Chapter Seven
Richard breathes a sigh of relief into Lauren’s hair when he wakes up to feel her in his arms, still fast asleep. He was so sure and so terrified that she’d come to her senses at some point, that after the sex she’d purse those perfect lips of hers and leave Richard behind as another mistake. But here she is, her head sharing Richard’s pillow and her skin illuminated in the pale morning light. He remembers all those college mornings, tucked into a single bed and waiting for the alarm clock to screech them out of their slumber. She’s somehow even more beautiful now.
Speaking of clocks, the one at the far end of the room says proudly 10:30am. Shit. Richard shakes Lauren’s shoulder, praying that she won’t be too angry, that she might just decide to call in sick and spend the day with him. She stirs awake slowly, her eyes fluttering open and her gaze gradually focusing on Richard, who’s still holding her tight.
A blissful smile spreads across her face and she hums a good morning at him, her eyes falling shut again and her hands sliding under the covers to lace with his.
“Uh, Lauren,” he whispers, as if being quieter will somehow reduce the impact of his words, “it’s ten-thirty.”
Her reaction is instant; she tenses in his arms, her eyes flying open, and pushes herself away from him. “What?!” she cries, staring at the clock with panic written all over her face.
“Hey, it’s okay, just, y’know, call in sick or something,” he soothes, stroking a hand down her hip carefully.
She flinches away from his touch, scrambling out of the bed and scooping her clothes from the floor. “No, I can’t!” she bristles, “I’ve got a job to do! Not all of us get paid millions for doing nothing!”
Richard frowns, a shot of irritation running through him. “Hey, I don’t do nothing! I work hard, I –”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” she tuts, struggling with pulling her dress over her head, “all those free Michelin-starred meals must be such a toil.”
“This is a one-off trip! It’s not like this all the time!” he protests, even though it sort of is. “I worked hard to get here!”
“Oh really? I heard it was mommy that worked hard! What the fuck do you do every day apart from shake hands and lick boots?” she snaps, and Richard sits up, his hands clenched into fists.
“Shut up!” he shouts, “that’s not true! I only wanted you to stay longer because oh, I dunno, I actually like you, but no, you had to twist it into an insult!”
“Right. Well, when sleeping around becomes more important than my actual job, I’ll give you a call,” she scathes, shoving her heels over her feet and hurrying to the door.
“Lauren,” he calls after her, nearly falling off the bed in his effort to crawl towards her, “wait-"
He’s cut off by the slamming of his hotel room door. A breath rushes out of him as he realizes how quickly it all got screwed up, and he drops his head into his hands.
“What the fuck did you do?” Emma calls from the other side of the room, and Richard promptly jumps out of his skin.
“Jeez, Emma,” he exclaims, pulling the covers over himself to make sure he’s fully covered up. “Were you listening?”
“Yeah, she sounded severely pissed off,” Emma tuts, sitting herself down in Richard’s armchair with no pause for invitation.
“She was late for work,” he sighs, cursing the clock for allowing time to go by so fast. “I think she might hate me.” It’s only sort of a joke.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Emma tries to console him, but she doesn’t sound at all sure. “She’s probably just, like, stressed or something.”
Richard knows how she feels. He’s only now realizing that he should have thought about this more, properly mulled over the details before he went and asked out one of his exes. What if this was a stupid mistake? What if it was ridiculous to think that either of them could possibly maintain a relationship whilst trying to further their careers? “I’m an idiot,” Richard says quietly, staring at the door that Lauren just stormed out of. “I shouldn’t have done this at all.”
“Okay, so I’m fully behind the first part,” Emma informs him, making herself far too comfortable, “But I think you’re over-thinking this. She freaked out, she was bound to, it’s weird going out with an ex. And now you’re freaking out about her freaking out. This is always how it goes in the movies.”
“Well according to the movies, what do I do next?” Richard asks, running his fingers through his hair.
Emma thinks for a few seconds – which is always a cause for worry – before humming an uncertain sound. “I don’t know. I mean, you could go after her. If you actually like her, of course. Do you?”
“Yes,” Richard says immediately, “of course I like her. I’m just not sure if I, y’know, love her. Can people even fall in love in one date?”
Emma stares at him. “You – you think you’re in love with her after one date?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. He’s pretty sure he loved her when they were in college – he’s pretty sure he still loved her even when he left college. He’s also pretty sure that he hasn’t loved anyone since. “Maybe I just didn’t get over her. Like, at all.”
“Shit,” Emma replies, her eyebrows rising. “You’re in deep, man.”
“Don’t say that!” Richard exclaims, “you’re supposed to be helping, not telling me how far up shit creek I am!”
“But what if you always loved her? What if she’s the one?” Emma carries on, sending Richard’s stress levels through the roof.
“What?! I can’t tell her that after one date!”
“Of course, you can’t! Especially after you so royally screwed up just then!” she almost shrieks at him, gesturing towards the door.
“So how do I fix it?” He’s close to scrambling out of bed and shaking Emma until she starts saying useful things.
“I don’t know!” she cries, spreading her hands wide, “I’m not your therapist!”
Thank God for that, Richard thinks. He’d be mad as a bat if that were the case. They sit in silence for a few moments, Richard picking at a loose thread on the bed sheets as if it might provide him with some sort of solution. Emma just keeps staring at him; he can practically feel her worry from across the room.
“I think you need to figure out what you want,” she says after a while. “Don’t forget, we’ve only got another couple of weeks here. Is it fair to ask her to follow you to LA?”
“She wouldn’t go,” Richard sighs, knowing it for certain. “She wouldn’t go with me.”
“Well then. How could you keep up a relationship?”
It’s that same question every time. He can’t keep up a relationship with anybody. He’s a slave to the spreadsheets and the board meetings, and it’ll stay like that until he’s retired. He can’t help but think of what life might be like if he was normal, if he took the bus to work every day and came home to a girlfriend who liked him for his smile rather than his wallet.
“I couldn’t,” he answers, rubbing a hand over his face. “I couldn’t keep up a relationship. I’m never gonna settle down, I’m never gonna have an actual home, I’m never gonna have kids and be around enough to get to know them.”
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” Emma shrugs, “but I think you’re overreacting. Don’t go all mopey on me.”
“But I am mopey,” he whines, flopping back into the sheets and groaning.
“I think I’ll leave you to mope, then. The meeting today is at twelve, by the way,” Emma informs him as she wanders to the door.
“Oh, joy,” he replies, promptly pulling the covers up over his head and deciding to hide away for at least another hour. He’s got some serious thinking to do.
***
Lauren’s day at work is, surprisingly, not as hellish as she might have imagined. She may have arrived at the office red-faced and flustered, but she sported such a stormy expression that no-one dared question it. No-one bothered her while she hid away in her office, and even James kept his distance. She doesn’t care what they say behind her back, as long as they keep doing their damn jobs.
Although she started the day absolutely livid at stupid Richard and his stupid face that made her late for stupid work, she can’t help but think that she may have been a little too hasty in her verbal assault of him. It’s not his fault that his mom decided to thrust him into running a million-dollar company. Perhaps some of the things she said were a little unfair.
She tells herself that she isn’t backing down when she drafts a text to him. It doesn’t have to be an apology, just an acknowledgment of regret. Plus, something inside her says that this isn’t over, or at least, she doesn’t want it to be over.
The night had been so good. She’d forgotten how utterly charming he could be when he put his mind to it and got past the nervousness. She’d forgotten how pretty his eyes are when they light with laughter, how elegant his hands looked against her hips. He hadn’t been the stand-out college boyfriend when she thought back, but he certainly is now.
Hey, she types slowly, I’m sorry about last night. No, that sounds like she regrets it. Last night was great. Too cheesy? Oh well. I’m sorry I had to leave, I didn’t mean to shout. I hope the meeting goes well. I’m obviously still your chauffeur so if you need me, give me a call, but otherwise, I’m free this weekend. Fancy another date? Xx
She reads it over a few times, checking for any embarrassing typos, then hits send before she can change her mind. He must remember that she has a temper, hopefully he hasn’t taken anything she said too seriously. She desperately wants to call, but she’s not sure when the meeting finishes or whether he’ll even want to talk to her right now.
“Knock knock?” a voice calls from outside her office, rather than actually knocking. She suppresses a sigh and calls a come in, and surprise surprise, it’s James, carrying coffee and a sandwich.
“What can I help you with,” she says with little conviction, giving James a please-get-this-over-with look.
“Nothing, really, I just came to give you these,” he says, setting the coffee and the sandwich down in front of her. “You didn’t take lunch today.”
“Oh right, yeah,” she remembers, her stomach growling as if in exasperation. “Thanks.”
“So, who was the lucky guy?” he smiles cheekily, giving her a knowing look.
Of course, he’s worked it out. She’s teased him so many times about arriving late to work looking disheveled, she should have expected nothing less than this. “I do believe that’s none of your damn business.”
He giggles infuriatingly, an annoyingly large smile spreading across his face. “You must like him. You look irritated, that means you like him.”
He’s hit the nail on the head. Liking people is always a hassle, and it’s best not to get her started on feelings. They play havoc with business. “I might have developed a tiny crush,” she says, deciding to humor him just a little.
“Who is he? Is he tall? Dark? Handsome?” he babbles, throwing his arms around dramatically.
She obviously won’t tell James that the guy is in fact Richard Shepherd, their most affluent client ever, but she can’t help but smile as she admits that yes, he is quite tall, and yes, he is quite handsome. James proclaims that he hasn’t seen her this excited since a client gave her a basket full of chocolate as a thank you gift.
It feels a little like it did in college, sitting round discussing crushes and laughing like school kids. Lauren wonders if this is the start of something good, something amazing – it sure feels like it is.
***
Richard calls later on, when Lauren’s slumped on the couch eating pasta right out the pan.
“How was the meeting?” Lauren asks, deciding to save talking about what happened until later.
“Oh, fine. The usual. Shaking hands and licking boots,” he says, and Lauren’s stomach turns. So much for waiting. But then he laughs, thank God, he laughs like maybe he doesn’t hate her. That’s a good start.
“I’m sorry I said that,” she says sheepishly, “I was just –“
“Stressed, I know. It’s cool, I’m sorry you were late for work. I hope it wasn’t too bad?”
She’s glad she can answer with a smile. “No, actually. No-one gave me any shit for it, so it’s cool,” she says, and she hears a relieved-sounding laugh from the other end of the line.
“Oh good. So, uh, about that date offer…?” he trails off, and Lauren grins into her pasta.
“Yes? Are you up for that? I promise I won’t shout at you this time,” she assures him, putting her feet up on the couch and stretching out.
“Oh, but Lauren, it wouldn’t be a date with you if you didn’t shout,” he reasons, a laugh tinkling down the line.
“True. So, you’re not busy this weekend?” she asks hopefully, thinking of all the hickeys they’ll be able to leave if they don’t have places to be.
“Nope. Free as a bird,” he chimes, and she decides that his voice is nearly as nice as his face. “No board games, though. I’ll never recover from my chess defeat.”
“No, no board games,” she agrees. She still can’t believe she lost at Jenga. “Just, y’know, somewhere normal. Where we won’t keep screaming at each other.”
“Yeah, good call. How about pizza?” he suggests, and Lauren laughs.
“You? Pizza? Actual pizza, not gold-plated caviar pizza?” she teases, and she can almost hear his eye-roll.
“Yup, actual pizza. It’s good, for peasant food,” he adds in a snooty voice, and Lauren snorts with laughter.
“Okay, pizza it is,” she nods, and he makes a noise of agreement. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow around ten, then? To take you to that lunch you have?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, sounding absolutely thrilled by the prospect. “Can’t wait for that.”
As they say their goodbyes and hang up, Lauren wonders what the hell Richard’s doing, staying in a job which makes him so obviously miserable. She’d thought it was all talk at first, but now the comments about how much he hates what he does seem to be more frequent and more vicious. The Richard she knew wanted to create comics, make up other-worldly characters and bring them to life. It’d been quite a shock when he’d suddenly announced he was going into banking.
She wonders, that night, whether this really might be something. Whether this is what she’s been looking for when scrolling through endless dating profiles. When she falls asleep knowing she’ll see Richard the next day, she doesn’t feel quite as lonely as normal.
***
The week seems to fly by.
Richard seems like a different person to the one who crept up to her and apologized for being such an asshole that first morning he arrived; he’s relaxed and full of smiles, the hesitation nowhere to be seen when he reaches for her hand or places a kiss on her lips when she arrives in the hotel lobby.
She knows they shouldn’t be so open about their relationship – knows they should be more careful, save the kisses for quieter places away from prying eyes – but she can’t deny that it gives her a bit of a thrill, like they’re breaking rules that were made to be broken. She looks forward to the brief stretches of conversation they have when Lauren’s ferrying him God knows where; they’re always full of smiles and laughter and Lauren’s always left staring after Richard for a little longer each time.
She knows she’s in deep when she starts to check her phone hoping there’s a text from Richard or answering calls far too quickly just in case it’s him. It’s silly, she knows, but for once, she lets herself feel it, doesn’t suppress the happiness like it’s a weakness. It’s even worth James’ relentless teasing.
Richard’s spontaneous brunches become more frequent, and they grab snippets of time together between Richard’s meetings and Lauren’s office hours. She can hardly contain herself when Saturday finally arrives and their little dinner date is only hours away.
She’s expecting another chauffeur, another awkward car journey filled with nervous smiles and twitching hands, but there’s no car outside when the clock shows 7pm. At first, she mocks Knightly, telling herself that this is the kind of lateness that a sub-par firm would think is okay, but then two minutes late turns into ten, and then twenty, and she begins to get a little worried.
When her phone rings and Richard’s name lights up the screen, she nearly jumps on it.
“Richard,” she blurts, “are you okay?”
His laughter makes her relax into the couch. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just – a bit lost. Which apartment block are you again?”
“Uh – doesn’t your chauffeur knows that?”
“Um,” he says, sounding a little embarrassed. “I didn’t call a chauffeur. I took the bus.”
“What?” she snorts, “Did I hear you right?”
“Yes, I know, it’s hilarious,” he says flatly, “can you please just tell me which block you are.”
With no small amount of laughter, she tells him, rolling off the couch and checking her sloppily done hair in the mirror. “I’ll come wave out of the door.”
A few minutes later, and she’s watching a rather ruffled-looking Richard hurrying across the road towards her. He looks so far from a millionaire it’s almost laughable – in fact, Lauren does laugh at him for quite a while as he bustles through the door and shrugs off his slightly damp jacket.
“Ugh, it was raining and everything,” he grumbles, toeing his shoes off and nudging them into place beside hers.
“Oh, it wasn’t, was it?” she says with a melodramatic gasp, and he shoots her a glare. She watches him hang up his jacket and smiles a little. “Just make yourself at home, why don’t you.”
“Are you going out?” he says as he looks her up and down. She’s wearing a dress and a full face of makeup – he’s in skinny jeans and a button down. Huh.
“Are you staying in?” she counters, and they stare at each other for a bit until it’s clear that there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.
“Uh – I thought pizza was the plan?” he says, gesturing to himself as if his clothes should be screaming pizza.
“Well yeah, a pizza restaurant? Like, outside?”
“Were we not going to order?” he asks, his head cocked to one side like a confused golden retriever.
“I – wasn’t planning on it, no, but we can?” she says, a bemused smile on her lips. “I’ll get into my pajamas, then.” No point trying too hard, Richard obviously hasn’t. She beckons him up the stairs, then freezes when she realizes that he’s going to see her bombsite of an apartment. She pauses, hand on the door to her lounge.
“Uh – so it’s important for you not to judge me, okay? I’m not a tidy person,” she warns, but he just laughs in the way a man does when he doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he says, and she winces, wondering if she can scoop the dirty dishes off the coffee table before he sees. She doubts it.
“Ta da,” she announces as she opens the door to reveal her lounge-stroke-kitchen. There’s clothes all over the couch and cups all over the surfaces, papers littering the floor along with movies and some shoes here and there. She watches his face, waiting for him to say you know what? I don’t like you anymore, but he doesn’t. He simply smiles at her, laughter dancing in his eyes.
“Wow. You weren’t joking,” he says, letting out a whistling breath. “It’s – homey.”
“Right,” she says, “homey. I’ll take that.”
He makes for the couch, and she hops ahead of him, grabbing her discarded outfits off it and running to dump them in the bedroom. When she comes back, Richard is quite happily sitting on the sofa fiddling with the tassels on her rather tacky, patterned cushions.
“Do you want a drink of anything? I’ve got – well, basically just wine or water. Or milk,” she adds, skipping over to the refrigerator and watching the back of Richard’s head.
He turns to face her. “Uh – what wines do you have?”
She deadpans at him. “Literally Chardonnay.”
“Oh, well it’s lucky that’s my favorite,” he says with a grin, and she wastes a few seconds staring at him before she realizes that she’s meant to be pouring wine. She nearly trips over her feet to get to the cupboard with the glasses in it, and accidentally makes the whole cabinet rattle. It’s fair to say she’s a little disconcerted now that they’re on her territory.
She manages to pour both glasses without (much) spillage, though, and wends her way back over to Richard, setting both glasses down on the table and sitting down beside him. “So – you got the bus?”
He laughs a little. “Yeah. I haven’t done that in years, I thought it’d be fun.”
“And was it?”
“No,” he says firmly, “no it was not. Elderly ladies are rude when you ask them to move their bags.”
Lauren laughs. One of the main reasons she started a chauffeur company was because of the pitfalls of public transport. “But why did you do it? Why didn’t you get a car like a normal millionaire?”
Richard suddenly looks a little sheepish, sipping at his wine instead of looking at Lauren.
“Oh, it wasn’t to impress me, was it?” she asks, hysterical laughter on the tip of her tongue.
The frown Richard directs at his knees is enough to give Lauren her answer.
She’d be lying if she said she didn’t find him completely hilarious, but she does manage to stop laughing long enough to say, “That’s so sweet of you. You’re adorable.”
“Well, I’m glad you find it so hilarious. It was supposed to be my grand romantic gesture,” he protests, clutching his wine tight. “I couldn’t buy you something, could I, that wouldn’t mean anything at all!”
“True,” she ponders, “okay, well thank you for taking a smelly old bus just for me,” she says, leaning back on the couch and snuggling up to Richard. “I’m sorry my present to you is shitty wine.”
“It’s not shitty,” he says, and at the rate he’s downing it, she nearly believes him, “it’s…” he sniffs it with a flourish and smacks his lips, “interesting. It’s alcoholic, that’s what really matters, right?”
“Right,” she agrees, taking a sip herself. “So, when do you want pizza?” She’s been looking forward to this for most of the day, and she’s not sure how much longer she can put it off.
“Uh, soon, I guess? I did traipse all the way across the city in the rain,” he reasons. “Do you wanna share?”
She stares at him. “Share? Are you joking? If you don’t think I can eat an entire deep-pan pizza in one sitting, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Okay,” he laughs, “I’ll hold you to that.”
She lets Richard order the pizza because apparently to a millionaire, that’s the pinnacle of excitement – he says Emma usually does it, or someone will run and get him one themselves. Lauren thinks to herself that next time, they’ll cook something themselves, so that Richard knows how to make at least one thing in case he ever finds himself home alone with no servants to fetch food for him.
It takes them far too long to decide on a movie – Richard thinks a romance would be most appropriate but Lauren would rather swallow her own tongue than watch other people sharing theirs around for two hours. In the end, they go with Ratatouille, Lauren’s subtle way of showing Richard that even rats can probably cook better than him. They eat too much pizza and drink too much wine and miss the end of the movie because they’re too busy fumbling with belts and buttons. They’re half asleep by the time the credits start to roll.
“This has been really nice,” Richard says softly after a few moments. “I haven’t felt this normal in a long time.”
“Are you calling me ordinary?” Lauren says, feigning offense as she looks up at Richard from her position, slumped in his arms.
“Not at all,” he yawns, “you’re something else.” He kisses her then, slow and tomato-flavored, his hand tangled loosely in her hair and hers reaching to tilt his chin towards her.
“Do you wanna stay the night?” she slurs at him in-between kisses. “I’ll drive you back in the morning.”
“Can’t I stay for the morning, too?” he says with a grin, but he doesn’t look like he’s entirely joking. Lauren wonders why she doesn’t mind. “And the afternoon? And the whole weekend?”
“You can stay as long as you want,” she says, patting him on the chest and smiling into his neck. “I’ll miss you when you go.”
They may be a little drunk, but the drop in the mood is still felt by both of them. They both know that Richard has to leave at some point, that sooner or later, he’ll be off traveling the world again, away from Lauren.
“I’ll miss you too,” Richard says, stroking his fingers through her hair.
Later that night, when they’ve both stumbled into Lauren’s unmade bed, when they’re curled up in each other’s warmth, she hears Richard whisper into her ear, “I think I love you, Lauren.”
She doesn’t reply, doesn’t think anything of it in the moment. She’ll deal with it in the morning.