Chapter 11
CHASE
My heart is racing. Anxiety building.
This is the way I always feel before going home to visit my parents; albeit, it’s stronger this time. Apprehension, guilt, with a dose of what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into.
This plan had better work.
It’s Wednesday, one day before my trip to New York.
After leaving my meeting with Studio Zee, a small production studio in Westwood, I came straight home to pack. Ivy did an impeccable job buying me a brand new wardrobe to take with me. That woman—I take in a deep breath, sitting on my deck overlooking the waves—thoughts of her won’t stop swirling around in my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve allowed an army of dragonflies to swarm my stomach in excitement over a woman. I use the analogy of dragonflies as opposed to butterflies—it’s an alpha male thing. Still, excitement or not, I know Ivy only comes with Project Fake Fiancée, then the two of us shall undoubtedly part ways.
We fly out early tomorrow morning, 5 a.m. on the dot. But with Los Angeles traffic, even an early morning dash to the airport can take forever. So, I’ve devised a remarkable plan, only I can’t seem to reach Ivy to execute said plan.
Why won’t she answer her phone or return my calls?
Ocean waves crash-land below, a crescendo of never-ending beauty. This deck is a sweet spot, the place I come to unwind, think, or simply be. My house, on Malibu Drive, has been a little piece of sanctuary, since I moved in it two years ago. The house before this one had too many memories tied to it. Memories of a time when I thought I was the absolute shit. A time when I played women, using them like a new drug, as I searched for a temporary fix. In reality, I was only searching for a way to mend my shattered heart.
Valerie Marks.
The one who turned me into the ruthless, billionaire-playboy—a snapshot of that life splattered all over the internet. Valerie was the one I was certain would become Mrs. Chase Hunter. The one who stole from me, made a fool out of me, and broke my heart.
I’m over her now and feel ready to love again. Maybe.
My cell phone rings; the name Ivy Bloom flashing on the screen makes those dragonflies swarm.
“Hey”—a smile tugs at my mouth—“I’m glad you’ve called back.”
“Sorry, I was packing and didn’t hear my phone ring. What’s up? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
I stand, shove my free hand in my pocket, and pace the floor of my deck. “No, uh, I thought I’d run a plan of action by you, one that could make our getting to the airport in the morning easier.”
I hear BB bark in the background. “Oh? What plan of action?”
“Yeah, well seeing how we take off at 5 a.m., I was thinking it may be best for me to pick you up, bring you and BB here, to my place…tonight.”
Nothing but silence from her end of the call consumes the air.
“Um, there’s plenty of space here, even a guest house equipped with a kitchen, if you prefer your own space.”
She clears her throat. “Okay. If you think it will make accessing our early bird flight easier…”
Yes!I pump my fist. “Great. When’s a good time for me to swing by and pick you two up?”
“You’regoing to pick us up? Not Henry?” Her tone epitomizes playful mockery.
I laugh it off. “I do drive, you know. Plus, I gave Henry and Lottie the rest of the week off for Christmas break.”
A pause lingers before she mutters, “Give me a few hours to shower, dress, get BB fed, and do some last minute housework. Oh, a bit of a warning: I’ve got three suitcases for your muscle-toned arms to lug to the car.”
I curl my arm, observing the gun show. “What makes you think I’ve got muscle-toned arms?”
She giggles. “Well, if you don’t, you’ve got time to pump iron.”
* * *
An hour later,after a few push-ups, a shower, and taking time to prepare a surprise for Ivy and BB, I hop in my black Mercedes G-Class—chosen over my Porsche because Ivy mentioned having a few bags of luggage.
