Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2)

by Melanie Martins

  Alone in the kitchen, my gaze goes again to my iPhone, and I open the text app. Curiosity taking over me, I check all the messages I’ve sent to Alex. Despite none having been seen, all have been successfully delivered. And the more I read the texts I sent him, the more I realize how pathetic and desperate I’ve been.

  How are you feeling today? Happy to have broken my heart? I barely eat because of you! I hate you! I cringe at this one sent just five days ago.

  I hope you never come back to Manhattan! Ever again! I hate you! This one is from six days ago. But it’s still pretty accurate.

  Why don’t you reply? Is it too much to ask for one simple answer from you? Can’t we even be friends? I read the last question again. Can’t we even be friends? Well, it seems like we can’t. Damn, not even friendship? How disgusting! After everything we went through together? I huff and shake my head. How stupid I was for texting him like that. Jeez, talk about lack of self-respect. I should win an award for the stupidest girl ever. I’d have done anything for this man. My loyalty to him was unquestionable. But what for? Fucking coward he is. I feel tempted to text something to him again, just for the sake of trolling. But I know it’s a low blow, and I resist the urge to do so. Then I remember the picture Matthew and I took at the exhibit. I go to my photos and have a look at it. Okay, I can’t deny it—we both look great.

  Smiling diabolically, I send this photo to Alex instead, and text him something totally unexpected and different from what I have said so far: Hey, I wanted to apologize for the rude texts I sent you over the past two weeks. I’m slowly recovering from our separation, but as you might understand, it was a very unexpected blow, and I doubt I’ll ever forgive you for breaking up with me. I pray one day to be able to forget you though. One of my friends, Matthew Bradford, has been a great support. He’s one of my friends at Columbia, and Dad likes him a lot. Dad even invited him to have dinner with us tomorrow night. I won’t text you ever again, especially if you don’t want me to. I wish you well. Bye. And I press send.

  Chapter 25

  Manhattan, October 4, 2020

  Matthew Bradford

  “And you didn’t kiss her?” Pops can be so annoying. Damn. “Not even on the cheek?”

  But I remain focused on my hair, aiming for a presentable look. And as I glance at his reflection in the mirror, I say, “Nope. I had a mask on. It’d have been so dumb.” I’m tired of arguing with him, but quite excited for the evening nevertheless. “This is a long-term thing.”

  “You’re not gonna wear a mask in their house, right?”

  Jeez, I can’t help huffing at his question. “Of course not. I just did it because we were in the car.”

  “You’re getting a bit pathetic, son…” And I sigh again at his comment. Living with someone who is your precise opposite in every way is a total nightmare. No wonder Mom left him a long time ago. “You’re young, you shouldn’t…”

  “Alright, see ya later.” I give him a quick pat on the back before booking an Uber. Then I rush to my bedroom, pick out a new mask, and leave the house. I find my Uber waiting on the curb and get inside.

  “Hey, Matthew, right?” the driver asks.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  As the driver starts his journey en route to Park Avenue, I text Petra: On my way. See ya in 15 mins. And I look once more at the selfie we took yesterday when we were waiting for her chauffeur. Yeah, I must’ve looked at it, like, twenty times by now, but she looks so damn beautiful with her soft pink lips curving up, her pale face contrasting with her dark hair and blue eyes… I look like a complete idiot though, despite Petra assuring me otherwise. All of a sudden, a phone call from a private number pops up on the screen. And since I’m pretty sure I know who’s calling, I answer it and put the phone against my ear. “Hi?”

  “Matthew Bradford? Alexander Van Dieren.” Of course. Who else could it be? His voice is unmistakable. “How are you doing?”

  “Oh, hey… Um, why are you always calling me from a private number?” I ask instead.

  “It doesn’t matter why. It seems you’re going to meet Roy Van Gatt this evening?”

  I raise my brows in surprise. “Oh, Petra told you?”

  “She sent me a text, yes. Did she enjoy the restaurant?”

  “Yeah, she loved it. Thanks for the tip and for getting us a table.”

  “You’re most welcome. Did she answer your questions?”

  “Yeah, she did.” And since I know he’s expecting me to delve a bit further, I tell him, “Despite everything you did, she’s still hoping you’ll come back. And to be honest, I’ve never met someone so in love.”

  “I see,” he mutters. “Look, if Roy mentions he met you before, don’t deny it and don’t lie. Petra will see through it. If she asks you about it, just tell her you met him once in a restaurant and said hi.”

  “Um, do you think Roy will mention we had a talk in the cigar lounge?” I ask, suddenly worried.

  “I don’t think Roy will bring it up, no.” He sounds quite confident of himself. “But he might mention he’s seen your face before. Whatever questions he brings up, don’t lie, don’t shake, and stand your ground.”

  “Alright, um, thanks for the tip.” And before he can hang up, I say, “By the way, um, Petra told me why you broke up with her.” I wait for him to comment, but when nothing comes from the other end, I add, “She said her mom has some dirt against you. Not that I’m surprised, but—”

  “Good evening, Matthew.” And just like that, he hangs up.

  Damn it! And since there’s no way to call him back, I slip my iPhone back inside my pocket, still a bit troubled by his behavior. Anyway, I’m perfectly aware he is using me to find out how Petra is coping with the breakup. But the closer I can get to her, the better for me.

  “Here we are,” the driver announces, stopping in front of Petra’s building.

  “Thanks.”

  Leaving the car, I smile at the doorman as I walk in.

  “Good evening, Mr. Bradford,” he greets, holding the door open for me. And I wonder how the heck he even knows my last name. Was it Petra who told him? I shake my head in amusement. After all, she’s the only one who addresses me like that.

  As I get into the elevator, the mirror reminds me to remove my mask, and, after doing so, my lips curve into a grin as I check my teeth. They look good. I glance at my overall appearance and run a hand through my hair, but it won’t behave anyway.

  Upon arriving in front of her door, I knock three times, and to my greatest surprise, it’s not Janine, but Ms. Van Gatt herself who welcomes me. Her eyes are gleaming like diamonds as she smiles and greets me with her sweetest voice. “Mr. Bradford,” she says, as per her ritual of greeting when it is only the two of us. I’ve always wondered why she enjoys calling me by my surname, but I guess it’s to tease me, as she knows I hate it.

  “Hey,” I greet back. Then I wonder if I should kiss her cheek as my Pops suggested. But there is no need for guessing. Petra instantly leans over, and we exchange two cheek kisses. “You look really nice today.” Jeez, I sound so cheesy. Why did I even say that?

  “You said the same thing yesterday,” she points out. But I manage to make her laugh, so it’s all good.

  “Well, you look great every day, especially now that you have been eating again.”

  “With someone like you monitoring my meals, it’s hard not to.”

  “Matthew!” I look over Petra’s shoulder to where the male voice is coming from. And there he is, Roy Van Gatt. The same man I saw at the cigar lounge. “So good to finally meet you.” Roy shakes my hand a bit longer than the norm, but his warm expression and tone feel quite reassuring.

  “Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Van Gatt,” I reply back.

  “Let me check if dinner is ready.” Petra leaves me alone with him, and I swear I hate her for a second for doing so.

  “Thank you for what you have been doing,” Roy tells me in a low voice, a hand on my shoulder, as we walk in the direction of the din
ing room.

  “Oh, that’s what friends do.” I play humble—it’s always the smart thing to do in a situation like this.

  “She wasn’t eating anything for nearly two weeks,” he confesses. And I’m amazed at his ease in telling me that.

  “Yeah, I’d noticed that.”

  As we reach the dining room, I find Petra talking to Janine, and she asks me, “What do you want to drink?”

  “Um, I’m fine with a juice or a soda,” I tell them.

  Petra looks at her dad and says, “See? I told you.”

  “Fine, I’ll try out that juice, then,” Roy instructs as Janine goes to the bar and fills our glasses with a green liquid.

  “Janine made a green detox juice,” Petra explains to me.

  Seeing Roy’s expression laced with disappointment, I tell him, “You may drink whatever you feel like. I just don’t drink alcohol.”

  But Petra doesn’t seem to be on board with that. “He’s gonna drink a healthy juice for once.” She then takes two glasses and gives me one, while Janine gives another one to Roy.

  “Well, cheers,” Petra says as we all raise our glasses and clink them together.

  After taking a sip, I can’t help but praise Janine for its delicious flavor.

  Petra does the same and then asks, “What do you think, Dad?”

  “You really want to know?”

  While I can’t help crack a laugh at his reply, Petra, on the other hand, just rolls her eyes. “Matt, please have a seat. Dinner is gonna be served soon.” Oh, did she just call me Matt? That’s, like, the first time she’s ever called me by my nickname. I try to conceal my astonishment by taking another sip of my drink, and I quietly take a seat in front of her dad.

  After we all sit down, Janine starts pouring some soup onto my bowl, and Roy takes this opportunity to break the silence and asks, “Petra told me you have been involved in, um, political activism?”

  Now that’s an unexpected question. “Uh, well, it’s more like teaching and promoting social rights through videos and podcasts,” I explain. “I’m not campaigning for any candidate. At least, not anymore, since Bernie lost in the primaries.” Not sure why I told him all that with such ease, but I just couldn’t help it.

  “Ah, yes, I have watched some of your videos on YouTube.”

  “Really?” Petra and I say at the same time.

  “You did?” she asks him again, even more surprised than I am.

  “Yes. You’re very talented,” Roy praises. And I’m left totally speechless at his statement. He really went to the extent of checking out my videos? “Are you thinking of pursuing academics or teaching as a career?”

  “Um, well, being a professor is a viable option. But first, I’ve got to finish my degree, and then we’ll see.”

  “That’s why you changed from finance to philosophy?”

  “Dad!” Petra admonishes.

  “What? I’m just asking.”

  Letting out a quick chuckle, I tell him, “Yeah, I felt like finance was not my calling.”

  “Why did you enroll in it in the first place, then?” Roy keeps asking.

  And I remember Alex advising me to always be honest and not to lie. So I decide to tell him the truth, even if it bothers me to no end having to bring my Pops into the conversation. “My dad kinda persuaded me. And since our relationship hasn’t been the best, I agreed to give it a try.”

  “Sounds so familiar…” Petra fesses up. And we can’t help but have a laugh at her comment.

  “But you like finance, don’t you?” Roy asks her.

  “Yeah, so far the classes have been interesting.”

  “The program is excellent,” I reassure him. “It’s just not what I wanted for me.”

  “Do you accept donations for your YouTube channel?”

  Another question that is totally unexpected. “Um, yeah, I’ve got a Patreon account.”

  “Great, then I’ll gladly support it.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his statement, and I try hard not to gape. Petra does the same. Roy, a capitalist of Wall Street, supporting a YouTube channel promoting social rights, progressive agenda, and wealth redistribution? What world do I live in? “Um, that’s great. Thank you. But don’t feel obligated.”

  “I don’t feel obligated,” he repeats, smiling at me. “I admire people that fight for what they stand for. That’s all. I’m sure your channel will grow and get millions of subscribers.”

  “I hope one day that’ll be the case. There’s a lot of teamwork behind it,” I tell him. My gaze goes to Petra, and she gives me a bright smile, her expression glowing with pride. And I try hard not to get fixated on it.

  After dinner, and while Roy goes to his office to make some phone calls, Petra invites me to the terrace to check out the impressive skyline. “It’s amazing at night, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her, taking in my surroundings. “I wish my apartment had a terrace, let alone one this big.”

  Only street noise fills the space between us as we stand together, watching the sights around us. Discretely enough, my gaze goes to her as she seems to be engrossed in her thoughts. And as I contemplate every feature of her face, I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here. Damn, I never expected, not even in a million years, that one day, a regular guy like me would be having dinner with the one and only Petra Van Gatt and her dad. Last year, when I first met her, Petra seemed to be a princess of Wall Street, polite to everyone but totally unapproachable and out of my league. But now? Now I want to believe that I might stand a chance. Not that I expect her to fall in love with me right after a breakup, but maybe in a year or two, once her wounds have healed completely. And I’m okay with that. Petra is a chick worth waiting for.

  “My dad likes you a lot,” she tells me. “It’s the first time he hasn’t said anything nasty about a male friend of mine.”

  “I guess most guys would’ve jumped on you at the first chance.” My tone comes out a bit cheeky, and I then add, “You dad likes me because I’ve got no interest in getting a slap in the face.”

  “Smart boy,” she teases back.

  My phone beeps with a notification from Patreon. And as I check it, I can’t help but shout, “What the fuck?!” I can’t believe what I’m reading! “Your dad just subscribed to my Patreon for a monthly donation of ten thousand dollars. That’s insane!”

  While I appear utterly shocked, Petra doesn’t even bat an eye. “To be fair, that’s probably what he pays in hookers on a monthly basis…”

  And now I’m rendered totally speechless at her answer. “Really?”

  “Yeah, most likely.”

  “Your dad pays hookers?” I repeat, making sure I heard her properly. “I mean, he doesn’t seem like that type of guy.”

  She just shrugs her shoulders in return. “Love is too expensive for him.”

  The more she speaks, the more I need to ask her, “You don’t really like him, huh?”

  “Nope,” she tells me just as dryly. “Dad believes everyone and everything can be bought.” And as she keeps looking at the skyline ahead, she adds in a tone deeply concerning, “Whatever stands in his way must be destroyed. Even if it’s his own daughter’s happiness.”

  Wow. There’s a sadness in her voice that makes my heart tighten. And as I keep observing her, I can’t help but notice how deeply she is still affected by the breakup. After all, I know both she and Alex love each other. It’s not like the dude doesn’t care about her. Nope, it’s because he doesn’t have much of a choice. Sometimes I’d love to tell her everything I know about her fiancé and the breakup. But I can’t. Otherwise, she might just stop trusting me, and that’s not an option for me. So instead I say, “Do you think your dad is trying to buy me?”

  “For ten thousand bucks?” she asks. “That would be a very cheap price. But if you want a piece of advice, don’t take his money.” I crease my brows instantly. Ten thousand bucks a month would help quite a lot to grow the channel and reach more people. “If my dad asks you
for a favor and mentions what he can or cannot do for your channel, make sure you can send the money back to him if you have to, so you don’t feel obligated to do anything for him in return.”

  “But, like, with ten thousand bucks, we could grow the channel a lot and pay for ads, you know. And this money is from a Patreon subscription, which means I don’t have to do anything in return for your dad.”

  “Just keep your integrity,” she tells me. “Mark my words. Dad always invests in relationships early on. One day, he’ll send you the bill. It could be a year from now or ten, and then you will feel like you owe him for the ten thousand bucks a month.”

  “Look, I promise whatever money your dad gives me to support the channel, I won’t do anything that goes against my values, and I’ll keep educating people on social rights and welfare policies.”

  “You promise?” Petra asks, squinting her eyes.

  Letting out a quick chuckle, I look at the skyscrapers around us and say, “I do.”

  Chapter 26

  Manhattan, October 17, 2020

  Petra Van Gatt

  The only issue with creating a financial growth plan for the next three years of my fund is to actually come up with a name for the fund itself. Since the fund doesn’t belong to Gatt-Dieren Capital, it has to have another name to present to potential investors. Uninspired, I keep staring at my laptop screen and the first page of the template I downloaded. “Financial Plan of [insert company name here] 2021-2024”

  What name should I put there? After all, Gatt-Dieren is an established brand among the media and capitalists. Maybe Dad would be okay with me using it and just adding “Art” after it. Giving it a try, I write “Gatt-Dieren Art Fund” as the fund’s name. Not an original name for sure, but a safe bet. Then I realize the name “Dieren” is in it and it’d be wise to get Alex’s approval before using his surname on my financial plan… You know what? Fuck his approval. He never answers my texts anyway. “Gatt-Dieren Art Fund” is perfect. It’s a safe choice and will make investors feel more at ease for years to come.