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Before I can answer, he says, “Because I dreamed about you.”
I’d only just managed to get my regular heartbeat back and with that statement, he sends it pounding wildly again. “You did?”
“Every day since the day we met.”
Me too.
“Stop it!”
“I only tell the truth.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Korkmaz?” My voice sounds breathless; husky; more sex-phone operator than social media strategist. I clear my throat to make my voice sound more natural, less desperate. “You see I’ve got this really obnoxious client who takes all my time…”
“Sounds like a total prick.”
A choked gulp of laughter escapes my lips. “Oh, he is.”
“Just thought you might want to know that you’re well and truly on Ellis’s radar now. She’s dedicated a whole blog post to you.”
“Uh-oh.” I sit up and drag my laptop from the table at the side of the bed and bring it to my lap. Turning it on, I open Ellis’s website and there I am on the home page of ‘Fame and No-sense’.
Pippa Ellis.
Frenemy to the stars and an all-round pain in the ass to anyone working in PR, Pippa is an English media personality with an enormous following. Her career was made by sarcasm and gratuitous malice and over the years has built up a reputation for getting the inside scoop before anyone else. Brynn had long suspected she was being paid for stories, but Pippa is a total pro and never reveals her sources.
I quickly read the piece.
“I don’t hate butterflies!”
“Who cares about butterflies? I’d rather talk about what you got up to in Morocco.”
I lean in to examine that first photo of me taken outside Brazen last month. I was not prepared for the photographers, and it shows—I looked like a gazelle in headlights. But to hell with Pippa Ellis because I am totally rocking those stripes and floral print.
I groan into the phone. “I knew this was going to happen. I warned Brynn. I’m not the typical nipple-ring and crotch shot girlfriend of a rockstar.”
“You’d look fucking sexy with a nipple ring.”
Nipple ring.
I bite my lip to stop myself from panting down the phone at him. “Never going to happen.”
“Are you angry?”
I think about that for a moment. I’m not actually angry, more resigned to what my life has become.
“It’s fine.”
“No one reads her stuff, Nutmeg.”
“Rubbish! Everyone reads her stuff!” I swallow tightly, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. “Not to change the subject, but can we change the subject?”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“As I said, I’ve got this really obnoxious client who…”
Kaan’s low chuckle sends more shock waves of longing through me. “Yeah, yeah. Listen, I need a night at home, and I know that if I don’t feed you, you’ll end up getting Diego to deliver your dinner.” Kaan remembered our conversation from that first night at my place. “How about Chinese from Zheng’s?”
I perk up at the thought of dinner with Kaan, and Zheng’s is one of my favourite restaurants. “Have you tried their crispy prawn pancakes? They’re to die for.”
