CHAPTER SIX
RILEY
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I stare at the phone.
Did I just have a conversation with Colt Winters?
Holy hell.
I do a quick calculation of the time difference and fail. So, I open an app and pull up the converter and find it’s the early hours of the morning in New York City.
“Ew, was he lying in bed talking to me?” I cringe.
He better not have jerked off. I bet he did. Which is just typical of a rich guy who makes smarmy comments about women in business.
I really dislike this guy.
Next minute my mind is filled with images of him lying on his four-thousand thread count Egyptian cotton in a New York penthouse looking like a male model.
Naked.
From his images, it’s clear he’s got a nice body. Nice being an understatement. He’s that perfect mix between buff and slim. Muscular enough to want to run your hands over his tanned, smooth skin and...
Well, not me. Obviously.
I don’t like the guy.
But someone would. Other than me.
Which we have established.
So why is my heart beating like I’ve been chased by a lion?
I glance down at my forgotten diced carrots and stare at the message again.
What do I say?
Maybe there is a market for a WeeWee with Australian women.
What are you implying?
Australian female gardeners.
I am not going there. The creep will probably want a run-by-run description of how I’d use it.
Not.
Going.
There.
But he’s clearly checked out my account and website, which makes me feel quite vulnerable and strangely a little excited.
I almost drop the phone when another message comes through.
Just so you know, Riley from Australia, I saved that girl from future bankruptcy. It’s my version of compassion.
I chew my bottom lip.
I’m not convinced, but it’s taken the sting out of my bite. I suppose it’s his prerogative to decide a product is ridiculous and not fund it.
I can’t believe he replied to me and that he’s explaining himself.
Why is Colt Winters talking to me?
I’m sure a ton of people messaged him. His post has fifteen thousand comments so far. Surely he just deletes them. As I expected him to.
Why are you awake?
Because a beautiful Australian girl dropped into my DMs and caught my attention.
Oh, please.
Do you always flirt so shamelessly with everyone?
Only when I’m wide awake at four in the morning and full of whiskey...and my integrity is questioned.
I didn’t question your integrity...okay, maybe I did. Still, you were rude to that girl.
I saved her. Trust me.
Well, I guess I’ll watch the show. I hope to see you encouraging other female entrepreneurs on the rest of it.
I drop the knife, turn sideways and lean my hip against the kitchen bench, hating how much I like him messaging me.
Why does it have to be a sex thing? And by sex, I mean gender.
I knew what you meant.
I shake my head and laugh. There has been a subtle innuendo in a few of his messages. They’re hard to pinpoint, but I sense them.
Women know these things.
It makes sense if he’s drunk at four in the morning on a Wednesday night.
Why are you out so late on a Wednesday?
Sorry, Grandma, I didn’t realize I had a curfew.
I roll my eyes and push away from the kitchen counter, ordering something quickly from UberEATS.
I’m clearly not going to get my dinner made tonight.
Even if Colt ends the conversation here, I have a tummy full of butterflies which are zooming around like they’ve had too many Red Bulls energy drinks.
Colt Winters has sent a bolt of excitement through my body, and I feel quite out of sorts.
Why? He’s just a...billionaire living in New York City. One I don’t like. At least I don’t like the way he spoke to the WeeWee girl.
God, I really wish she’d called it something else.
Not wanting our chat to end, I bite my nail and think of something else to say.
Don’t you have a big company to run in the morning or something?
This is my job.
That’s right. He owns a high-priced club in Manhattan, but I never expected he would be there late at night.
Surely that isn’t how he made his ten-digit fortune. America is highly populated with a strong commercial culture, but billions from a nightclub?
Sorry, but the math ain’t mathing.
Maybe he’s running a money laundering ring through it. Or perhaps he’s connected to the mob. Honestly, anything is possible these days. Which is a reminder that I shouldn’t be talking to this man.
Despite my hyperactive butterflies.
Technically, he is a stranger.
And it’s hard to ignore the delicious dopamine running through my veins from our strange flirting.
Kylie is going to be very disappointed in me, I mean, he’s a hot billionaire like she said, but I need to end the conversation with him.
I have to go.
Sensible girl.
My heart beats so loudly I can barely hear the silence in my house.
I hope you don’t regret this in the morning. ??
...
...
...
I die a quick death as I watch the dots and realize Colt hasn’t gotten the joke.
Oh god.
He’s going to think I’m some pathetic and desperate non-billionaire who’s exaggerated this entire conversation inside her head, thinking it means something more.
No, no, no.
I start typing another message, delete it, re-type another one.
...
...
I face palm myself and let out a groan full of curses.
Right now, Riley Scott, the only thing I regret is the spacetime continuum.
I stare at the screen. My eyes stare so hard that they ache.
What does that mean?
What. Does. That. Mean?
“Hey Siri, what the fuck does spacetime continuum mean?” I glare at the phone.
“I don’t know how to respond to that.”
Ahhhhhh!
Jesus F. Christ.
“How people think AI is probably going to wipe out human civilization, I have no goddamn idea.”
I clear my throat and try again, without the f word.
“Hey Siri, what does the spacetime continuum mean?” Then silently add you fucking stupid AI.
I wait while it thinks.
In physics, spacetime, also called the space-time continuum, is a mathematical model that fuses the three dimensions of space and the one dimension of time into a single four-dimensional continuum.
I swallow.
Does he mean...?
My brain whirls trying to attach meaning when I already know. But after those twenty stressful seconds where I felt like a moron, I am not going to do it again.
What do I do here?
Just say goodnight like, oh hey, me too. Damn continuums, aye. Anyway, sleep well, Colt Winters.
I almost jump out of my skin when another message appears.
Enjoy your night. CW
I stare at those initials like they mean something.
Of course, they don’t.
They don’t mean anything at all.
Yet I can’t tear my eyes away from them.
I spend the rest of the night nibbling on my food delivery, going over and over our messages like a crazy woman.
I am not telling Kylie about this.
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“READ THE NEXT one.” Kylie leans over my shoulder, staring at the screenshots I took of my conversation with Colt.
Her period stopped, so she joined us at the St. Kilda Festival, and we’re on our third wine.
That’s all it took.
Three wines, just gone midday, and I’ve already spilled the beans about Colt Winters. I’m terrible at keeping secrets. Especially if they are my secrets.
But I can’t stop thinking about him.
“Lord he’s hot. I saw the video pop up on my newsfeed and wondered who he was.” Billie leans in on my other side.
Mark and his mates are seated on the ground cross-legged with us, rolling their eyes. He swirls his red wine around in the plastic glass. It’s sitting in a wine holder looped around his neck. We all have them, as they handed them out at the entrance to the festival.
Most people dress appropriately given the amount of alcohol consumed at these things and how many people attend. Billie wore white.
Which we teased her about.
“If the guy were in debt, would you still like him?” Mark asks.
“Never said I liked him,” I reply defensively, pushing my sunglasses up my nose.
Mark and Damian (yes, the same Damian who crushes on Kylie) share a look and start laughing, which irritates me further.
I don’t.
I don’t like him. I don’t even know Colt Winters or anything about him.
It was just a random conversation that I wanted to share with my friends.
That’s all.
There is nothing else...ugh, now I’m over explaining myself to myself!
“I’d never date a guy in debt,” Kylie stretches out her legs and confidently takes a sip of her wine. “It shows he’s irresponsible with his finances.”
“Don’t you have, like, three credit cards?” Damian asks.
“They have money on them, moron.”
“Still debt,” he mutters.
“It’s not about his money. It was a conversation guys. It’s like, I dunno, Henry Cavill replying,” I argue.
“Yeah, no, that is absolutely not the same. Henry is in a universe all of his own.” Billie shakes her head, then spots the stain on her white dress and clambers to her feet. “Goddamn it. I’m going to the bathroom to wash it.”
“I’m coming too.” Kylie jumps up and pats my head. “Come on, you. And if the hottie messages you again, tell him you’re married. He’s probably just jerking off to your bikini photos.”
I groan.
That was my instinct, and it bursts my bubble. One that has no right existing.
“Why do they always have to go in a pack?” Mark asks.
“It’s got to be some evolution thing,” Damian replies.
Kylie squints. “Which you clearly missed a thousand years of.”
“She wants my cock, doesn’t she?” Damian smirks, his eyes slowly leaving Kylie’s and meeting Mark’s.
“I’d keep it guarded if I were you.” I slip my bag over my shoulder, chuckling.
“That’s a no, buddy,” Mark replies behind us, and Kylie and I giggle, looping our arms.
Walking through the crowds, we stop to look at a few vendors, picking up little trinkets, listening to a band and getting a top up of our wines from our favorite vineyards.
I buy a mini-sized bottle of pink sparkling wine from Yarra Valley and unzip my bag to squeeze it in. That’s when I hear my phone beep.
Can you bring us back some macadamia nuts?
Damn Mark.
I’m not going to lie. Every time I hear the beeping sound I hope it’s Colt. While also hoping it’s not. It’s been three days since I heard from him, and I feel like a thirteen-year-old girl with her first crush.
“I’ll wait here,” I say to the girls as they head into the long queue to the bathrooms and find a pole to lean against.
I reply to Mark, telling him I’m making no promise as I can’t remember where the vendor’s stall is. The festival is huge, and we’ve already spent half the day walking around it.
He sends a sad face emoji.
I snort and send him a peanut emoji.
The St Kilda Festival is my favorite place on earth, the one event each year above all others I look forward to. I should be soaking up the music, the atmosphere, the blue skies above me. Instead, I open my phone and head to the app I’ve been messaging Colt.
I gasp when I see his name appear at the same time.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, pushing off the pole.
Anyone would think Taylor Swift just shared wedding photos, and I’m the first person to see them.
As if she would secretly wed and not tell us. Wait, would she?
I click on Colt’s message.
I woke up with a headache and my honor intact. My question is, do you still think I’m a monster?
Oh, boy.
My hand holding my phone drops, and I glance around, checking I’m not in some alternative universe.
This can’t be real.
Except a giddiness comes over me, and this not-so-secret little friendship is becoming a bit addictive. There is a naughtiness to it that I can’t find words to explain. It’s all wrapped up in the butterflies swirling in my tummy.
Exciting.
Wrong.
Confusing.
I shouldn’t reply, but my god, I want to. I want to reply to every single message he’ll send and soak up all of this forbidden conversation.
Because I know it will end soon. I’m just some girl in Australia with a huge mortgage, and he’s a playboy billionaire from Manhattan.
Quickly, before the girls return, I reply.
Not a monster, per se. More like...a troll living under a bridge that preys on young entrepreneurial girls.
I grin, tuck my phone away, and can’t stand still. I have ants in my pants.
What time is it there?
I pull out my phone again.
He hasn’t read it. It’s probably late. I check the time difference and see it’s eight at night. He’s probably on a date.
BEEP.
I drop the phone. Shit!
I lean down and peek in my bag to see his name on the screen. Oh my god, it’s him. Reaching for the phone—
“Hey.”
I stand bolt upright and let out a scream
“Jesus, are you okay?” Kylie lays her hand on my arm.
Act cool. Act really cool.
“Yes. Cool. Just thought you were someone else.” I wave out a hand, shoving my phone into my bag.
“Who?” She glances around.
“Ugh, this stain won’t come out.” Billie joins us, saving me from replying. “Someone said to put more red wine on it?”
Kylie and I stare at her, then at the dress, then back at her.
“Were they drunk?” I ask.
“Um, yes. Good point.” Billie straightens her sunhat and adjusts her sunglasses. “Well, I guess if I drink more, I won’t care.”
“That’a girl,” Kylie loops her arm through Billie’s, and they start walking
I need to read the message.
I need to read the message.
I need to read the message.
I don’t want them to know I’m chatting to Colt again. Not after Kylie’s comment, which was likely on the money. He’s probably jerking off to my photos.
I apparently don’t care. The entire thing is thrilling, and I want to know what his message says more than I want my next breath.
“Come on,” Kylie calls out over her shoulder.
Goddamn it.
I start walking.