“Of course not,” I smirk. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “It’s not my fault women tend to offer me their hotel room keys when they meet me. Comes with the job. But don’t worry, I’ll behave, just for you.”
I turn and leave my agent, glaring a hole into my back and wrap my arm around the blonde. She’s all too happy to have me back in her orbit, and I lead her out of the bar, and I know tonight is going to be a good night.
When I open my eyes, a banging headache attacks me with a vengeance so fierce I groan in agony. Jesus, how much did I drink last night? I do remember a shot of tequila at almost midnight after some coaxing from the women, but I had water in my hand for most of the evening. I glance over to my left and find the opposite side of the bed empty.
Thank fuck.
I don’t need to have made a mistake by having a one-night stand when I promised Blythe I’d behave. Even though I’m not known for being celibate, I know I have to have my head in the game today.
I try to get up, but my body and my mind are at war with each other. If Blythe walks in here now, I’ll be sent to the slaughterhouse. She warned me to be careful, but I’ve never had a careful bone in my body.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and another groan rumbles in my chest. The floor is strewn with clothes. I don’t know whose they are, because mine is on the chair, but I take note of not one, but three pairs of panties on the carpet, all different colors. Shit.
Giggles finally break through my hangover fog, and the bathroom door opens to the three ladies I met last night. They’re all still in their outfits from the party.
“Hey, you’re awake,” the blonde one states. I don’t know her name—at least, I can’t remember it. But I watch her pick up the pink pair and slip them up her thighs. “We’re all heading out for breakfast at Harold’s,” she announces. “Are you coming?”
Shaking my head, then stilling all movement because I feel like shit, I respond, “No thanks. I’m not the breakfast type.”
I can feel her disappointment. She rushes toward me and plants a kiss on my cheek before setting a card down on the nightstand, which I don’t bother looking at.
“Call me.”
And soon, I’m alone in my room with no more giggling and squeaky voices. I take a long, deep breath and focus on the thumping headache playing a heavy drumbeat in my head.
Pushing off the bed, I grab the landline and dial for room service. I told her I’m not the breakfast type, but I didn’t feel like the needy morning-after conversations that usually comes from women like them.
They want to be seen with me. It’s the same back home. And that’s not something I need or want right now. Perhaps Simon is right. It’s time to change my lifestyle.
But that will mean settling down. Finding a woman that I’m worthy of, and that’s never been who I am. Can I even do that? Have one woman for the rest of my life?
I chuckle and shake my head as I make my way to the bathroom and focus on getting rid of this fucking hangover before I meet Blythe for lunch.
4
Violet
From the moment I step into the salon to the second I walk out, I feel the nerves ebb and flow through me. I shouldn’t be this wound up. It’s my job, something I’ve wanted all my life, but the thought of being around Manhattan’s elite just for a story makes my stomach twist in knots.
The dress Blythe promised arrived this morning. When I opened the zipper on the bag, I almost fainted.
She expects me to wear something that has less material than a goddamned bikini. Well, okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But there isn’t much to the garment, and the soft, pastel blue of the silk is not a color I would’ve chosen.
When the stylist asks what I want to be done to my hair, I tell him to go wild. And that’s what he does. After asking me a myriad of questions, he opts for a raven color, then feathers the layers to surround my face and drops in a few electric-blue highlights through the dark strands.
They’re not noticeable, but the moment I step into the sun, they’re almost luminous. It’s not something I would’ve chosen, but it works. And I know it will look great with the dress.
My nails are painted blue along with my toes, which will be visible in the strappy sandals I've picked out for tonight. I have two hours to get home, try to eat something, and then get ready.
I didn't eat breakfast because it felt as if a flurry of butterflies came alive in my stomach attacking me with a vengeance. The last time I was this nervous was the day I went for my interview with Clarissa.
And of course, that went well. So, there’s no reason this should be any different.
By the time I reach home, I’m thinking about taking a long nap, but I know that will be a mistake, so I open my laptop and open my favorite website.
"Ask Ida."
I open the contact page and type out my message.
Dear Ida,
I have a very important event this evening. One that could change my career. But the nerves that have hold of me make me feel like I’m on a roller coaster, and I cannot get off.
You know the feeling? Like you can’t eat or sleep, or even thinking of anything else? Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m suffering through at the moment. My first thought was, I should get some Dutch courage in me, but I haven’t had a thing to eat, and that may be detrimental to my evening.
What would you do?
Crazy in Brooklyn
I hit send and go to the kitchen. Even though I’m starving, I can’t think of anything to make. Toast could be a good option since it’s not rich with spices, but that would mean carbs, and if I’m going to pull off that dress tonight, I want something lighter. Nerves rattle me, but the job is more important than my anxiety of being out at a club.
Opening the fridge, I opt for Greek strawberry-flavored yogurt, which is easy to swallow, and it’s not sugary. I keep telling myself I’m nervous about the party, but in actual fact, it has nothing to do with the nightclub. The reason my body is in disarray is because I’m going to meet Colton King for the first time. And even though he’s a player and would never look twice at someone like me, I can’t deny he’s gorgeous.
Settling on the stool at the breakfast bar, I spoon some yogurt into my mouth. The smooth, creamy taste of the yogurt hits my taste buds, and I’m happy with my decision.
My thoughts go back to Colton. He’s one of those guys you have a crush on in high school or college, but he’s unattainable because he’s far too lovely. He’s far too perfect, and those are the ones you need to steer clear of because they’re trouble.
A rugged, chiseled jaw, with a sharp nose, and gorgeous teal eyes. His tousled brown hair always looks messy, but it’s sexy because he’s wearing it. The smooth, tanned skin that’s adorned with a touch of ink on his shoulder. But it’s the one on his toned torso intrigues me. The tattoo that sits on his ribs, the dreamcatcher, is striking, and I find myself curious. I wonder what it means. Is there something that brought on the decision to mark his skin for life?
I’m almost certain no man would be caught dead with something so feminine on them, which begs the question—was that for someone special, or what meaning does it have for him?