A dozey sniff of my armpit hours later confirms I need a shower. The stench wakes me abruptly.
The bathroom is luxurious, boasting a huge bathtub, double sinks, and a rainfall shower. I change my mind and run a bath instead, pouring in a good helping of bubble bath to treat myself.Aroma bursting with violets and vanilla wafts off the foaming water.
As I wait for the tub to fill, my soles pad off the sumptuous carpet. Life right now is like living a dream.
My bed is massive with piles of white pillows you can get lost in. Everything in the room is white and minimal, highlighted every so often with a silver accessory. My phone lies on the side table, next to it Brad’s business card. I contemplate phoning him, but decide a text message would be sufficient. A safety net from any awkward silence.
Perched on the side of the bed, my fingers drum aimlessly on the side table as I consider what to say.
Suddenly remembering the running tap, I dash to the bathroom to check on the heaven that awaits me. Bubbles splash invitingly over the edge of the tub. Unable to resist. I strip off and climb in, holding my phone high to ensure it doesn’t get wet. Once settled, I return to composing my message. How to seem interested but not desperate—a difficult combination to pull off. One I’ve never mastered.
Hello, Brad. It was lovely to meet you earlier. If the invite is still open, I’d love to meet for dinner. I’m in the city until Sunday. Let me know. Katie
Placing my phone on a towel on the floor, I lie back and let the warm, soapy water immerse me. I close my eyes and attempt to relax and meditate. My phone pings, so, I reach down to read the message, my heart beating a little harder.
Glad to hear from you. I’ll pick you up at 7 p.m. See you then. Brad
A bit presumptuous. He didn’t ask me about when it suited me to meet up or for suggestions of what to do. Not that Iknow anywhere in New York, but it would be nice to be asked. A chill runs up my spine at the familiarity of such a man, a man who assumes charge and bulldozes his way to what he wants. Knobscratcher was the same. In the beginning, it was masculine and sexy. He told me what was happening, never asked my opinion. A domineering man is incredibly arousing until he becomes controlling. Until you are unable to make simple decisions for yourself.
Shaking the negative thoughts from my head, I tell myself that Brad is not my ex-husband. Not every man can be tarred with the same brush. Not every man taking control or showing interest is dangerous. I’m not getting any younger, and there isn’t a line of wealthy, handsome suitors breaking my door down. I’m at an age that if I want to find a partner, I need to be open to all options, whether they take my breath away at first glance or not.
Brad suggested dinner, not a wedding proposal. I should just go along and enjoy the fact that someone wants to spend time with me. He’s a successful, good-looking man, and he’smyage. There’s no mileage long term in this relationship; we live on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean.
Yes, I’ll go tonight, and I will enjoy his company for what it is ? a nice evening out in a beautiful city with a gorgeous silver fox. Companionship with someone I can relate to while I’m halfway across the world from home.
What the hell am I going to wear? I traveled light and with thoughts of business meetings and TV appearances on my mind, not dates with hot production company owners. I need advice; I need to speak to Amy. As if scolded, I clamber from the tub, wrapping a towel around my hair then shrugging into my robe.
Grabbing my laptop, I lie on my stomach on the bed and flip it open, pull up the video chat function, and press the picture of my friend and me together at a swanky hotel. The dial tone ringsout—what time is it in London just now? I never even thought to check.
My beautiful friend’s smiling face fills the screen. She looks decent, so it must not be the middle of the night. At least she shouldn’t be pissed at being woken.
“Hello,” she squeals in her usual over the top manner. “How’s it going in the Big Apple? Tell me everything. All the details. Leave nothing—and I meannothingout.”
“Amz, I miss you. I wish you were here with me. It’s incredible. It’s like being on a different planet.”
“I looked up The Morning Show online. You looked incredible. I couldn’t believe that first question, though.” She laughs. “Imagine asking you practically outright if you based your characters on the men you’ve had sex with.”
A flush rises across my chest and up my neck. I’ve never told anyone that the male hero in my book is based on Lance or that the sexual encounters my characters experience are based on first-hand experience. My heart aches slightly any time I think of him. He’s a memory buried deep beneath the present, one I try not to revisit too often.
I miss him, even after over a year. Our situation was so unfair. A never-ending regret of timing gone wrong.
“Yes, I was slightly shocked by that myself.” I snort. “But I think I handled it all right. Anyway, I need some advice. Fashion advice.”
“Ooohhhh. Tell me more.” Amy loves overseeing people’s clothing decisions. She enjoys telling people what to do, full stop. “What are we dressing you for?”
“A date,” I whisper, hiding the fact from invisible onlookers.
“A date?” Her voice rises a few octaves, closer to making my ears bleed. “With who? How the hell have you had time to find a man? Where did you meet him? How old is he? What does hedo? Did you have a one-night stand?” Her rapid-fire questions come at me like bullets, and I smile goofily back.
“One question at a time.” I wave my hands at the screen. “His name is Bradley Thomson. He’s a tad older than me, I think. I met him on set today.”
Her eyes widen, voice rising an octave. “He’s famous?”
“No… I don’t think so. He isn’t an actor. He...” I pause. “He owns the production company that produces The Morning Show. We met this morning, and he asked me out. He’s picking me up in four hours for dinner.”
“Four hours?” Determination flickers in her eyes. “Right,” she commands, “swap me over to your phone so you can move. Get all your clothes out and lay them on the bed.Operation Sexyis underway. Katie Clark, you’re going to be a vixen this evening and finish it by giving him a happy ending worth remembering.”
Four hours later, we’ve finally settled on an outfit for my date. I’m ready to go. It was a long, drawn-out process, which is hard to believe with the limited clothing I have brought with me. But Amy has this uncanny ability to put random pieces together and create an outfit worth considering.