Chapter Twenty-Three

Kristen

An afternoon coffee would’ve been my preference. Coffee is always better for a first date; if the guy turns out to be a dud, I can cut it short and make my escape.

But Nicolas said lunch was the only time he could get away. Apparently his boss is a “dick of epic proportions.”

And I do have to eat. So why not have a sandwich together? If it goes well, I can stay an hour. If not, I can bail in half. Blame an emergency meeting or something. I don’t have those anymore, but Nicolas doesn’t know that.

I hope he turns out to be a great guy. The kind of guy who makes fireworks go off inside me with a look. Or maybe he can be the second guy ever to make me want to drag him to a nearby hotel and screw his brains out…so I can forget the first.

I’m eight point five percent recovered from Antoine. I’ve given myself five weeks to get over him—one week per year of unrequited love—and it’s been three days. With the right guy, I’m sure I can accelerate the process. I might even be able to move on in less than four weeks. Or maybe even instantly. Some people fall in love in a second. Just look at my brother and his wife.

Although the mob behind #PedHo has basically dispersed now, I am still instantly recognizable, thanks to the Hollywood Blaze…which, of course, doesn’t bother to issue an apology. It claimed to be the victim of an unscrupulous paparazzo. Haha, cry me a fucking river, assholes.

So I put on a casual fitted pink shirt and faded blue jeans, Chucks, a pair of giant sunglasses and a pink Nike cap I got in Tokyo. The last two do a pretty decent job of hiding my face.

Five before twelve, I walk into Galore II. It’s a brand new deli not too far from Dominic’s penthouse. The owners are the same people who started the original Galore, which serves some of the best sandwiches in town. They have tons of gluten-free options, including bread that tastes surprisingly like your standard fare. I grab a turkey and cheese sandwich on thick rustic bread with extra mustard, no onions or pickles, plus a tall iced organic jasmine green tea and a bag of plain baked potato chips. A sandwich without chips is like an haute couture dress without heels.

I see Nicolas in the crowd. He’s easy to spot since he looks just like his profile photo. One point for Nicolas.

He got a table near a window. As I approach, he stands and pulls out a chair for me with an easy smile that shows teeth any dentist would admire. “Kristen, how lovely.”

Putting down my plastic tray, I smile back at him. “Nice to meet you in person, Nicolas.”

“Please, call me Nick. All my friends do.” We shake hands.

I wait until he’s seated again and study him. I’ve been to a few photo shoots, and pictures don’t always tell you everything. Good models and great photographers can put more than there is into their pictures. A model can be dumb as a rock or have a volcanic temper, but somehow they can project intelligence or calm in their photos.

On the other hand, most normal people don’t know how to put all that into their pictures. They aren’t trained to pose, and they don’t have a top photographer to guide them if they don’t know what to do. That’s why there are so many awkward and ill-advised selfies, with the subjects trying too hard.

Nick is definitely the second case, although not one of worst I’ve seen. His profile pic only showed him as being good-looking, failing to capture his intelligence and cultured sophistication.

Good manners. Friendly. Smart. Seems honest. Guess I can have my regular one-hour lunch, then set up a second date before he has to go back to work.

Before I can ask him about himself, he asks me about my work and what it’s like to work for Lola, a young designer who gets a lot of hype. I just smile since I don’t want to discuss the raw deal I got. Instead, I talk about fashion in general. Most men find it boring. Even Dominic, who’s proud of my accomplishments, gets a glaze in his eyes if I go on for more than a couple of minutes. Nick will change the topic to something more to his liking soon enough.

But no. He leans forward, hmming and body-languaging me to continue every time I trail off.

After a little while, it’s time to change the subject. “What is it that you do, exactly,” I ask in a teasing tone, “that you can’t take an afternoon coffee break?”

“I’m a novelist.”

“Ah. Then your ‘dick of epic proportions’ boss would be…?”

“Moi.” Nick grins sheepishly. “I basically work for myself, and I’m not an easy boss to please.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m the same way about my own designs, and sometimes my sister-in-law says I should just not be so hard on myself.”

“People who want to do great things tend to be hard on themselves. If they can’t produce good work, how can they expect it of others?”

“Right! I—” The door to Galore II opens, and Antoine walks through. His office is too far away for him to be casually dropping by for lunch.

Antoine’s presence demands all my attention. Everything else fades into sepia tones, with only him bright and glowing like a star in a black sky. He looks amazing, his clothes crisp as though he hasn’t been wearing them for hours. There’s a five o’clock shadow on his jaw now. Danger and menace coil around him, and he moves toward my table with control and animal elegance.

The air catches in my throat, and quickly I reach for my tea. I don’t want to act like an idiot after telling myself I’m eight point five percent over him. Why is he here? And what’s up with that grim expression?

Oh my God. Did something happen to Dominic? Liza?

I start to rise. “What’s wrong?” I ask, as my brain warns me something’s very, very off.

Then it finally hits me. I’m not the center of attention here. Antoine is staring at Nick.

“What the hell are you doing?” Antoine demands.

“Having lunch with a beautiful woman,” Nick answers, enunciating each word neatly. “And you’re interrupting our date.”

Antoine’s expression turns grim. It wouldn’t surprise me if he flipped the table and kicked Nick in the face.

Antoine says something to Nick in rapid French. Although I spent six months in Paris after my time in Milan, my French isn’t good enough to catch it. Nick responds in the same language, his eyebrows snapping together, and the easy, affable demeanor is replaced by anger and something that looks suspiciously like the chagrined frustration of a teenager who’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Pointing at the door, Antoine barks something, and Nick stands. He moves as though he’s about to stiffen his shoulder and bump it against Antoine’s, then thinks better of it and leaves, his stride short.

Antoine spins the now unoccupied chair and straddles it, his forearms resting on the back. He pins me to my seat with a hard stare.

I scowl back.

“What are you doing with that fucker?”

“Seriously, Antoine? You have to ask?”

“Yes.”

“I’m dating—well, I’m trying to date—other people. You know, trying to find a man who will think me hot, sexy, desirable…words you said you’d never associate with me.”

Antoine looks like he’s discovered a twitching fly on his favorite food—a rare porterhouse steak. “But him?”

“Yes. He’s perfect.”

“Are you blind?”

I cross my arms. “Are you doing this to be a douche?”

“No. I’m doing this because I want to. I would’ve done it even if you hadn’t asked me.”

“You’re supposed to make me not like you, not screw up my love life.”

“This is your idea of your love life going well?”

“Yes!”

“He’s a fucking dick. He doesn’t care about you or how you feel.”

I gasp. The nerve! “And you know this…how?” I snap my fingers. “Oh, wait! Because you care so much about me and my feelings!”

Even as I try so hard to act like I don’t care, I’m still hurting. I can’t unhear what he said to his mom, and I’m feeling too raw about that. And Antoine can probably tell I’m not okay.

Screw it. I’m not even one percent over Antoine yet.

Hating life in general, I get up, toss the leftover sandwich and tea into the trash, shove the unopened chips into my purse and leave.

Antoine follows. “Kristen…”

My gaze straight ahead, I keep walking toward my car.

“Come on. Talk to me.”

I flip him the bird. Then I get in the car and speed to Dominic’s penthouse. Despite my annoyance, I’m not allowed to return to my own place yet because my brother’s still freaked out about Mr. Naked Intruder.

When I park my car and get out, the familiar black SUV stops next to me and disgorges Antoine. You gotta be kidding…

I trot toward the elevator. He follows.

“Go back to work. Or I’m going to tell Dominic you’ve been lazy and derelict in your duties.” I sound prim and pissy. Ugh. I was aiming for furious, or maybe just not to be messed with.

“I’ll risk it.”

I cross my arms. My temper simmers as we ascend to the top floor, but I’m not having a fight right now. There’s a camera inside the elevator, and I’m not making a public scene that can be twisted to bite my ass.

The second Antoine and I walk inside, Tolyan takes one look at my face, gets up and leaves without a word. When the door clicks shut behind him, I turn to Antoine and let loose. “You know what you are, Antoine?” I say, pointing a finger smack in the middle of his chest. “You’re a dog in a manger!”

“A what?”

“A dog in a manger. An asshole who lies down on a pile of hay so that the hungry cows can’t eat.”

He stares at me like I’m not making any sense, and it pisses me off until I see red.

“Go ahead. Google it and you’ll see a picture of your face! You don’t want me, but you don’t want me dating other guys, either. And because they don’t care about me and my feelings? That’s such bullshit. I’ll date whoever I good and damn well want, and if I happen to go for a guy who’s a douche, that’s my life. It doesn’t concern you.”

“Why the hell not?”

The genuine confusion in his voice is too much. I glare up at him. “Because…!” I’m nothing to you! I can’t say it because it’s too humiliating. So instead, I say, “You’re nothing to me.”

Antoine looks at me like I slapped him, his face pale.

I should stop, but I can’t. I jab my finger in his direction repeatedly as I make my point. “I’m doing what you want me to do. You told your mom you’d rather cut off your balls than marry me. That couldn’t have been clearer. I’m trying to accommodate you because it’s the only thing I can do.” Now I am actually jabbing him in the chest. “You know how crappy it is to hear what you said after I had all those clothes and lingerie sent here with the harebrained idea to seduce you into seeing me as a woman, not your best friend’s baby sister? Do you think I have no pride, just because I have feelings that you’ll never reciprocate?”