56. Especially Kiri
Especially Kiri
Natalia
The lawyer spends nearly forty minutes explaining every right I’ll be giving up.
The right to pursue Julian in civil court.
The right to speak publicly about what happened.
The right to name him, the label, or anyone involved in the agreement.
He explains the confidentiality clause twice, then the penalties if I break it—the money Julian could seek, the injunctions, the years of hearings if either side decides to make things difficult.
Stefan sits at the end of the conference table looking like he hasn’t slept. When the lawyer finally stops, he folds his hands over the document. “You understand that signing this closes the matter as far as any claim of yours is concerned?”
“Yes.”
“And that you’re not required to sign today?”
“Yes.”
“You’re entitled to take more time.”
“I don’t need more time.”
I pick up the pen. The lawyer glances at Stefan, then back at me. “Ms. Sawadzka, I need to be certain no one is pressuring you.”
“No one is pressuring me, I want this done.”
That isn’t entirely true. Julian is. He’s pressing from every direction without even being in the room, banking on the idea that protecting Kiri will matter more to me than punishing him.
He’s right. I hate that he’s right, but I know what I’m choosing.
I sign once, then again where the lawyer points, and one final time beneath the page that makes the entire thing official.
The pen barely leaves the paper before Stefan exhales.
He looks like a man watching a fire that's finally stop spreading.
“That’s it?” I ask.
The lawyer gathers the pages. “Once Julian’s side executes the agreement, yes. The matter is closed.”
Closed. Such a clean word for something that feels anything but.
On the plane back to Seattle, the whole morning already feels unreal. The penthouse. The lawyer. The signatures.
Kiri. Especially Kiri.
Kasia settles into the seat beside me and pulls the blanket over her lap. “Well, at least it’s over.”
I look out the window as the ground begins to fall away beneath us. “Yeah.”
“And now the boys are never going to leave you alone at a party again.”
A smile threatens as I think about one boy in particular.
Beneath my clothes, my body seems determined to remember every place Kiri left his hands.
Every mark and kiss. Every slow drag of his mouth over skin that still tingles beneath my hoodie.
Memories come back in quick flashes I can't stop. The shower wall. The kitchen island. The bed. The other bed. The couch. The floor, on that ridiculous throw that felt like velvet beneath us while our bodies slid together. Everything had been soft and hard at once. The blanket beneath my back, his body above mine, his mouth gentle until it wasn’t, his hands tender one moment and completely desperate the next. The way he looked at me before he—
I snap myself back before I start drooling in public.
Kasia is still talking about what she and Rafe are going to do when he gets back.
Dinner plans. A house viewing he sent her.
Whether Mama is going to insist everyone come over Friday even though we’ll both be exhausted.
I nod at what seems like the right moment, grateful she hasn’t noticed I checked out of the conversation several minutes ago.
I look down at my phone. There are two messages from Kiri, sent before takeoff.
i can’t get you out of my head
My stomach flips.
and i don’t want to
I read them again, then once more. By the time I lock my phone, the smile has already spread across my face. I turn toward the window before Kasia can see too much. I look down at the screen again, his words still glowing there. My body remembers him all over again.
Kasia gives me a long look, then goes back to talking. Beneath the edge of the blanket, I open the messages and type.
So, business as usual, then. I was starting to worry last night had cured you.
I bite down on my thumbnail and lock my phone before the heat climbing my neck reaches my face.
The second I get upstairs, I drop my bag beside the vanity and text him.
Home.
My phone rings before the message has even settled on the screen.
I laugh as I answer. “Were you staring at the chat?”
“Yes. You made it okay?” His voice is low and rough, and it moves through me like he’s still lying beside me instead of a thousand miles away. I sit on the edge of the vanity and close my bedroom door with my foot.
“Not really. Kasia spent half the flight talking about Rafe and houses while I pretended I wasn’t replaying every terrible decision we made in that penthouse.”
“Terrible?”
“Very. I'm having withdrawals.”
“I should probably remind you how terrible so I can assist with that.”
The heat comes back instantly. My fingers tighten around the phone. A silence stretches between us, minds full of with everything neither of us should start when Mama is downstairs and fully capable of appearing without warning.
His voice drops. “Are you alone?”
I look toward the door. “Technically. Mama is downstairs waiting to assign me some chore the second she remembers I exist.”
“What kind of chore?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does if I’m deciding how much time I have.”
I bite my lip. Neither of us says anything. The possibility hangs there anyway, obvious and heated. I adjust my position on the vanity.
“You need another hobby.”
“I need another penthouse. For a month. No one knocking. No label emergencies or lawyers.”
I smile despite myself. “A whole month?”
“I’d still only get through half of the ideas I have for us.”
A laugh slips out of me.
“Half?”
“Maybe a third. You survived the first trial.” The teasing fades a little when he asks, “How did the lawyer go?”
I look down at my sock and start picking at a piece of fuzz near my ankle.
“I signed.”
He breathes out, enough that I hear the stress leave him.
Relief twists with something else in my chest. “You’re glad.”
“I’m relieved it’s over.”
“But?”
A pause.
“But I feel like I ruined the chance for you to do something about him.”
“You didn’t.”
“If I hadn’t hit him—”
“I still would’ve dropped it.”
He goes quiet. I pull one leg up onto the vanity and stare at the loose thread in my sock.
“Even if we weren’t…” I stop.
“What we are?”
My stomach flips at the way he says it.
“Even if we weren’t us, I still would’ve signed.
Social media isn’t kind to hot girls who dare imply they don’t want sex from every guy in every possible scenario.
It ruins the fantasy,” I take a deep breath, then I continue.
“The numbers drop if men can’t masturbate to you without forgetting you’re an actual person who might say no. ”
“Jesus Christ Nat, when you say it like that, fuck.”
“It’s true.”
He sighs. “Yeah. I know. I’ve spent half my life backstage with rock stars and groupies,” he says.
“There’s this unspoken expectation that they’re supposed to want sex all the time because they showed up.
If they refuse, word gets passed around that they’re not the kind of girl you invite to parties anymore. ”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Everybody just pretends it’s normal.”
“People like ignorance when it benefits them.”
“Yeah.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than the one before.
Then he says, “I’m glad you made the choice that was right for you. That’s what matters.”
I smile and look around my room. Same vanity. Same bed. Same closet door Mama keeps threatening to replace. Everything exactly where I left it, while I feel like an entirely different person stepped back inside.
“Tomorrow I have to start figuring out the job situation,” I say.
“What job situation?”
“The one where I need a job.”
“Why?”
I laugh. “Because money can be exchanged for goods and services.”
“You can be my PA.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“A PA to what? Your body?”
“Among other things.”
The heat starts seeping back into his voice.
“That’s exactly why it wouldn’t work. If I was your PA, I wouldn’t get anything done.”
He scoffs. “No, I mean it. When I’m back in Seattle, the last thing I want to worry about is you being busy from nine to five. Well, except with me.”
I stare at the mirror.
“This is starting to sound like one of Mama’s favorite movies from when I was little. You might've heard of it, it's called Pretty Woman.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“The one where I fuck you for money and dresses.”
His laugh erupts and suddenly I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
It might be the hardest I’ve ever heard him laugh.
Nothing like the rough bark when one of the guys says something stupid.
This is full-body laughter, breathless and helpless and so infectious I start laughing too.
By the time he gets himself under control, I’m wiping at my eyes.
“Shit,” he says. “Then at least ninety percent of marriages in L.A. are basically Pretty Woman.”
I snort. “Honestly, that’s probably true.”
“I’m serious, though. Think about it. I want to see you as much as possible when I get back.”
The warmth in my chest blooms across my body before I can stop it.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll just make sure you’re too distracted to hold down a normal job anyway.”
His tone is playful. The promise under it runs over every mark still hidden beneath my clothes. In a day and a half, he nearly managed it. A month makes me swallow hard.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “We’re a secret. Me suddenly becoming your PA wouldn’t look suspicious at all.”
“I have ways.”
I smile and lean back against the mirror. Downstairs, Mama calls my name. I close my eyes.
“There it is. My chore assignment. I have to go.”
“Call me later? I miss your face, I need video.”
“After Mama and Tata go to bed.”
“Definitely after they go to bed.”
Neither of us moves to end the call. I smile into the silence.
“You hang up.”
“No.”
“Kiri.”
Mama calls a third time. I laugh under my breath and finally pull the phone away.
“I'll talk to you later.”
“I'll be here later.”
I wait one more second, listening to him breathe.
Then I hang up before I can start missing him while he’s still there.