Page 33 of Say You Hate Me
We’re quiet for the rest of the drive, and as he pulls off the 101, I give him directions to the outdated, 50s ranch-style duplex. He pulls over and squints outside.
“You live there?”
I groan. “Yes. It’s a dump, but it’s safe and I can walk to my favorite bar.”
His lips tilt upwards ever so slightly. “What’s your favorite bar? I might know of it.”
I shake my head. “Why do you care? It’s not exactly your scene, Mr. Rolex.”
He laughs, getting out of the car to unload the trunk. I climb out and reach for my suitcase.
“Does this mean we’re friends?” he asks, rolling the suitcase to me. His face is playful, light. My heart skips a beat as he smiles, his dimples pronounced.
I smirk. “Absolutely not. I still hate your guts.”
And then I walk away, trying to hide the smile on my lips.
18
Natalia
I wakeup the next morning—a Saturday—with my phone ringing. I’d gotten in so late last night that I barely had time to take my shoes off before I’d passed out, face down, in my bed. So, when the shrill melody sounds, I jump out of bed and look around, confused.
I spot my phone hanging out of my jacket pocket and see Luca’s name on the screen. It’s 9:04 a.m., but it feels so much earlier. I usually enjoy my mornings, but right now, with my head pounding from jetlag, I grunt and mumble into the speaker.
“What?”
“I am so sorry to do this to you, but I can’t get ahold of anyone else and the alarm in the office is going off.”
I rub my eyes. “Oh my god, you wantmeto go? I haven’t been there in years. I don’t even remember exactly where it is.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” he repeats. His voice sounds soft and far away, breaking up every few seconds. “It’s right on the corner of Sunset and La Cienega, remember? The big, white building?”
I nod. I’d been a few times, but I could never remember the cross street. “Okay. What do you want me to do when I get there? Is there a code or something?”
A faint static sound buzzes in the background. “I’ll text you directions. Hey, we’re driving into a tunnel and I’m about to lose—”
“Hello?” I hold my phone out and groggily shake it, as if the problem is on my end. “Luca?”
The call disconnects, and I sigh. I brush my teeth and throw on a denim jumpsuit and boots, grabbing my purse before heading out of my bedroom.
“Hi,” Kira says, perched on the couch with a large bowl of oatmeal. She’s chewing loudly and watching some History Channel show. “How was Maui?”
I shrug as I grab a granola bar from the pantry. “It was fine. Busy.”
She stares at me. “That’s it? It wasbusy?”
I take a large bite of my bar. “Yeah, lots of business talk, formal dinners…” I trail off, my mouth full.
“Things better with Anderson?” she asks, not taking her eyes off the television.
I’d forgotten that I’d sent her a rage text the first day in Maui.
“A little.”
“That’s good. I Googled him. He’s a smoke show. Doesn’t look forty-three.”
I remembered seeing his birthday when I Googled him, but I’m terrible at math and didn’t realize he was in his forties.
