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“Um, are we making up imaginary scenarios where I’m easy now?”
“I’m joking.” She stepped out of Topher’s arms and placed her palms over my shoulders, meeting my eyes. “It’ll be fine. He’s famous, which means he can’t chop you up into a million pieces without the world finding out. Relax. This is such a cool opportunity. Just think of the possibilities.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t.
“Good.”
I nodded. “I’m totally thinking of the possibility my head might explode at the prospect of having to endure hours of his narcissism.”
“How do you even know he’s a narcist?”
“Hello?” I waved a hand in the air. “He’s a celebrity. They’re all obsessed with themselves.”
“That’s stereotyping.”
“Hmm, let’s see.” I tapped my lips like I was thinking. “Looks like a duck, walks like a duck. If the shoe fits. Those sayings exist for a reason.”
Penelope dropped her hands and sighed, obviously deeming me a lost cause.
“What do you think, Topher?” I asked, because surely he’d be on my side. As a dude, he’d agree I shouldn’t just go out with some random guy, even if his face was plastered all over the cover of every tabloid magazine each month. Surely he’d see the senselessness of a date that would go nowhere. And when he agreed with me, Penelope would come to her senses.
“I mean, it would be pretty cool to go out with him, wouldn’t it?”
“Seriously!” I threw my hands up.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about what his business proposition is? I mean, maybe he wants to turn Batter and Bake into a chain. Who knows? At the very least, if you go out with him and are semi cordial, maybe you can stay in touch, and he can hook you up with connections to Parsons or the fashion world. This could be really great for your future,” Penelope said.
I scowled. Though she had a point, I wasn’t a user, and I didn’t need a leg up. Call me foolish, but if I was going to succeed in the industry, I wanted to do it on talent and by the sweat of my brow.
“Whatever,” I grumbled as I kicked a lava rock back into the landscaping.
“You know what I think?”
“No, and I don’t care,” I snapped, only partly sorry for my sour mood.
“I think you’re only irritated because you’re super attracted to him, and you just don’t want to admit it.”
“Of course I’m attracted to him.” I waved my arms wildly in the air like I was trying to land an airplane. “He’s Thorne Roberts. He’s gorgeous. There isn’t a woman with a pulse who doesn’t think he’s hot. But a pretty face only gets you so far.”
“Mmm-hmm,” P murmured like she didn’t believe me, which only boiled my blood further. “Just promise me one thing,” she said at the same moment a small, sleek, and very expensive black car pulled up to the curb.
My stomach was tied in knots, and bile rose in the back of my throat at the prospect of getting in the car with him. I didn’t know much about cars, but I didn’t need to to know this one cost a small fortune.
“What’s that?” I asked in a shaky voice.
Holy crap, this was actually happening. I was doing this.
“Have fun.”
“Right. Fun,” I mumbled, focused on the passenger side window, which had begun a slow descent.
The dark glass lowered to reveal tan leather upholstery, and a moment later, Thorne leaned across the seats, lifting his chin in greeting. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and he wore a ballcap pulled down low.
If I hadn’t known who was inside the car, it could’ve been any boy from school.
“You showed,” he said, a statement, not a question.
