level of scrutiny I was in no way prepared for. Not after that kiss. Then, at long last, he shook his head. “No.”
“Um. Okay.” I sat up straight and pulled my shit together. “Time to go?”
“Yeah.” He turned away. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FIVE
When I woke, it always took me a moment to remember where I was. I lay spread-eagled in the middle of a big white plush bed in a room out of some interior design magazine. Like the rest of the house, the décor was a mix of mid-century and modern, expensive but minimal, with lots of cool art. And then there was the view out over the city through the French doors. A moderately smoggy day. Not too bad.
Dinner last night had been . . . interesting. I still didn’t know if I should high-five myself or smack myself in the forehead for asking for that kiss. As per usual, Patrick disappeared as soon as we arrived home. I mean, as soon as we arrived. So I got ready for bed and started another book, Act Like It by Lucy Parker. My dreams were a mix of smutty and strange.
Taking the last year off sex hadn’t been as much of a struggle as I imagined it would be. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to use toys, and I was ready to take a break from men’s bullshit. But getting up close and personal with Patrick made things trickier. My thirst for the man was real, despite all of our lies. Not that I couldn’t control myself. Of course I could. I just hadn’t had to in a long time.
Turning thirty might be a downer for some. The whole idea of leaving your twenties and your supposed youth behind you can be tough. But for me, it resulted in a shedding of fucks. Both figurative and actual. And you wouldn’t believe how much lighter everything felt after I deleted the dating apps from my phone. I just gave up on the ideal of a steady relationship and a dynamic career, and focused on learning how to be happy with me in the here and now. I was a work in progress, but that was okay.
Anyway.
The collection of texts, emails, and messages on my cell had grown overnight. Social media was an unrelenting bitch. Gran never much minded what other people thought of her and I tried to follow her example, but it wasn’t always easy. The DMs included vile comments about me, occasional threats from crazy fans, naked pictures from women who were sure they could make him happier, and so on. What with being female, I’d become used to the occasional unsolicited dick pic. This barrage of pussy and boobs, however, was both new and unusual. Not sure what they hoped to achieve. To so shake my confidence that I’d pass their photos and phone numbers on to Patrick, perhaps? Give up and go home?
The messages from my fans were nice, though. Of course, just having fans felt bizarre. I’d done nothing of note beyond date someone famous. Guess they enjoyed seeing my normal alongside the spectacular. How sad was our society that a girl with curves and the occasional bad hair day could still be deemed a novelty? But I knew being lifted from minimum-wage drudgery into a life of luxury was a dream. And they might like me for that reason. Or who they perceived me to be.
There were requests for interviews and an offer to write a relationship advice column. No thank you. I barely knew what I was doing on a good day. And Patrick’s new partner preferred keeping a low profile according to Angie. Apart from the strategic public appearances we were making about town, of course.
Fakery sure could be a complicated endeavor.
So I ignored everything on my cell except the messages labeled “urgent” and “sorry” from Mei. And that’s when everything went to shit.
Patrick’s bedroom door was still shut, so I knocked. Nothing happened. Maybe because I’d knocked so softly it would take a person with super-enhanced ears to have heard my gentle tapping. My stomach curdled, my shoulders slumped. And the way shame and anger fought it out inside of me pissed me off.
I knocked again. This time with meaning.
A moment later, Patrick, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, skin still damp from his shower, appeared before me. Given the situation, I couldn’t even enjoy the view.
“Norah,” he said, frown in place. “What’s wrong?”
“You haven’t talked to Angie