Chapter 23
Lauren
Anger churns in my chest.
Heat burns mycheeks.
Yet all I can do is stand here, not sure what to say to him first. Apparently, he was leaving his apartment and evidently the small suitcase he’s toting was the noise that drew me outhere.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, his voice low. “I’m really sorry about last night. I got stuck at the office all day. I had left in a hurry yesterday morning, leaving my phone behind. And when we got locked in a project, I was unable to break away. Obviously I couldn’t ring your cell, since I didn’t have my own. I didn’t get back home until after 2a.m.”
He approaches me, and hits me with those stormy-blueeyes.
“Oh,” I say, “Well, I guess that explains why you stood meup.”
He comes even closer, his thumb tracing my cheek. “Oh Lauren, I would never stand you up. I quite like you. It pained me not to be able to reach out to you last night. Since then, I have your cell memorized; that way in the future I can dial you from anyphone.”
I lean onto the doorframe, and fight the smirk that’s forming on my lips. “Oh really? So, what’s my numberthen?”
He leans in, close enough for me to smell the mint on his lips. “03 58 45 83 51,” he hums, then lifts my chin, planting a soft kiss on my tremblinglips.
Wow. It’s just about all I can think but manage to say, “Oh, yes, that’s definitely my phonenumber.”
He pulls away. “Can I get a rain check? I’ve gotta head back to London on some business returning late Friday. But I’ll keep in touch via text while I’m away.” He smiles. “Take you out on that date thisSaturday?”
I bob my head. “Of course, I’d like that a lot, Simon. Have a safetrip.”
“Thanks, doll. Talk soon,” he says, rolling his suitcase behind him as he makes his way to theelevator.
Shutting the door, I lean my back against it and sigh. See, I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation why Simon was a no-show. He didn’t leave me hanging. He had a work emergency with no way to contactme.
Feeling relieved, I plop back onto the couch and finish off the last of my coffee as I scroll through some of my social media profiles to see what André has been posting on my behalf. He does a great job pretending to be me on all of the platforms, interacting with a few of my fans, posting all sorts of relevant photos and status updates. He even posted a picture on Instagram featuring a bowl of my favorite soup with the captionFood is my second favorite F-word. Fashion is the first. Obviously. #SexySoup.
Five-hundred seventy-thousand likes. Notbad.
Jules knocks at my door, dropping Truffles off from theirexcursion.
“He was good, as usual. And I saw Simon headed to the garage with a suitcase in tow,” Jules says, his eyes wide andcurious.
I explain to Jules all that Simon told me and Jules justnods.
“I see. Well at least he gave you a good reason. Anyway, I’ll be headed back to my post downstairs. Enjoy your day,LB.”
“Thanks,Jules.”
Why do I get the feeling I am the only one in my circle who likes Simon? Am I missing something? Arabella doesn’t like him. Jules doesn’t seem enthused about me dating him. And Jaxson obviously doesn’t care for himeither.
Truffles runs to the kitchen, straight to his bowls filled with kibble and water, laps up some water, and crunches on a few of the kibbles, playing a game of hide and seek with a few ofthem.
Sillypooch.
I lean against the wall, sliding down, my back feeling the cool abrasion of it even through my satin robe. I park my bottom on the floor right next to Truffles, petting him as he enjoys the rest of his breakfast. Then I scoop him up in my arms, raise myself up and waltz back to myroom.
“Come on, Truffles, Mama is gonna play hooky the right way. I’m going back tobed.”
Hours later,I awaken to my cell phone’schime.
Bing. Bing. Bing.Bing.
