Chapter Nine
From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v1
Rule #4: Never underestimate the power of a well-thought-out gesture. Does it sound silly to you to send a basket of muffins to someone you annoyed? Then you’re adulting all wrong. At heart, we’re all a little childish, and nothing makes that inner child happier than an unexpected present. Did you make one of your paramours mad? Send flowers. Is someone threatening to blackmail you for something that you know you did wrong? Send a well-worded apology and one of those fruit arrangement things. A little consideration can go a long way, and for things that a monthly subscription box won’t fix, there’s always the legal department. But that consideration thing? It will work, like, 90% of the time.
She hadn’t showered, and she hadn’t left her apartment all day. Still in her comfy pajamas, she stared down at the camera crew outside. The press obviously was not going anywhere, still camped out on the sidewalk in front of the building. She’d slept fitfully through the night, torn between fantasies of Foster at his sexiest and waking with her hands shaking, hoping all of it was some weird dream.
It wasn’t a dream, as evidenced by the press below. It was all horrifyingly real. She didn’t want to answer the door when she heard the knock, but she could only hide in her room for so long. When she opened the front door, the doorman stared at her, looking as nonplussed as usual. She tried to decide what the large box in his arms might be.
“This is for you, ma’am,” he said when she still didn’t reach out to take it.
“What is it?” she asked him.
“I wouldn’t know. It was delivered for you from Boyd Cosmetics.”
Accepting the box, she felt her lips drop into a frown. Thinking back, she tried to remember which twin she told to send gifts when they made someone mad. Probably it was Foster. If he thought a box of muffins would fix what he’d done…
The box was indeed, muffins. A lot of muffins. Probably a solid twenty-five pounds of assorted muffins. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked the apartment at large. It didn’t answer. Her computer jangled with a notification, so she swirled her mouse to see an incoming video chat from Harper. She accepted the call, still sorting through the layers of muffins and arranging them on the table in a teetering tower.
“Hey, Harp,” she said.
Harper didn’t say anything at first, looking at her architectural wonder of muffins. “What on earth is that?” she finally asked.
“Muffins,” Natalie answered, moving onward to another tier. “A whole shit ton of muffins.”
“Were you hungry?”
“Not particularly,” she confessed. “I’m guessing you saw the news.”
“Yes, I did. But I know you didn’t do it. If you’d been sexting a guy like Foster Boyd, something tells me I would have heard about it. Possibly in detail. For sure with pictures of his thingy. Have you seen his thingy yet?”
Natalie frowned, not sure which annoyed her more—the scandal ruining her life or the fact that she’d been hit with it as coitus interruptus. “No, I haven’t.”
“Damn,” Harper said, shoving her dark hair behind her ear. “You’re literally paying for a crime you haven’t even had the pleasure to commit.”
“Right?” Natalie practically shrieked. There was another knock at her door. “Hang on a sec, Harp. If that is him, and he thinks muffins fixes this, I’m going to have to kill him.”
“Lemme know, so I can minimize the screen. If I didn’t see it, I won’t be lying when I claim ignorance of his murder. Try to keep the screams to a dull roar, though, as my honey is sleeping in the living room. He has to work tonight.”
Opening the front door, Natalie considered the giant armfuls of flowers that hid the doorman. “For me?” she asked.
“Yes,” she thought she heard him reply. Grabbing the flowers, she still couldn’t see him. Or the door. Stepping back a couple of feet, she said, “Can you close that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the doorman kindly. The poor guy. She owed him more than a nice basket at Christmas. Maybe a new car with a gift basket in it? Ha. Like she’d be able to afford the apartment in December. At this rate, she would be lucky to be able to afford bologna.
Putting the giant bouquets next to the muffin tower, she gestured at all the roses and then stared Harper down on the laptop screen. “Flowers. How damn typical is that?”
“Is there a card?” Harper asked.
“Um,” Natalie answered, rummaging through the jungle of luckily thorn-free buds. “Yes, there is.”
“Well, read it.” Harper waved a hand, a smile blooming on her face.
“This isn’t funny,” Natalie told her.
“Yeah, right. Read the damn card. I’m dying of suspense over here.”
Before she could read the card, there was another knock at her door. “What the hell?” Natalie practically shrieked.
“He’s a gagillionaire,” Harper said. “When he messes up, he can afford to be extravagant.”
“It doesn’t solve anything,” Natalie said.
“Yeah, but it is funny as hell for me to watch. Answer your door.”
Natalie did, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. The man was more concerned with a house in the Keys that he lost in a bet than the fact that his actions had long-term ramifications on her life. He was no better than Margo Welles. They squashed little people in their wake and didn’t even care about how much they’d ruined, so long as their perfect little lives weren’t changed in the slightest.
This time, it was another box. Just as big as the muffin box, but even heavier. “Will this be continuing, ma’am?” asked the doorman. He was a bit red in the face and had broken a sweat, the moisture beading on his balding head.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
“Whoever he is,” the doorman suggested. “Just forgive him. I’m too old for this.”
Natalie grunted and closed the door in his face with her hip. There went his hypothetical car.
Harper was practically bouncing as she clapped her hands. “Card first, then box,” she demanded. “You have to open things in the order that he sent them, just in case there is a method to his madness.”
“Madness is right,” Natalie agreed. But she ripped the card open and scanned the words. “Oh, brother.”
“What did he say? What did he say? What did he say?” Harper singsonged.
Flipping the card around so Harper could read it, Natalie said the words aloud. “I’m a jerk. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. Come in to the offices. We’ll figure out how to fix this, but we need to do it together.”
“He sent that with roses? Not altogether that romantic,” Harper pointed out.
“Why would he be romantic?” Natalie asked blushing. “He’s my client.”
She didn’t mention the fact that only yesterday, he’d had her spread like a Christmas turkey, waiting to be stuffed with his impressive bulge when his brother interrupted with the news of the chaos he’d caused, albeit without any action on his part other than losing his phone.
“Oh, honey… Your clients do not send you giant piles of muffins and roses. If you think for a minute I’m buying that all you have going with him is a consultation, you forgot who I am.”
Natalie shrugged. “Maybe I consulted him on the proper way to get me off, and maybe he was pretty good at that, but—”
“You said you never saw his thingy!” Harper shrieked. From behind her, Natalie heard a moan and Harper stage-whispered, “Sorry, sweetie!”
“I didn’t ever see it,” Natalie admitted. “But he saw mine.”
“Apparently, you’ve been out of the game for far too long. The game is, I show you mine, you show me yours.”
Natalie rolled her eyes, nudging the box with a sock-clad toe. “Yeah, I never got around to the second part. We got interrupted.”
“Was he any good? Like, so far?” Harper chewed the end of her fingertip. “Like on a scale of one to ten?”
“Sixty-five,” Natalie admitted.
“Hell, I would have forgiven him at the muffins, if he was a sixty-five. Open the box!”
Shrugging, Natalie obeyed, ripping through the tape with a butter knife. The box was emblazoned with the Boyd Cosmetics logo and inside…
“Oh,” she whispered, tearing up. “Okay, I get it.”
“What the hell is it?” Harper demanded. At her yell, another groan followed by the words, “Come on!” sounded from behind her. She yelled back into the house, “Oh, hush! I’ll make it up to you later! This stuff is important!”
By the time she turned back around to face Natalie again via the video call, Natalie was holding up a letter at the screen. “I can’t read it!” Harper yelped. “It is too pixelated. Read it to me,” she demanded.
Sniffling, Natalie rubbed her nose on her sleeve. “It says, and I quote, ‘Do not put glue on your face.’”
“What?” Harper looked confused, her pretty face scrunching as she tried to work it out. “Wait, what is in the damn box?”
Holding up a single tube, which she knew from experience was worth probably somewhere in the range of three or four hundred dollars, she sniffled again. “He sent me face masks. And creams. And makeup. Look, I have that new color palette, the one that comes out next month. He sent me a box of things. So that I don’t put glue on my face.”
“Oh,” Harper breathed. “Now you gotta forgive him.”
“I do,” Natalie agreed. “This was actually really sweet.”
“How did that whole glue mask thing work out?” Harper asked curiously.
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Depends on how you look at it, I guess.” Which kind of summed up the whole situation, in her point of view.
…
Although she’d agreed with Harper about having to forgive Foster, it wasn’t like she could go anywhere. The press didn’t look like they were leaving her sidewalk, and she wished for a brutal rainstorm. Followed by, maybe, hail. Big chunks of golf-ball-sized hail. And maybe a rain of burning turtles, plunking with their hard shells like little lava bombs.
But, sadly, the weather was fine and the press were persistent. Must be a slow news week, she couldn’t help thinking, while staring down at them from her balcony. She’d already seen one station air video of her standing on the patio, looking down at them, but they blurred out her hand when she gave them the finger.
Probably not the best move on her part, but they were really annoying her. She knew better than to give a statement—nothing she could say would deter the press when they thought they had a great and salacious story. Not even the fact that, when she looked up the supposed sexting conversation online, the woman who was having intimate conversations a few months ago with Foster clearly had way bigger boobs. When considering her own chest in comparison, it was a little unnerving. For one, she could see, honestly, why Foster had been talking to whomever he was texting. Hell, just seeing the tatas on the internet was enough to give Natalie a girl crush. They were amazing.
For two, it made her feel a little insecure about her own assets. If Foster had a woman like that sending him messages like those, why on earth would he bother with Natalie?
Then again, she thought morosely, he didn’t go back for seconds. From the looks of the texts online, he’d even admitted as much to the woman and it hadn’t deterred her.
It hadn’t deterred Natalie, either. After spending so much time with him, she was willing to have one and done. Just to have him once, based on their one experience, would be enough for a lifetime.
Or so she tried to convince herself as she gazed down at the press. She wanted to flick pennies at them, but they’d just sue her for damages. Might be worth it.
She’d sent both Boyd brothers a text message. The one to Connor was pretty simple. Although you won the bet, the board still wants to see improvement and you’ve come so far already. Keep up the good work! She’d included a smiley face emoji with the message.
Connor responded simply, On it. She took that to mean he was sticking with his ten rules, which would have to be enough since she couldn’t exactly distract him from her imprisonment at her house.
To Foster, she’d texted, Fine. You have a point. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll be back at work when I can get out of my house. THEY’RE still here.
But he didn’t answer, leaving her to wonder if he’d ever gotten his phone back.
When there was a knock at her door, she wondered if it was yet another random delivery from Foster. So far, her table was overflowing. After the cosmetics and skin care stuff, he’d sent her an online order of various groceries, because he knew she was trapped, and another flower arrangement. It looked like a breakfast wake to her career was happening in her dining room.
But she was surprised when she spotted Harper out the peep hole. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was coming in for a surprise visit. Then I saw the news. Have you seen the news? Are you okay?” Harper dropped an overnight bag on the floor and headed over to the table to snag a muffin.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Natalie answered, only a little sarcastically.
Harper tilted her head and sniffed. “You smell funky. Have you showered?”
Scowling at her best friend, Natalie snatched the muffin back. “No muffins if you’re going to insult me.”
“Is it insulting if it is true? No, in all seriousness, I came to check on you in your hour of need because I got the impression you were kinda down in the dumps. The PJs in the afternoon confirm my assumption that I’m here in your hour of need. Or at the very least your hour of sad.”
Natalie gave her the muffin back and flopped on the couch. “No, to answer your question. I have not seen the news. I shut it off somewhere around gold-digging whore, if I remember correctly.”
“Aw, sweetie. No one called you a whore. They can’t say that on television. That said, they’re not even talking about you as of what I last heard. They’re talking about Foster Boyd.” Harper bit into the muffin, interrupting her own story, and then her eyes rolled back. After chewing and swallowing, she added. “Have you tried these? They’re amazing.”
“They’re guilt muffins. I haven’t eaten any guilt muffins, no, but I’m assuming they’re salty with the tears of my stupidity,” Natalie snarked.
Harper snorted. “No, you’re the one who is salty. Seriously, though, you shouldn’t watch the news. On the upside, your life should be returning to normal and your consulting with the Boyds must be working since they diffused this situation with more grace than I can remember any celebrity using in the past. On the downside, I’m going to have to throat punch Foster Boyd, if I ever meet him. Which I probably won’t, because he’s a billionaire, and I’m so totally not in his social circles.”
Harper joined Natalie on the couch and Natalie tried to sort through her words. “Wait, what?”
“Foster. He made a statement and now the news isn’t interested in you.”
“But—” Natalie leapt to her feet, moving to the window. Sure enough, the press was gone except for one guy who was clearly packing up his stuff to leave. “The press has been practically living on my sidewalk. What could he possibly have said?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Harper said. “The important part is that they’re gone and you can go back to life as usual.”
Natalie turned and grabbed for her remote. Harper, apparently foreseeing the action, dropped her muffin onto the carpet and lunged for the small piece of plastic. The ensuing wrestling match only lasted a few seconds before Natalie triumphed, waving the remote around in pleasure. “Ha!”
“Seriously, you’re probably better off not watching the news. I love you, and what he said isn’t important.” Harper, who usually joked around and otherwise made light of everything, suddenly looked serious and tense. Natalie’s stomach bottomed out, and her fingertips tingled. Whatever he’d said, it must be bad for Harper to worry about her seeing it.
Which meant she had to see it.
“I’m good. I’m a big girl. Sticks and stones and all that,” Natalie assured Harper while she turned on the television.
“He’s an idiot,” Harper said. “He owes you more muffins. Do you have to see what he said to understand—”
But Natalie tuned her out, focusing on the news. It took a few minutes for it to cycle back to the celebrity gossip, but then the newscaster announced, “And as usual, the Boyd twins are making news. The Firstborn Prince took a moment to speak with a reporter today, and he had this to say…”
The smaller screen next to the newscaster went from a still shot of the twins together to video of Foster. He looked tired, Natalie noticed. As if maybe all the stress of the situation had been translated to him as well and he was losing sleep, worrying about it and her.
But then his words penetrated Natalie’s brain. “It is comical really,” Foster was saying. “I’ve dated how many models and actresses? And the press actually believed that I was sexting an image consultant? Come on, who actually believed that? Clearly, it was a slow news day and some intrepid reporter had nothing better to do than fabricate the whole thing. Look, Sam,” Foster said to the reporter, leaning in as if sharing a confidence. “I promise, if you found pictures of a woman on my phone, she was someone a little more well-known than a washed-up image consultant, you know what I’m saying?”
The reporter laughed and then leaned closer to Foster. “Care to share who the pictures were of, then, Mr. Boyd?”
Foster shot a charming grin at the camera. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He winked and the still frame of the twins popped back up. The newscaster had more to say, but Natalie turned off the television.
Her legs had turned to lead and she dropped onto the couch. “Well, that explains why the press isn’t camping out at my house anymore,” she managed, trying a fake laugh.
When Harper leaned in to hug her, Natalie held one hand up in self-defense. “No, really, I’m fine.”
If Harper hugged her, she might cry. She didn’t want to cry.
She’d gone into the situation knowing what and who Foster was, so why did it surprise her to hear him publicly deny he’d be connected to a woman like her? He hadn’t said anything that the public would be surprised by—and she shouldn’t be surprised, either.
Even if she’d felt like they were starting to have something.
It wasn’t his fault she’d built castles in the air. Not really.
Plus, who knew? Maybe he was just saying all that to make the press leave her alone and get rid of the scandal.
He didn’t have to sound so damn believable when he said it, if that were the truth.
Shaking her head, she faced Harper. “Well, since most of the day is gone anyway, it isn’t like he can expect me to come to work. And you’re in town. I’ve missed you. Do you wanna go out to dinner?”
Harper’s face looked sad, as if she knew that Natalie was faking it, but she simply shook her head. “I’m in more of a movies and takeout mood. Wanna just chill here in our pajamas and have a slumber party?”
“I’ve got alcohol,” Natalie said with a small smile. “Plus, I’m already dressed for the occasion.”
“I’ll go get changed,” Harper said, snagging her overnight bag and heading toward the bathroom. “You sure you’re okay, champ?”
Natalie powered up her smile, sure she could fake it until she was okay. “I’m good. I’m glad you’re here, Harp.”
“Me, too,” said her best friend before disappearing into the hallway.
Grabbing her phone, Natalie checked it for texts. There was one, from Foster. I fixed things in the best way I knew how. Like I told you, we don’t look for the press, they find us. I told them what they wanted to hear, and your life should be back to normal. See you at work tomorrow?
She looked out the window, breathing slowly a few times while she collected the shards of her pride again. If there was one thing she was getting super good at, it was rebuilding her pride after it took a hit.
See you then, she texted back.
But for tonight, she’d drink a little with her best friend and let herself be sad. She really needed to remember who he was and not get distracted by who she wished he was. It was better this way, really. No illusions.
No princes who fell in love with paupers. Just real life. And some days…
Real life sucked.