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“I have a business trip to Ibiza next month. I’ll be away for an extended period. After that, however, I’d love to catch up.”
“Sounds great. I look forward to it.” I finally find the courage to meet Sophie’s gaze. “I’d better go find my flatmate.”
As I make my hasty escape, I hear their hushed voices at my back. Sophie tries to speak quietly, but the acoustics in this place are phenomenal. No wonder my father enjoyed playing here so much.
“She’s a teenager, you bloody fool,” Sophie is hissing at the lord.
“Mind your tone,” he snaps back.
“Benjamin— ”
“No. Enough. I allow you many liberties, but you mustn’t forget who the boss is, my dear.”
Hoo boy.
I walk faster, praying I don’t trip and fall flat on my ass.
I think we’re at the part of the evening where I plaster myself to Lee’s side before I start an international incident.
The last I see of Lee, he kisses me on the cheek, whispering “Grapefruit,” before climbing into a limo with Eric. Ben and some of his friends talk about an after-party as the ball winds down and the guests thin out, but I’m exhausted and ready to nurse my blisters with an ice pack. Besides, I don’t think Sophie would approve of a “teenager” partying the night away with her employer.
Ben offers me his car to take me home but can’t manage to find his phone and is maybe a bit too inebriated to handle the logistics. Instead, I slip away when he goes to the bathroom. The nice man at the arrival loop outside gets me a cab.
The house is empty when I return to Notting Hill and peel myself out of my dress and into some pajamas. I pull my hair down, wipe off my makeup, and sit on the couch to watch some late-night TV. The red, angry outlines of my shoes are still scored into my feet.
One of those cringey “dating” hotline commercials comes on, which prompts a thought about what Jack is up to tonight. Out on a date maybe.
I heave myself off the couch and pretend the thought of Jack hooking up with someone else doesn’t make me want to burn down a small village.
As I’m contemplating scrounging for leftovers in the fridge, I get a text.
Nate: You up?
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IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT.ACCORDING TOELIZA, THAT PLACES US INbooty-call territory. But Nate also happens to be a bartender, so if he was working tonight, he might just be getting off shift.
My fingers are a bit shaky as I type a response.
Me: Yes. Just got home.
Nate: Can I stop by?
Me: Sure, the guys are out.
Nate: See you in a few.
I don’t know what possessed me to add that second part. What does it matter that I’m here alone? Or why Nate would need to know that?
My head’s a mess.
Still, I brush my teeth, fix my hair, and throw on some jeans and a T-shirt before Nate knocks on the door. Unhappiness creases his handsome features, so I bring him up to my room when he says we need to talk.
“Sorry for the late hour,” he starts gruffly. “I came straight from work.”
“I figured. What’s up?”
Wary, I sit in my desk chair while he paces the floor, running his hands through his hair in a sort of agitated ritual. His black trousers and snug black tee, combined with the dark stubble shadowing his strong jaw, lend him an air of danger. This guy radiates sex appeal.
