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Amalia’s face lights up. “I have some wonderful recipes I’d be happy to teach you.”
“I’d love that.” I hug Amalia goodbye, and then sprint upstairs to my room, where I flip open my laptop and hop online. Obviously, there’s a whole lot about Reed’s life he doesn’t want to talk about. Which is perfectly fine. But that’s not going to stop me from digging a little deeper... to try to get to know the man behind The Man with the Midas Touch... whether he wants me to... or not.
Chapter 11
Reed
I lean back in my chair, my phone pressed against my ear, looking out the window of my home office.
“Hi, boss,” Owen says, answering my call. “Did the bike arrive?”
“It did. Right on time. Thank you.”
“Did she like it?”
“She went apeshit for it.” I smile to myself, remembering Georgie’s jiggling happy dance this morning when she found out that second Peloton bike was hers. “Actually, her reaction made me want to give her even more gifts, just to see her lose her shit like that again and again. I was thinking of maybe getting her a car. I’d want to get her something cute and fun and reliable—a little convertible, maybe—but nothing too crazy in terms of pricing.”
Owen pauses. “So, his and hers Bugattis are out of the question, then?”
I ignore the obvious snark. “I want something to bowl her over, but not something that will make me look like a madman. If the car is too extravagant, she’ll think it implies some sort of commitment past the summer. And that wouldn’t be good.”
“As opposed to a commitment within the summer?”
“Oh. Yeah. Change of plans. Georgina’s not staying at my house for a week anymore. I asked her this morning to stay for the entire summer, and she said yes.”
He’s quiet for a moment. And then, “Wow. That’s quite a ‘purely professional relationship’ you’re having with her, Reed.”
I smile to myself. “Just do some research for me on cute little convertibles, would you? Tell me what you recommend.”
“I already know exactly what I recommend: lay off the blow, Reed.”
“I’m not high, Owen. At least, not on coke. Georgina doesn’t own a car. Not even a shitty one. Who the hell doesn’t own a car in LA? She needs one.”
“You don’t think maybe any car would be too extravagant a gift that makes you look like a madman? It’s still really early days, Reed.”
My spirit falls. I say nothing.
“You gave her a Peloton on day one. Maybe that’s enough for now?”
My heart is thundering. He’s right. I’ve let myself get swept away. I’m moving way too fast and I need to slow down. “A Pilates machine, then. She said she taught spin and Pilates classes. I don’t know anything about Pilates. Isn’t there a machine for that?”
“Yes, it’s called a reformer. But, Reed. I’m not kidding this time. Do I need to call Promises and see if they’ve got a bed for you? Are you back on the blow?”
“I don’t need rehab, Owen. I’m fine. I’m just... “
In a flash, my mind wanders to Georgie. In rapid-fire succession, I see her happy dance again. And then her floating naked in my moonlit pool. I see her standing naked underneath my bedroom window. And the look on her face when that orgasm in the sex swing shattered her. And, finally, I see the beautiful look of contrition on her face when she apologized to me this morning. The look that grabbed my heart in its iron fist.
And it suddenly occurs to me...
Holy shit.
Georgina isn’t the one who’s the junkie here. She’s the drug!
“Reed?” Owen says. “You’re just... what?”
I scrub my palm over my stubble. “Fucked.” I shake it off. “Moving on. No car. Look into Pilates machines for me, okay? Now, tell me about the party. You’ve got everything cooking?”
Owen rattles off a brief update. He tells me invitations went out an hour ago. And that everyone who’s not on tour knows it’s mandatory they come. He says, “And I got your note about us having a stage filled with musical instruments, in addition to a DJ—so musicians can hop up there in random combinations and jam together. Great idea.”
I thank him and give him my notes for Watch Party’s upcoming album, which I finished listening to this morning while making breakfast, and we end the call.
After disconnecting with Owen, I get a text from Henn, telling me he just heard about the party on Saturday. But rather than text him back, I decide to call him, since I’ve got a few minutes before I have to head out to my meeting with Leonard.
“Hello, brother,” Henn says. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. I’m busy conquering the world. You?”
“Oh, I’m just, you know, living the thug life. Hannah had a big project due at work and the nanny called in sick, so I’m trying to bang out some code for a client while Hazel is taking her morning nap. She’s in her crib right now, sleeping butts-up coconut.”
