Chapter 69
1492words
A hot cup of coffee was thrust under my nose. Followed by an insufferably bright smile.
How was it that no matter how many times he crisscrossed the globe, Nicholas always managed to look as if he'd slept a full eight hours? Even now, after a night of heavy drinking followed by a midnight sprint through downtown Spain, he was all lit up inside. Not a single shadow beneath his sparkling eyes as they beamed down at me, dimples and all.
'It's dark outside," I croaked in response, taking the coffee with a petulant swipe.
He grinned. 'Yes, but technically morning."
Remind me to set the Oxford Debate Club on fire.
'At any rate," he reached down and pulled me gracefully to my feet, 'there's a car ready to take you back to your apartment, your briefcase is already packed, and I've had the stewardess lay out some clothes for you to change into."
My face blanched, and he was quick to explain.
'Not that this late-night clubbing look doesn't suit you, but I figured you might want something a little more put together now that we're back on American soil."
Okay...things were moving a little quick for me to keep up with. Scalding as it was, I gulped down the coffee, and felt as the synapses in my brain slowly blinked back to life.
'Um...thank you," I murmured, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of this speech. When Nicholas was up—he was up. But getting him there often required help from the governments of two separate countries. Wherever he was departing, and wherever he was arriving. Needless to say, it was a speech I had made many, many times myself. 'How did you get clothes in my size—"
I started to ask the question, then glanced up at his sarcastic smile and caught myself just in time. Of course his private plane was stocked with women's clothing. Wake up, Avy.
'I'll just...get changed."
With as much dignity as I could muster, I headed to the back of the plane—the ‘bedroom' portion that I had never spent more than a minute in on any day before. Sure enough, stretched out across the bed was enough ‘jet-setting garb' to make the designers proud. I needed only a glance to see that it was in exactly my size. There was even a pair of boots to match.
With a secret smile, I slipped inside and shut the door to change. Thinking, for the first time since running away from the club, that being Nicholas's girlfriend might not be so bad after all.
A few minutes later, I emerged. Dressed, sober, caffeinated, and ready for whatever the world had to throw at me. I was unaccustomed to these temporary lapses in order, and needless to say, when I stormed back into the main cabin, I had one thing on my mind.
Regain control.
In a lot of ways, this was the dream situation. A handsome, wealthy client. A regimented timeline. And a girl who's every movement I could anticipate as well as my own. Literally.
It was time for me to take charge. The way I'd been doing for two years. The way I'd been programmed to do for even longer than that.
Of course, at that time, I had no way of knowing the simple truth.
...I was about to lose control completely.
'Okay," I said brightly, the second I was back, 'is everyone ready?"
Nicholas looked me up and down, before lifting to his feet. He looked rather dapper himself in a designer suit jacket paired with a simple white tee and some faded jeans. It was the ‘artfully cool' look that so many people tried and failed, but seemed to come effortlessly to a select few.
'Ready." He paused, then added, 'You look nice."
A faint blush rose up in my neck, as I smoothed down my new clothes.
'Um...thanks. You know that I'll pay you back for these—"
'Avy," he held up a hand with a little smile, 'this is a professional arrangement, remember? You're my girlfriend now, so you have to play the part. Let me take care of you."
That blush rose even higher, but I nodded quickly—bowing my head.
'Fake girlfriend," I couldn't help but add. But at the same time, I shot him a sideways grin. He grinned back, echoing the words like a challenge.
'Fake girlfriend."
As if to mock the sentiment, he stoke confidently forward and slipped an arm around my waist. A host of shivers shot across my skin, but I did my best to keep my composure—fixing on a poker face smile that was just as good as his.
Two could play at this game. I'd coached the best of them. Surely I could do it myself.
'Now that that's out of the way," I could have sworn he winked as his hand strayed a tentative inch lower, 'shall we?"
There was a low creak as the door started lowering open. A gust of crisp air flooded inside, and almost instinctively, Nicholas's arm tightened around me. It was only then that I started to realize something was very, very wrong.
The airport was under siege...by an ARMY of reporters.
'What the fuck?"
It slithered through my teeth before I could stop it, and I cringed backward, molding myself into the little curve beneath Nicholas's arm. Since my first day in PR, I had seen more than my share of journalists and paparazzi, but never before had I stood on this side of the cameras.
For the first time, I understood that split second of initial terror that came into so many of my client's eyes. That instinctual urge to run from the swarming hordes, tempered almost immediately by the practiced habit of standing there instead. Letting them drink their fill.
This was how Nicholas lived his life? It felt like...this?
'How the hell did they even know we were coming?"
'I may have made a few calls," Nicholas answered mischievously, so used to this level of invasive harassment that he was completely immune. My mouth fell open in shock, and he chuckled under his breath. 'What can I say? I learned from the best."
He certainly did. Everyone was here. The Times. The Harold. Associated presses from up and down the east coast. Even the San Francisco Chronicle had sent a representative. I didn't think there was anyone he had missed.
'I can't..." I caught my breath and quickly changed the end of that sentence. 'I can't believe you did all this."
All at once, the weight of my innocent Barcelona decision settled hard upon my shoulders. This wasn't some frivolous agreement, made outside an ice-cream parlor. It was dedicating myself to an entire way of life for the next three months.
The pros...and the cons.
'Well, you're stepping into my world," Nicholas's arm tightened around me, and he looked out over the hordes of press with a measured smile, 'I thought it was only fair that I take a few pages out of yours..."
I tried to nod, but it felt like my head wasn't working. With so many pairs of eyes upon me, I suddenly felt as though I couldn't do anything. Nothing felt natural. Everything felt staged.
Was this how I usually stood? With my feet angled like that? What about my hands—so clunky and in the way. Where the hell was I supposed to put my hands?!
'Hey."
A gentle voice cut through my panic, heading it off before it could begin. I lifted my eyes to see Nicholas staring down at me, those blue eyes twinkling back into mine.
'Are you okay?"
All at once, I felt a sudden rush of confidence. Maybe it was the new clothes. Maybe it was the private jet. Maybe it was the fact that not only was I snuggled up in the arms of one of the most desirable men on the planet, but he was a man that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, I could absolutely trust.
No matter what the reason, I lifted my chin and gazed boldly out across the hangar.
'Yeah—I'm fine." My blood rose with the challenge. 'Let's do this."
And that...was when everything fell apart.
I didn't take one step—not one step—before the world around me lit up with blue. But not just any sort of blue. Not the kind that you could see through, or was, god-forbid, even remotely intermittent. No—this kind of blue pierced through your eyes even when they were closed, burning the retinas while effectively eliminating everything else around it. And it didn't come and go. I realized this even as I caught my breath, waiting for some kind of relief. Nope, once it started, this kind of blue was here to stay.
I was blind. Absolutely, inescapably, blind.
'Nicholas—"
'I know," he said softly, finishing my thought before I had to do it myself.
