing interviews and photo shoots so they can report on me instead of on him.
Like I’m his fucking shield. And as if that weren’t enough, there are even more journalists loitering outside the hotel now.
I had to hire a security company today to make sure they don’t harass our guests.
Me:
I’m sorry.
Snowflake:
It’s not your fault.
Me:
But it’s not yours either.
Snowflake:
I had all these grand plans for when I’d take over the hotel one day.
I wanted to open a second location in Edinburgh, and perhaps one in Birmingham too.
I wanted to put in a little cinema in the basement for exclusive screenings.
I had so many ideas, and now all I’m doing is fending off press enquiries about my dad’s sexual inclinations.
Me:
You’ll be able to do all those things one day.
Snowflake:
If the hotel is even still around then.
Me:
It will be.
Snowflake:
How do you know?
Me:
Because I’ve seen how much you love it.
Snowflake:
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
I couldn’t help but think about my mum and about how my love for her hadn’t been enough to save her.
She had chosen Randell and the drugs over me, even though I’d sacrificed everything for her.
My time, my education, my money. Even my friends, because I’d spent my time going to work and shoplifting to keep us afloat instead of meeting up with them.
So maybe Henry was right. Maybe sometimes love just wasn’t enough.
Snowflake:
Let’s talk about something else.
I’ve had some more thoughts about your nickname.
Me:
Go on.
Snowflake:
What do you think about Bambi?
Me:
You’re only saying that because I have big brown eyes and my mum is dead.
Snowflake:
Not true, but . . . forget it.
What about Bunny?
Me:
Nope.
Snowflake:
Kitten?
Me:
Only if you want me to scratch out your eyes.
Snowflake:
You’re not making this easy for me.
Me:
Perhaps it’s your imagination and not me that’s the problem.
Snowflake:
I don’t think so. I’ll give it some more thought . . .
How are you? How was your day?
Me:
Life is treating me pretty well right now.
I took a photo with the phone’s camera, capturing the bathroom and a mountain of bath bubbles with my knees rising from it.
I sent it to Henry, but this time he didn’t write back straightaway.
He’d probably received a call. I took the book I’d picked out earlier and began to read.
I’d only managed one paragraph when my phone vibrated with a new message.
I reached for it so fast that I splashed water and foam onto the display.
Snowflake:
Shit, Kate.
Me:
What?
Snowflake:
Your photo.
Me:
What about it?
Snowflake:
You’re naked.
Me:
Yes, I’m taking a bath.
Snowflake:
I see that. But you’re naked beneath all those bubbles!
And now I’m imagining it.
I bit my lower lip. It hadn’t been my intention, but . . . I also didn’t mind. On the contrary. Knowing that Henry was thinking about me sent a wave of heat through me that had nothing to do with the warm bath.
Snowflake:
Fuck, Kate. I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have written that.
Completely inappropriate.
Can we put it down to me being totally overworked?
Me:
Don’t be sorry. I hope you’re enjoying the image.
Three dots appeared, signalling that Henry was writing again, but then they disappeared. A moment later, they reappeared. Then disappeared. After a moment, I finally got my reply:
Snowflake:
I am.
It’s a very nice one.
I made a noise I was sure I’d never made before in my life. It was a cross between a squeak, a laugh, and a shout of joy. Henry was picturing me naked—and he liked it. Holy shit.
Snowflake:
Is it OK that I said that?
Please don’t report me for sexual harassment.
Me:
I was about to start looking for a lawyer . . .
Snowflake:
My dad knows a couple of good ones.
Me:
I can’t afford them.
Perhaps we should settle this out of court.
Snowflake:
How?
Me:
You owe me a photo.
Snowflake:
Sounds like a fair deal.
I grinned at my new phone, but my smile disappeared when Henry’s photo suddenly appeared.
I assumed he’d take one in his office and that it would feature stacks of files and folders.
Instead, he had sent me an older picture of himself at the beach.
He was smiling at the camera with his feet buried in the sand and the sea behind him, wearing only a pair of swimming trunks.
Wet trunks that clung to the contours of his body.
He didn’t look like Ethan. No six-pack, no muscles honed at the gym just for the aesthetics.
Henry’s muscles were less showy, more practical, made to support his body when he was bouldering.
Personally, I found that much more attractive.
The heat inside me moved down to between my thighs, where it grew even more fiery when I thought about the bulge in Henry’s trunks.
Snowflake:
Let your imagination run wild.