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Natalie
“Ugly... Yikes... Expensive... Oh, God, is that puce?”
This is a disaster. I’m sitting in my suite of rooms, feeling the weight of such a glaring reminder that my life is crumbling. After everything I went through to rip this place from Blake’s hands, now I’ve lost it.
I’m surrounded by this hard-fought luxury while looking for apartments on Craigslist. I feel like I’m in college again; except then, my search felt fun and exciting. This is a less than lateral move.
Everything I’m finding is either in a lousy neighborhood, incredibly small, or both. Oh, Christ, I’m going to need a roommate. I haven’t even considered what I’m going to do for work. I’ll leave that to future Natalie.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. My heart races and I look toward it with a grimace. I do not want to open that. The last thing I need is some photographer or reporter who’s somehow made it past the lobby coming after me.
The knock comes again. It’s soft, so that means it’s not either. Small wins.
I sigh as I snap my laptop shut and stand up. What’s the worst that can happen? I just slam the door and call the police, right?
And if the bastard puts his foot in the door, I can stomp on it and slam it shut again. Satisfied with this plan of attack, I swing it open, ready for a fight. Only it’s not a shitty photographer with a camera in my face.
Far from it.
It’s Roger Zane, standing on the threshold with a bottle of wine in his hands. I peek at the label. It’s even more expensive than the last one. Still, I can’t just let him into my apartment, let alone back into my life right now. Everything that has fallen to shit is at least partly because of him.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, making no move to let him by. Maybe I will have to slam the door after all.
“I thought you could use a drink,” he smiles and proffers the wine bottle. He’s not wrong. I could definitely use a stiff one, but it feels like taking the devil’s candy.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. We don’t have the best track record, remember?” I say dryly as I give him an eyebrow. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, but offers a big smile in return.
“What’s one more drink then, right?”
It was my ‘fuck it’ attitude that got me into this mess in the first place, but I can’t seem to resist. I sigh audibly and open the door wider so he can brush past me, even the most miniscule touch feels electric.
God, I must be some sick puppy.
“Whoa,” Roger says as he eyes up all my boxes. They’re all labeled and perfectly organized, stacked to perfection for easy access and delivery. Trying to put my skills and anger to good use. I don’t know what to say to him, so I just gesture broadly at the universe.
“I, uh, I got your note,” he says with a sad look, “but I was hoping it was some kind of joke.”
“Afraid not,” I say as I flop on the couch. “Corkscrew is in the ‘essential kitchen tools’ box on the granite top there.”
Roger smiles and nods, setting down the bottle to go hunting. “There’s nothing I can do Roger,” I sigh. “Like I said in the note, I’ve lost my job.”
Roger stops his rummaging. “Oh, fuck, Natalie, you’re serious?” It’s funny, even in a time like this, I can’t help but note how good my name sounds coming from his mouth. I ignore the thought for the time being.
“Yes. They found out about my little slap fest…” I shoot him a look, and he smirks as he starts on the wine, “and they didn’t take it too kindly, so, I’m fired. And, to make matters worse, I’ve been replacedimmediatelyby a hateful backstabbing little, pardon my French,cuntnamed Gabby-fucking-Green.”
I slump further into the couch as Roger returns with a big old glass of wine.
“I found the glasses under ‘kitchen glassware fragile’. It’s like the Dewey Decimal system in there,” he chuckles as he sits down beside me.
“Thanks,” I mumble into my glass. Oh, that’s good. He may have played a part in destroying my life, but he’s got great taste. Almost makes it hard to hold it against him.
“Blake Western promised he’d ruin my life, and he’s done a banner job.” I raise my glass to toast his and he shakes his head.
“I am not raising a glass to that fuckface,” Roger says seriously. I grin. “Instead, let’s raise our glasses for a fresh start?”
I roll my eyes, but clink my glass against his anyway.
I take a deep sip.
