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“Yes, it did. Look!” She whipped out her phone and flipped the camera so I could see myself on her screen. “Tell me Adrien has a gross face.”
“Adrien has a gross f— Oh, what the hell!”
Jamie cackled as I slapped a palm over my nose. The left nostril had, in fact, twitched and widened as soon as I was halfway through the sentence.
“What the actual fuck!” I panic-complained into my palm.
Jamie’s eyes were wide with excitement. “I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it. How the heck did he manage to pick up on it so quickly?”
I didn’t know—didn’t care. I scrambled to my feet and went straight for my laptop.
“What are you doing?” Jamie called out after me.
“Booking an emergency rhinoplasty consultation, obviously.”
I simply had no other options.
11
Adrien was havingme sort through his mail.
Jamie
Well that doesn’t sound too bad.
So I’d sent her a picture of the piles (plural) of the fan mail he’d dumped onto the table in front of me, accompanied by a photo of the very first letter I’d opened. Distasteful polaroids included.
Jamie
lmfao
This is it. This is my villain origin story.
And it wasn’t just an unlucky first draw, either. A solid thirty percent of the letters contained overtly sexual content, from both men and women. The rest were pages and pages of people raving about Adrien’s achievements, telling him how much they admired him and what a difference he’d made in their lives, yada yada yada, and I swear if I had to readone morething about how gorgeous his stupid dimples were, I was going to tie him down and fill them in.
“The next time you say that out loud, it should probably be to a therapist,” Jamie had claimed when I’d told her what I planned on filling his dimpleswith.
“Joke’s on you,” I’d responded. “I’m gonna need therapy after all this anyway.”
By the time I was “dismissed” in the evening, I wanted to scrub my eyes and brain with a medical-grade disinfectant. There wasn’t enough therapy in the world that would help me forget what I’d witnessed today.
I went to bed knowing full-well I still had a small pile to sort through in the morning.
I was pretty sure that was what led to the polaroid-clad nightmares.
* * *
“I asked for extra hot.”
I shot Adrien the sweetest, most innocent of smiles. “And that’s exactly what you got.”
The right corner of his mouth ticked down as he tapped the cappuccino with his index finger. He didn’t believe me.
I cleared my throat. “If you twist the cup around, you’ll see that the order reflects your stated temperature preference. It’s written right on there… sir.”
He studied me with lazy disinterest, as though simply looking at me bored him.
I wanted to rip the lid off his cup and pour the drink onto his lap. Then we could have a discussion about how hot or cold it was.
