Rowan
Hours later, and Milo is still getting fitted. It feels like he’s rotated through hundreds of outfits, and they still haven’t made a decision.
It’s because everything looks too darn good on him, making it impossible to choose just one outfit. And that’s an unbiased fact. One that I’ve heard the people around me mutter more than once in the last few hours.
Milo has been complying with them without complaint this entire time, but the poor man is starting to look dead on his feet.
I’m sure he’s still tired from his morning travels, and standing without rest for hours can’t be helping.
I caught him sneakily rubbing his stomach a couple times, and I can’t stop myself from worrying about when he’s eaten last.
Yet another suit is brought up to him. I fear they’re going to be at this all night. I know it’s his job and all, but they should at least give the man some food. Ray is busy coordinating with the stylists, but he might be hungry too.
I don’t see catering magically being carted out anytime soon, so I ask the closest person—a young man with an intern badge hanging around his neck—where the nearest vending machine is.
Thankfully, it’s not too far, so I figure he’ll be fine without protection for a few minutes. I can sneak out and be back before anyone notices I’m gone.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when I see the snack options, considering we’re in fashion central, where skinny is the bread and butter that feeds everyone here.
Everything inside the vending machine is marketed as organic and low fat, and all the other buzzwords that health-conscious people gravitate toward.
The beet vegetable chips don’t look the least bit appetizing, nor do the low-carb pretzels.
I get both anyway. I buy one of everything while I’m at it, thinking Milo and Ray will find at least one of these options appealing.
With an armful of questionable snacks, I return to the room.
The same intern from earlier sees me and kindly offers me a branded tote bag.
I thank him and dump all the snacks into it, then return to my wall and ponder how to sneak Milo something to eat while he’s modeling what, no doubt, are expensive clothes.
To my surprise, Milo changes back into his jeans and hoodie, while the stylists all gather in one area.
“That’s a wrap,” Ray says, leading Milo toward me. “Good work. Let’s get you home to rest. I’m starving. Are you hungry? We should order some delivery.”
Milo nods enthusiastically. I hand him the tote bag.
“What’s this?” he asks and peeks inside. His eyes go wide when he sees the snacks. “You got me food?”
Ray’s also looking at me with a strange expression in his eyes, and I’m left with the distinct feeling that I fucked up.
“Dunno if you’ll find anything palatable, but it’ll at least pad your stomach until you guys can get some real food,” I tell him awkwardly.
Milo nods, rummages through the bag, and lights up like fucking fireworks when he pulls out the bag of low-carb pretzels. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone happier to see cauliflower made into food that it should never be associated with.
This is sacrilegious to all baked goods!
“Score! This is amazing. Thanks!” Milo passes the bag to Ray and tears open the bag of imitation pretzels.
Ray shakes his head as we watch him devour it in two mouthfuls. He takes a granola bar for himself, chews it slowly, and eyes Milo grabbing another snack: a pack of cheesy sticks that claim to be healthy and low calorie.
“You know you’ll have to work this off later,” Ray says between chewing.
Milo rolls his eyes in a way that tells me he’s used to Ray’s nagging. “That’s why I have a home gym.”
Ray scoffs. “Like you use it.”
Milo’s smile is almost wicked. “Sure I do. I remember using it real well just the other day.” He pauses, I’m assuming for dramatic effect. He taps a cheesy finger to his lips, leaving behind an artificial yellow stain.
I resist the urge to lick the cheese away with my tongue.
Milo glances at me, and my heart jumps out of my chest, worried that he can somehow read my thoughts. Milo’s focus is back on Ray before I can fully start panicking. He taps his lips again, and the stain gets bigger.
“I remember someone being there with me. Someone on the bike?” Ray’s eyes go big. “Someone in their booty shorts who bragged that they were the king of spin class, yet managed to get his foot caught in a wheel and go topsy-turvy with his bare ass in—nmm-hmm-mm!”
Milo’s sentence is cut off with Ray’s hand covering his mouth. Milo shoots daggers at him, and Ray returns his own glare. He then glances at me and, with a stiff chuckle, says, “Don’t listen to him. He speaks nonsense when he’s hungr—ouch!”
Ray shakes his hand and reveals teeth marks from where I’m assuming Milo bit him.
“Goblin! Goblin, I tell you!” he exclaims with both hands in the air and heads for the exit.
Milo is happily chomping on his cheese sticks and ignoring Ray’s reaction while following close behind. He catches me watching him and offers the open snack bag he’s holding to me. “Want some?”
“Uh, no, thanks. You got some cheese on your bottom lip.”
His pink tongue darts out to lick away the stain.
My mouth goes dry, but I can’t move my gaze away.
The cheese stain is gone, and he gives his lips one more lick before beaming at me.
This close, his smile might as well be a laser shot straight into my gut, because a sucker punch might ache less than having his pearly white weapon aimed straight at me.
I use every ounce of force to look away, because I’m a professional, damn it, and I don’t get starstruck like a brainless fanboy.
We catch up to Ray—whose default walking speed is a mile a minute, by the way—and reach the car before we even have time to feel cold. I keep my entire focus on the road as the two in the back seat are in an animated discussion on what to order for takeout.
“Any thoughts, Rowan?”
I’m caught off guard by Milo suddenly bringing me into the conversation. I peek at him through the rearview mirror to find his expectant eyes already on me.
“Uh, not really,” I reply, my voice going rough.
I think I feel my ears heating up from the sound of my name on his lips, but that can’t be, because I. Do. Not. Blush.
It’s just not part of my bodily functions.
They decide on Thai and quickly place the order through the app. It doesn’t take long to arrive at Milo’s home in Tribeca.
The building he lives in is known for its security, with plenty of A-list celebrities residing here. The doorman is the same one I saw when I was here last time with a previous client. He nods at us, and Milo shoots him that blinding smile that has the doorman’s mask cracking just a bit.
“That’s Romeo,” he says to me in a chipper tone. “He’s such a sweetheart and has been here long before I moved here. You should ask him about his daughter sometime. Make sure to ask about her art. She’s a watercolor painter and makes some of the most ethereal works I’ve seen.”
As we enter the elevator, Milo happily describes some of the paintings she’s done that he’s seen. Ray scans his key card and presses the button to the penthouse—because of course Mr. Super Famous Idol lives on the top floor—and we quickly ascend.
The door opens to a large living room and an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that offers a view of the city skyline with the waterfront in the background. The setting sun dips low and bathes the entire world in soft oranges and pinks.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Milo asks, coming up beside me. “The view of the sunset is the reason I got the place. It’s one of my favorite things in the world.”
He turns back to the window, and his face goes soft. Not that he was ever hard to begin with, but the storm has left his gray eyes, giving him a look that’s almost serene.
I don’t know what’s more beautiful: him or the sunset.
The fact that I find myself watching him instead of the view that’s worth buying a penthouse for is telling enough.
“I’ll show you around the place, since I doubt Milo will remember to,” Ray pops beside me and says.
I jolt toward him, hoping he didn’t catch me staring at Milo. I’m struggling with the fact that maybe I’m more superficial than I realized. I can’t believe I’m getting worked up like this over a pretty face. Mentally berating myself for these inappropriate thoughts, I quickly follow Ray.
Even indoors, Ray walks like a man on a mission. He shows me through the rooms on the first floor. There’s the gym, what looks like a hobby room, a full bathroom, and a guest room.
“You can stay here if it gets too late, but don’t feel pressured to spend the night. I want to emphasize that you can leave whenever you want once you’re off the clock.”
I nod, unsure how to respond to that. If an event runs late, it’s not unusual for my client to offer a place for me to stay the night, but Ray’s words are just downright strange.
I don’t have time to dwell on them since Ray’s already rocketing ahead, walking up the spiral staircase. I race to keep up.
“That’s Milo’s room,” he says and points to the door on the left. “His studio is next door, but that room is off-limits. He’s particular about that space.”
He concludes the short tour by leading me back downstairs to the living room. Milo is sitting on a barstool, crunching on a juicy red apple while still admiring the view of the sunset.
There’s nothing special about the apple, but he’s devouring it like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. And to my absolute horror, he pops the entire thing into his mouth. Seeds, core, and all.
I really hope he’s just too lost in the beauty of the view to realize what he’s just done. Little did I know that I’m just scratching the surface of the goblin that is Milo Tobitt.
Ray’s phone pings, and he lets us know he’s heading downstairs to grab the takeout. He’s back minutes later to drop off the food, steals a spring roll from the bag, then leaves, stating there’s a metaphorical fire at the office that he needs to deal with.
Leaving just Milo and me.
Alone.
Milo takes Ray’s whirlwind in and out in stride, calmly fetching plates from the cabinet. I’m unsure of what I should do.
Since I safely escorted Milo home and there isn’t anything else on the schedule for the rest of the day, technically, I’m only on call and could return home until he needs me.
“Come sit and grab some food.” Milo places a plate in front of me.
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I shouldn’t. I should really let you rest and—”
“You’re not really going to make your new best friend eat alone, are you?” he asks in a way that I can’t tell whether he’s teasing or being serious.
“We met, like, a few hours ago at the airport,” I reply without really thinking about it. I mentally berate myself for the slip of the tongue, since offending my client on day one is not the way to make a good impression.
Piece of cake, my ass!
Milo merely shoots me a grin as he loads his plate up with a little bit of each dish. Fried rice on the left, pad thai in the middle, Panang curry on the right, and a couple pieces of roti to top it off.
“You gave me food. That practically makes us BFFs.”
“You must have tons of those, then,” I reply, then immediately regret it when a flash of something passes through his once clear gray eyes.
They’re stormy now with a hint of what? Sadness? Loneliness?
Which is ridiculous to think about. America’s most beloved idol lonely? I’m sure there are lines as long as Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade of people desperate to get an ounce of attention from him.
Then again, those aren’t really the kind of people you have an actual friendship with.
“Just Ray and Ethel.” He takes a bite of the roti, then looks up at me. “And now you! We need to share a meal to celebrate this moment!”
He pointedly looks at the plate that’s still in front of me. I hesitantly pick it up, scoop myself some food, and take a seat across from him.
I don’t know whether what I’m feeling is pity or guilt for bringing it up, but I hate the way he looks so small sitting at the large table all by himself.
Milo doesn’t seem to linger on the topic of his friends and happily digs into his food.
“This is so worth the extra miles I’m gonna have to put on the treadmill tomorrow,” he comments over a mouthful of rice.
I look over his slim frame. “You look like the type that could eat whatever he wants without gaining a single pound.”
Milo laughs. “I wish! Those days are long over,” he says woefully and pats his flat stomach. He eyes my body. “You look like you grow muscles in your sleep. And that scowl. You must have been born to be a bodyguard.”
That gets a startled laugh out of me, which has Milo grinning widely.
“He laughs, boys and girls! I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.”
“Again, we met, like, five hours ago,” I remind him.
He waves me off and uses a piece of roti to pretend to wipe a tear from his eyes. “They grow up so fast,” he says with a sniff, then tosses the roti into his mouth.
I watch him for a second, still trying to figure the guy out and make a profile out of him.
He’s eccentric, for sure, but he’s nothing like those socialites who make snobby their whole personality.
I can’t call him down-to-earth, but neither is he dripping with fake hospitality and kindness like some of my previous clients.
He’s just…Milo.
Just like how Riley scoffed, “That’s just Ruben,” when his pants dropped from tripping while trying to escape Raina’s wrath.
It’s going to take months of groveling for our sister to forgive him for ruining her rug, and even then, his dessert privileges might be revoked for the rest of the year, if he’s lucky.
Despite not really knowing Milo—like I’ve been telling him, we only met today—I get the distinct feeling that this is who he really is.
Not the guy with the perfect smile and a body that played Ken doll for hours without complaint, or the idol on TV with the scripted replies and faux cheer, but this man right in front of me.
The one who eats apple cores like it’s part of the food pyramid or claims a scowling giant is his new BFF just because I got him some snacks.
He’s so different from what I imagined.
Unexpected.
And maybe that’s why it’s hard not to be drawn in by him.