worked for Rachel—she clearly knows how to take control of a situation.
Beck left me a note that he’d be busy until late afternoon, so it’s time to play tourist. After I call my mom to let her know I’m both still alive and still with Beck. I also give her the full explanation about his money and his family. She’s a little astounded, to say the least. And fair enough. I’m not even sure I’ve gotten my head around it all yet.
I walk over to Larimer Square to look around. Lots of cool boutiques and an Italian restaurant with awesome pizza and a Cucumber Lavender Rickey to die for. Got to love old-fashioned cocktails gone hipster. This is when my cell chimes, alerting me to a text.
Natasha: Hey.
Me: Hi! How you doing?
Natasha: Work, life, blah blah blah. What about you?
Me: Met someone, quit my job, and maybe moved to Denver.
Natasha: Maybe or did move to Denver? This is not an in-between kind of statement. Unless you’re stuck halfway in Utah.
Me: Did. I guess. Guy I met comes from here.
And that’s when my cell rings.
“I can’t wait for you to text me,” says Natasha, by way of greeting. “I need answers now. So you finally told Rob to shove it, huh?”
We used to work together at the bar before she ran off to New York. She knows the pain that is Rob firsthand. “I did,” I say. “It was glorious. Called him rude words and everything.”
“And now you’re in Denver?”
“Yes. A guy came to work at the bar—let’s call him hot busboy for the sake of this story—and we started flirting and stuff happened.”
“Okay.”
“Then it turned out he was rich and came from Denver and had to go back to Denver so eventually I went there too and that brings us up to now.”
“Wait,” she says. “He’s rich? How rich?”
“Very. Think big wealthy dysfunctional family with lots of mansions and businesses and I do not fit in.”
“But he wants you there.”
I smile. “He does. Anyway, how are things with you?”
“I work, I date, I drink coffee. The usual.” She sighs. “Tell me more about rich busboy. That’s far more interesting. Nice catch, by the way.”
“Please don’t say that.” I sigh. “I didn’t set out to catch a rich dude or something. It just kind of happened.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“He’s the greatest. I really like him.”
“You’re using middle school speak. Give me specifics. How does he treat you? What’s he like in bed?” she rapid fires questions. “What’s his name?”
“Great. None of your business. And Beck Olson.”
“Putting you on speaker so I can look him up.”
“Okay.” I wait. “What have you found?”
“You haven’t looked him up yourself?” she asks. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start answering that question.” I stir my drink with a paper straw. “His stepmother gave me a makeover yesterday. Clothes, hair, makeup…the whole shebang.”
“Why don’t you sound happy? Normal people love makeovers. Especially when someone else is paying.” She makes a humming noise. “Ex-fiancée is pretty. I hate her already.”
“She’s actually not that bad. At least she’s been sort of nice to me.”
“Fuck me, his mother is a supermodel.”
“Crazy, right?”
“This is wild,” says Natasha. “Oh, he is a very good-looking specimen. That jawline, that dark floppy hair. I think I’m in love.”
“Don’t make me hang up on you.”
“Hey, there’s a photo of you two together.”
“There is? Where?”
“Denver Days. Looks like a lifestyle slash gossip site,” she says. “If it makes you feel any better, the makeover you got worked a treat. You look very shiny. Lots of speculation about new mystery girlfriend and his return in the wake of his father’s death. Not much else.”
I put her on speaker, look up the site, and cringe. Photos of me in general are the worst. Though the outfit and hair are pretty great. It’s from when we were standing outside the Heritage yesterday. I hadn’t even realized there was a photographer around at that stage. “Hmm.”
“I’ve never had a famous friend.”
“You still don’t. He’s got the name and money, not me,” I say. “I’ve never had random people digging into my private life before. This is so strange. Let alone living this lifestyle, having these things, which I’ve done nothing to deserve.”
“Try to put the guilt aside and see it as weird fun as opposed to weird horrible.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re telling yourself shitty things inside your head, aren’t you?” she says, voice stern. “You need to cut that out. It’s bullying. You’re cute and cool and he’s lucky to