Page 7 of Naughty Nelle

His left eye twitches. He’s got some kind of weird eye tic. “Yeah. You’re a big gambler.”

News to me.

“And what about all these florist and Barneys charges?”

Scott smiles. “After meeting Katrina, you couldn’t stop buying her extravagant flowers and clothes. I’ve never seen anyone as smitten as you.” He takes another bite of the sandwich. “Katrina showed me the love letters you sent with your gifts. I swear, man, you’re a regular Shakespeare.”

I find it disconcerting that my fiancée would share something so personal with him. But then again, they must be close. Maybe she saved them. Reading them might help jar my memory and my amorous feelings toward her. With this thought in mind, I go back to scanning the multitude of expenses. Another entry jolts me—a hefty one hundred thousand dollar check made out to the Bella Stadler Academy of Acting. My eyes flutter. Bella Stadler…the name rings a bell. I ask Scott about it.

“Don’t you remember, Brandon? She was your acting coach. You give to her school annually. You’re a big supporter.”

Tugging at my bottom lip with my thumb, I dwell on her name, a memory trying to break through. It’s futile. I move on. A few minutes later I find what I’ve been looking for. A whopping one point two million dollar charge at Tiffany’s. Made on the day of my accident. Katrina’s engagement ring.

“Did I buy Katrina’s ring just before the accident?” I’m a little surprised I didn’t give her one over our engagement dinner the night before.

“After you proposed and she said yes, you wanted her to pick it out. I was there when you phoned in the charge. You were practically creaming your pants.”

“Wish I were doing that now,” I mumble under my breath before regretting I said anything at all about my condition.

Scott lets out a little laugh before clearing his throat. “Equipment trouble?”

None of your damn business, even though you’re my business manager is what I want to say, but I bite down on my tongue. Instead, I ask to see more of my statements. Without probing further, Scott reaches into the briefcase and hands me another thick file.

“This is your portfolio. You’re worth a billion dollars. You can thank me.”

Holy crap. I am. Or at least close to that I estimate as I leaf through page after page of my investments. I own a shitload of stocks and bonds along with a boatload of real estate around the world. This house alone is worth seven million dollars.

My wealth eats at me. A wave of anxiety courses through me. A new worry. “Scott, I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he says, taking the last big bite of his sandwich.

“Do I have a pre-nup?”

He laughs back his mouthful of food. “Are you kidding me?”

My stomach twists. “What do you mean?”

“What I simply mean is you don’t have one. I tried to talk you into one, but you outright refused. Said you didn’t need one. That you had no plans to get a divorce. And even if you did, you’d want to do the fair thing.”

“Shit.” The word escapes my mouth.

“Man, don’t worry about it. Hey, in the worst-case scenario, if you have to give her half, you’ll still be worth close to five hundred mill. That’s not too shabby.”

A good point. I suppose I’m doing the right thing.

Katrina steps back into the living room. She looks spruced up, a fresh coat of crimson lipstick lining her lush lips. “What are you boys talking about?” she asks coyly.

I quickly close the folder. “Just some business stuff. Nothing terribly important.”

She plucks out a piece of lettuce from one of the sandwiches and nibbles on it like a rabbit. “Well, I’m going to leave you two alone to talk business. I’ve got to meet with my stylist to get my wardrobe together for this week’s show and then head over to Monique’s for my first wedding dress fitting. And then I have my spin class followed by yoga. And after that, I’m heading over to Posh for my regular mani-pedi, facial, and massage.”

Man. She knows how to fill her days. This girl’s high maintenance.

Scott blows her an air kiss. “Bye, babe. Try not to spend too much of my client’s money.”

Before disappearing, Katrina winks at him. “Very funny.”

Not really. My money is not yet hers to spend. I polish off my sandwich once she’s gone. A sports car peeling out of my driveway sounds in my ear.

Scott kicks back, plunking his feet on the coffee table. “Do you mind if I have a smoke?”

I don’t object. I watch as he pulls out a pack of Camel Lights from his breast pocket and lights up a cigarette with a gold monogrammed lighter. He inhales and then exhales, the smoke wafting in the air.

I cough and then my heart jumps. I suddenly remember something about myself. I hate cigarettes. The smell. The taste. Even the look and feel of them. The taste of Katrina drifts back into my head. I hope she’s not a smoker. There’s no way I can live with one.

Scott’s nasal voice cuts into my thoughts. “I brought something else over—the latest Kurt Kussler script.” He pulls it out of his briefcase.

“They’ve had you missing in action to cover for you,” he says as he hands it to me. “Everyone’s looking forward to having you back.”

I glance down at the episode title and shudder. “The Return of the Living Dead.” And then a bolt of trepidation zaps me. With my memory so out of whack, I wonder: can I still act?

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