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Stella
When I reach the breakfast counter the next morning, I find Ryan’s note on top of a folded newspaper. Beside it lies a single white rose.
There’s something charming about his preference for handwritten notes over texts. I love the challenge of his lazy handwriting; it makes decoding his messages feel like a treasure hunt. I inhale the scent of the rose and squint at his note.
Morning, Stella. I wasn’t sure of your news preference, but I thought we’d kick it old-school. Bottom line: you were amazing last night.
I bite my lip. Last night. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we had sex. Ignoring the flutter in my stomach, I pick up the Seattle Post and see Ryan and me featured on the front page.
The article reads:
Yesterday’s inaugural party wasn’t just a celebration of the new CEO of Ocean Gate Enterprises, but a testament to the deep love between him and his wife. The event celebrated the Fairchild tradition of intertwining significant wealth with robust family values. As the couple embark on their new roles, the Seattle community anticipates their continued success, and a marriage that lasts, epitomizing the Fairchild legacy’s true spirit.
Hmm, not bad. Sounds like we fulfilled the assignment then. Next up is dissolution in a few months. A pang of sadness strikes, but I quickly dismiss it. Ryan isn’t made for marriage. A glance around the empty penthouse at 7 a.m. is reminder enough. And marriage isn’t in my game plan either.
Yet, the poached eggs and hashbrowns waiting in the oven suggest a different story. Ryan insists on making breakfast for two, claiming he couldn’t possibly prepare his without doing mine as well.
Approaching the fridge, I spot another note scrawled in his unmistakable handwriting.
Why settle for OJ when you can have coffee?
With a squeal of delight, I dash to the cupboards, somehow already knowing I’d find my Gold Medal brand waiting for me.
Several boxes of coffee beans greet me, along with a sleek new coffeemaker on the black marble countertop.
My God, this man. A warmth spreads through me, ending in a slow smile.
I feel the goofy expression lingering on my face even as I enjoy my breakfast, each sip of the aromatic coffee followed by a contented sigh.
I just hope like hell I won’t end up in the famous shrink’s chair when this is all over.
I’ve just finished getting ready for work when my phone buzzes on the dresser. It’s Bonnie.
“Hey babes,” I greet.
“I knew you’d fall for him!” Bonnie yells into the phone
“Calm your horses down. First off you didn’t ‘know’ anything of the sort. And what the hell are you even talking about?”
“What happens in Seattle doesn’t stay in Seattle, babes. It gets splashed all over New York.”
“Wait, what? You saw the Seattle Post article?”
“Yep, but it’s not just there. It made the Metro Tribune too. And don’t get me started on the online news blogs!”
“How? You don’t read the news, and you’re too slammed for internet deep dives. Let me guess, Ethan tipped you off, right?”
“Nope. Sadly, Ethan wouldn’t feed me a drop of gossip if I were dying of thirst. I have to resort to my own sleuth services to keep myself going there.”
I laugh. Ryan’s the total opposite. He’d compile information in a binder and insist I read it.
Although he won’t look at me for more than five seconds. And hasn’t made an attempt to touch me since that day in the library.
And I’m still determined to give him space since that unwanted almost-kiss.
“So. How did you know about the party?”
“‘Cause I have alerts set on all of my friends. Your names come up online, and I get notified. Pretty cool huh?”
