Page 144 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Hey" I snap, "Don’t call him a douche."
His eyes twinkle.
I flush. "Fine, you’ve made your point."
"Go on, then." He nods, "Go get your man."
I turn to leave, and he calls out, "My phone."
"Oops! Sorry." I pivot, hand the phone over, then begin to run. Hold on… The phone… It was a top-of-the-line, latest model iPhone. A homeless man couldn’t afford that, could he? I stop, turn around and find... He’s gone? Hell. I glance around to find he’s hurrying up the street. And why the hell had I spilled my guts to a stranger? Why had it been so easy to talk to him? Why the hell had he felt so familiar? And how the hell had he known that Damian had been talking about me, huh?
"Hey," I call out, "who are you?"
He pauses and looks back. "No-one of consequence."
"I don’t believe that," I shout back.
"You have a date with a rock star. Don’t be late," he admonishes, then turns and continues to walk away.
"Weird." I shake my head, then spot a cab. "Taxi," I hail the driver, who pulls up to the curb. I grab the handle, open the door and slide in. "How fast can you drive?"
47
Damian
I place my guitar on the settee that I had pulled into the greenhouse with Arpad’s help. Before leaving, he’d also helped me arrange the daffodils about the place in such a way that they couldn’t be missed. He’d offered to help shoot the video but I’d refused. Somehow it hadn’t felt right having anyone else in this space with me as I prepared for the most important performance of my life. Now it is done; the video is out there. My song, that I’d been working on for the past few days—the one I had started writing, not quite sure what it was about… I still don’t dare pull apart what the words mean. Being with Julia has given me the courage to push forward, to trust my instincts again. If I could make her come, if I could coax her to fall apart so beautifully under my fingers, then I can trust myself to pour what I feel into words… I can trust the world to understand what I mean… And if they don’t… If they hate it… Well, then… I’ve done my best. I’ve given myself in the truest way an artist can do, and the rest… Well, it is out of my hands anyway.
I rise to my feet and begin to pace… It has only been ten minutes since the video went live; my phone had begun to buzz almost immediately. No doubt, the media is reaching out.
It looks like I’ll need to reach out to Summer and take her help in managing my PR, after all. After years of turning my back on everything career related, while pretending to go on as if I weren’t self-sabotaging myself, guess it’s time to face the music after all—pun intended.
I glance at the feed of the security camera pointed at my gate. Where is she? Why hasn’t she come yet? A car drives up to the gate, an unknown car, and a man—a reporter?—gets out. I watch as the guards that Karina posted at my gates ask him to leave. At least, I won’t be bothered here. I’d known once the video went live that the press would be all over me. It’s why I’d ensured there was extra security. It’s also why this is the safest place for me to be now… And I had asked her to come—I stiffen.
I had asked her to come to me. After I’d walked out on her, I’d still demanded that she return, that she take the initiative. Shit, I really am a complete prick. A wanker of the first order. Why the hell should I expect her to come? Am I hiding again, in my fortress, trying to avoid the real world? No, that’s not it. I had gone live to the world for the first time… Hell, I had set up my social media profiles again, just for that. I am going to face the fallout from this, one way or the other…so. No, it’s not…that…but clearly, I hadn’t been thinking right… I have to make amends for what I did. I have to go to her. I stalk out of the greenhouse to the garage, where I climb onto my motorcycle. Kicking it to life, I gun it down the driveway, through the space between the still-opening gates. I spot one of the security guards racing for his car to follow me as I drive past the cars pulling up. More media, no doubt. I race toward Julia.
Half an hour later, I pull into the parking garage of The Shard. I park my bike, wrench my helmet from my head, and race for the elevators, bursting into the apartment a few minutes later. Even before I cross the floor of the living room, I know it’s empty. "Fuck!"
I walk over to the bedroom, check the closets; they’re empty. I check the bathroom—there is no sign of her toiletries. I stalk over to the terrace by the pool—also empty. I walk back to the living room, glance about t he space. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
I missed her. Again. I should have come earlier. Should have not walked out on her at the hospital. Should have held her close and never let go, and now… It is too late. "F-u-c-k!" I fling my helmet on the floor, where it bounces once before rolling to the side. I tear off my gloves, then dig my fingers in my hair and tug; pain lances across my scalp. My knuckles hurt and my face still hurts from the earlier altercation with Arpad. My chest hurts.
I stare about the room, wanting, needing, something to vent my anger on. I stalk toward her worktable, where she’s covered something with a burlap cloth and pull it off.
"What the—?" I stare at the likeness of myself.
I'd known that she was working on it... and while it is me…There's no mistaking those familiar features, the hair, the mouth, those ears...Yet, it is not. I look larger than life. A dominant male, one with intent writ in every nook and crevasse on his face, and yet, those eyes… There’s something in them I don’t see often. Something I don’t allow myself to feel…
Hope. A light in the darkness, a simple optimism that things will get better, there will be a tomorrow and things are always meant to be as they are now. I can’t take my gaze off of the sculpture, which she created from memory, and her bare fingers.
I gulp. A hot sensation stabs at my chest. Jesus, I’ve been such a fucking fool. A complete and utter wanker. I reach out a finger to touch the sculpture when I hear her voice.
"It’s not that great, I know... I’ve been working on it. I’m just not that good yet—” I turn on her and she stops.
"You’re right; it’s not great." I stare at her and she tips her chin up.
"I… I hope you don’t mind that I worked on it." She swallows. "I did ask you to pose but then… Things happened and—"
"I do mind," I snap.
