Chapter 39 Andrea
Andrea
“You look rested,” James said.
We were sitting at a café under the railway arches by the Thames. I’d only been back from France three days, and I was still buzzing. Trains passed overhead every few minutes, close enough to rattle the mugs on the tables.
“Do I?”
“Yes. Something’s different. Did you get Bo?”
I gave him a withering look.
“Huh. Must be something else then.” He nudged me. “How’s Mr. von Hot?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, have you been talking to Eliza?”
He laughed. “I have. She’s been keeping me updated. I hear you haven’t been getting much rest.” His fingers mapped out the air quotes.
“How are things with you?” I asked. “Any hot dates lately?” He looked well, despite all the takeout.
“Actually, Andrea, I’m seeing someone.”
What—?
“Like, seeing seeing someone? More than once?” I hadn’t even had the incredible cock debrief—how could it have come to this already, without passing through the smut phase?
“You know, you’re not the only one capable of turning a hookup into a love story.” He huffed, but he was enjoying stretching out the last bit of mystery from his big reveal. “It’s fine, hon. I’ve accepted I’m just a side character in the drama that is Andrea’s life.”
He placed his hands primly on the table for a moment. Then his eyes slid sideways.
“Oh, fuck it, I can’t not tell you,” he said. “It’s Baz. We’ve been together six weeks now.”
“Who the fuck is Baz?”
“Andrea. Baz. Remember?” He turned toward me, brows raised.
The name was vaguely familiar, but … nope.
“Saying it louder isn’t going to help,” I said.
He sighed. “Jesus, okay. Baz. Hot Ukrainian? Did your stakeout of Rudy’s place with the pink-haired ho last month.”
“You’re dating Baz the DoorDash driver?”
“Don’t be snobby, Andrea,” he replied curtly. “And he’s with Uber, not DoorDash.”
“Uber. Of course.” Because that makes all the difference. “And … um … how’s it going?”
“Good, actually. But don’t ask me about his cock. I’m not cheapening what we have.”
“Fair enough.” Maybe this was different.
“He’s into jujitsu like me. Absolutely shredded. Studying for his MSc in Urban Planning at Queen Mary. He’s all about transport systems, sustainable cities, sexy stuff like that. Gets very animated about bike lanes.”
“Right, transport systems, very sexy.”
“Uber pays the bills and means he can stay,” he went on. “He’s clever and he listens. Doesn’t just reduce me to my job. Or … this.”
He gestured toward his abs.
“Wow. He sounds great, James.”
“He is.” James sat silently for a moment then exhaled. “And for what it’s worth, yes, his cock is spectacular.”
He’d never change, and I didn’t want him to.
The river moved slowly, brown and thick, pulling the reflections sideways.
“What else, hon?” he said. “Or is your life just a montage of billionaire peen and designer clothing now?”
I laughed again. “Pretty much. It’s been terrible, but I’m doing my best to cope. I’ve been thinking about painting again, though.”
He looked at me. “That’s awesome, Andy.” He filled up a glass of water and pushed it toward me.
“Yeah. I’m setting up space in my bedroom for my easel.” It felt like something I needed in my life again, even if it didn’t pay the bills. “I saw that art critic at the wedding, Sebastian Wetherall. But he was actually quite … complimentary about my work.”
“Of course he was, silly. You’re very talented. Everyone knows it but you.”
I swallowed. I hadn’t heard from Sebastian since that half text on the flight home, and he hadn’t replied to my follow-up.
But if he was messaging me, that meant my piece had sold …
didn’t it? We wouldn’t find out officially for another couple of weeks, and I was dying to know.
I just didn’t want to annoy someone as influential as Sebastian by chasing him.
“And what about France?” he asked. “Last I heard from you, you were trying not to ruin centuries of breeding by having enthusiastic, middle-class sex with your boss. Clearly, that didn’t work. So tell me. Is he secretly decent or just very good at apologizing?”
“He’s not what we thought,” I said. “I saw another side of him.”
James hummed and gave me an old-fashioned look. “The side with the private jet?”
“Well, that too, but he’s actually rather sweet. And there’s more to it, with the purchase of Novexia.” I wasn’t sure how much I could say or if what Liam had told me was confidential.
“I’m sure he has a story.” He chewed his apple Danish. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Andy.”
“I know. Trust me, I’ve got my eyes wide open.”
“Kelly called me this morning,” he said. “Have you guys caught up?”
“Yeah. I’m worried about her. You know that dickhead Jason is back on the scene?”
“I know.”
“If the shit really hit the fan, I was thinking maybe she moves in with me for a bit, and I share a room with Eliza,” I said. “I’m over at Liam’s a lot anyway, so it might not be too bad.”
“Oh, maybe that could work. Not going to help Monish, though. He asked me for a reference today, but it’s tough with the recession.”
“Surely they won’t cut him, will they?” A sliver of metal turned in my gut. “Monish is always top.”
“He’s had a bad couple of months, and he’s too expensive, Andy. His basic salary’s one of the highest. Apparently, that matters now that von Roth—”
A delivery bike skidded on the wet pavement, and the rider swore.
“What?”
“You know.”
I did. I just kept trying to push it out of my mind.
Monish. Kelly. Everyone sitting there waiting for emails that would decide whether they still had a life that worked.
Everyone except me.
I was sleeping in a penthouse. Drinking champagne. Letting the man responsible for it all pull me into his bed like none of this touched me.
I wrapped my hands around my mug, but it didn’t steady anything.
Because the worst part was, I understood it. I’d seen what Liam was trying to do and I knew why it mattered.
Which meant I wasn’t just caught in the middle.
I was choosing him.