Chapter 26: Natalie
I woke up and snuggled into my pillow, wishing I could go back to bed. I had the best dream last night. Major and I were able to spend the night together outside of Vertigo. He held me as I cuddled against him, running his hands along my spine. At the end he kissed me and told me to go back to sleep.
It was enjoyable because the two of us weren’t normally that intimate. We spent the majority of our time fucking like animals, so having a whole night of him holding me was amazing. Although his face was blurred in my dream, I still felt his presence.
I snuggled deeper into the pillow, wishing I could spend every night in Major’s bed. I realized there was something wrong with the pillow as I shifted further into it. It was warm and comfortable, but there was something hard against my inner thigh.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as I opened them. My stomach dropped in horror when I realized I was on top of Patrick fucking Reinhardt, who was clad only in his boxer briefs. I had been cuddled into him, and my thigh was rubbing against his erection. He had his phone in one hand and the other draped around my back, as if it was the most normal thing on earth.
“Oh my god!” I rolled away from him, putting as much space as possible between us.
“I was wondering when you would wake up.”
“What? I just. Why didn’t you push me off?”
“You seemed comfortable.”
“I was pressed against your…” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
He laughed and looked away from his phone. “To be fair, it’s not like you’ve never felt it before. It just seems like there’s less material between us each time.”
I turned bright red. We had agreed to never talk about our raunchy dancing ever again. I was going to slap this asshole for bringing it up, and then add this to the never talk about list. I had also bought a $500,000 painting last night. I vowed to never get drunk with Patrick Reinhardt again. It never led to anything good.
My head throbbed, reminding me of how much alcohol I drank last night. I tilted my head sideways and rubbed my temples, attempting to soothe the pain.
“What the…?” I realized I was wearing Patrick’s dress shirt. “Oh god. We didn’t?”
I must have looked horrified, because Patrick quickly answered. “No. We just slept in the same bed. But you might want to button your shirt.”
I looked at my chest. The buttons had come undone in the middle of the night, and my breasts were on full display for Patrick. “Shit!”
He cackled. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a girl naked before.”
I was about to murder Patrick fucking Reinhardt. He hadn’t pushed me off him when I was accidentally rubbing against his erection, he brought up a subject we agreed to never talk about, and now he was laughing at my naked body.
“You’re not supposed to see me naked. And can you do something about that?” I pointed to his massive hard on.
“It’s the morning, so no. Unless you want to do something about it.”
That was the final straw. A crack rang through the air as my hand connected with his cheek. He rubbed the side of his face, not taking his eyes off mine. “Hm, I didn’t think you’d actually hit me.”
“I have no issues hitting you. I’m going home.” I jumped off the bed and began to search for my dress. It was nowhere to be found. I didn’t care if I had to walk back to my apartment half-naked, I would not be around Patrick fucking Reinhardt for a second longer.
I threw open the bedroom door and stomped down the hallway. Scott and Jacques were cuddled on the sofa that looked as hard as rocks.
“Morning, Natalie,” Scott called.
“Good morning.”
The only other place my dress could be was in the bathroom. I found it in a crumpled pile on the floor and quickly got dressed. The slam of the bathroom door echoed through Jacques’ apartment as I finished.
“You okay?” Scott raised his eyebrow at me.
“Your brother is an asshole and I’m going home.” I grabbed my purse off the counter and slung it over my shoulder. “Goodbye Scott. It was nice meeting you, Jacques.”
I was out the door before they had a chance to say goodbye. It wasn’t fair of me to be rude to Scott, but I didn’t want to be around anything that had to do with Patrick fucking Reinhardt right now. I stabbed the elevator’s down button, cursing it for taking so long. The apartment was so fancy that I would have assumed it had a faster elevator.
Patrick emerged from Jacques’ apartment right as the elevator doors dinged open. He was shirtless and had haphazardly thrown on his pants. I didn’t give him a second look as I walked into the elevator and repeatedly pressed the door shut button.
“Wait, Natalie!” He dashed towards the elevator but didn’t make it in time. The doors shut right in his face.
“Jerk.” I muttered to myself.
I entered the fancy lobby of Jacques’ apartment looking like a nicely dressed raccoon. My mascara had smeared along my eyes, and I had left the bobby pins in my hair overnight, which now resembled a rat’s nest. I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirrors lining the wall. It wouldn’t be the best cab ride I’ve taken, but it wouldn’t be the worst.
* * *
I took a cab to Michaela’s. If I sat at home, my anger would continue to boil. It was better to talk—well, yell—about the Patrick situation and blow off some steam.
“Wait, so his hard on was on your thigh?!” She screeched like a flustered schoolgirl.
“Why are you saying this like it’s a good thing?” I clenched both of my fists and brought them down on her sofa.
“Yeah, why are you saying it like it’s a good thing?” Mark lowered his eyes at Michaela.
“Because it is. He’s like, super hot. Probably reaching sex god status.” She turned red when Mark looked at her. “For Natalie of course. You’re my sex god.”
“Well it’s a very bad thing, Michaela. I don’t ever want to look at him again, but I have to work with him five days a week.”
“I say you take him into your office and—”
“Stop!” I held my hand up in the stop position. “No more.”
Michaela should be consoling me, not telling me to sleep with Patrick fucking Reinhardt. I needed someone who would bash him along with me. She was not helping my current situation.
“Oh, Mark. Can I use your SUV? There’s one thing I forgot to tell you guys…” My body braced itself for Michaela’s screech as I told her about the $500,000 painting.
* * *
“Natalie, maybe this guy is good for you. This is probably the most spontaneous thing you’ve done in your life.” Mark cranked the wheel to his SUV as he picked a parking spot in front of the gallery.
“That was alcohol, not Patrick. Also, it’s a nice painting.” I wasn’t sure if it was $500,000 nice, but it would look nice in my under-decorated apartment.
“Whatever you say.” His voice was sing-song, mocking me.
I didn’t respond to him. I just focused on the horizon, irritated that neither Mark nor Michaela would hate on Patrick fucking Reinhardt.
Driving to the ritzy part of town on a Sunday wasn’t my idea of fun. With the addition of the Patrick situation and a $500,000 price tag, it was downright miserable.
Fortunately, Patrick didn’t have my phone number. In the miniscule chance he wanted to apologize, he wouldn’t be able to. If I heard his voice, I would rip his tongue out through the phone. When I saw him at work, I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop myself from doing it.
This whole thing was a mess. A $500,000, asshole coworker mess.
“This better be the next Mona Lisa if you paid that much.” Mark and I walked into the gallery with Michaela on our tail.
I was about to respond, but an employee appeared out of nowhere. “How can I help you today?”
“I have a pick up. It’s from the art gala.”
“Perfect! What was your last name, Miss?” I gave the employee my name and ID, and he scurried to the back.
Everything in the gallery was white, sans the art. The pieces hung at least ten feet away from each other. Although there were many paintings, I didn’t like any of them. Every piece was either pop art or contemporary—It must be popular right now. One painting was white with texture that was only visible from a couple feet away. I nearly choked on my spit when I saw the price tag for what was essentially plaster.
“Here you go, Ms. Lane.” He emphasized my last name like Patrick would, although he was doing so in a professional manner. It still irked me for reminding me of him.
I thanked the employee, and the three of us rolled the painting to the car.
“Let’s take a peek inside!” Michaela lifted the bag that had been protecting it.
I slapped her hand. “No. Wait until we get back to my apartment.”
After a very long drive, we had the painting unpacked and leaning against my sofa.
“Well…” Michaela tried to form a sentence. It was obvious she didn’t like it, but with its price tag she didn’t want to say it.
“It’s different. Classical.” Mark stated.
“It’s my Mona Lisa.”