“It’s my best friend.” I laugh and hold up the phone for him to see. He nods and turns his attention back to the traffic.
“Good morning,” I say cheerfully.
“Hey, Trucker Girl! What the hell is going on? Where are you?”
“I’m sitting next to the beautiful boss in the car, on my way to downtown Munich,” I reply, quite smug, as if that’s the most common thing in the world. Of course, I say this in Dutch, so he can’t understand me. He briefly looks at me with a wide smirk.
“I gather this means that your plan worked? You had a strong night with your American God?”
“Whether it was strong, I don’t know. Perhaps unexpected is a better word for it. But it’s not what you think. I can’t say any more, because my American God is sitting right next to me.” I turn my face while I say this, so he won’t see my smile. “How did your mission go? It looked very promising on the dance floor, I’ll tell you. I was surprised to see you act like that in front of your co-workers,” I say.
“Oh well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” I hear the smile in her voice, followed by frantic giggling. In the meantime, we pull into a parking lot near the famous Marienplatz Square.
“I have to go, Anita, we’re about to park the car. Talk to you later.”
“Damn straight, you will. I want to know everything!”
When I put down my phone, a huge silence settles in the car like a weight. I put my cell in my purse, while he’s looking at me the whole time. Suddenly, I feel uneasy. What’s going on? I look at him, confused, and he checks me out with a small smile on his face, as if he’s enjoying a private joke he doesn’t want to share.
What the hell? Did I miss something? I hardly dare ask, but do so anyway.
“What’s up?”
“I’m trying to figure out if I’m gonna tell you this.” His lips are pursed. He narrows his eyes, which causes creases on either side of them. It makes his eyelashes look even longer.
“What?”
‘I don’t know how to say this ...’ He hesitates and looks very serious all of a sudden, stroking his chin as if he’s thinking hard. This man truly is a riddle. One moment, he’s laughing about a private joke, the next, he’s dead serious again. ‘There are two ways to tell you, you can choose which way is best.’
This makes me restless. Silence kicks in once again, but still, he says nothing. The uneasy feeling is nibbling on my insides. I take a lock of my hair and start twisting it around my finger as I always do when I’m nervous.
‘Well? Quit the tension already. Just tell me, please!’
‘You sure?’ he asks.
Oh. Jesus Christ Superstar and the Holy Virgin Mary.
‘Yes, I’m sure!‘ I tell him in a bored and somewhat irritated tone.
‘Well ... I can put it like this ... that your American God understands Dutch ...’ He speaks Dutch now with a very sexy American accent. “...Or like this ... that the beautiful boss actually understands Dutch. Which one’s better?”
O.M.G! Capitals and exclamation mark.
HE GETS OUT OF THE car while I remain seated in shock, staring ahead. How is this possible? He speaks Dutch? He is Dutch? That can’t be right. He’s American, isn’t he? His name is Sebastian Strong— how much more American can you get?
I look straight ahead for a moment, completely dazed. Not only because I’m absolutely baffled, but also because I feel ashamed. I just called him my American God and a beautiful boss. Although it sounded a lot cuter when he said it in Dutch. Was he able to understand every single word? I don’t think I will ever be able to look this guy in the eye again.
When he opens the door for me, I’m staring at the dashboard in front of me, my face as red a tomato, almost missing his gesture for me to get out. He probably thinks I’m a childish bimbo right now for saying such stupid things to my friend. With Anita, conversations often match the ones you have with your high school girlfriends. Except we aren’t in high school now, are we? Really, Nina, how old are you?
After I step out of the car, he takes me gently by the elbow with a smile and leads me over the sidewalk, towards the magnificent square. I feel so ashamed right now, I keep my eyes on the ground when I ask him the million-dollar question. “Are you Dutch?”
We continue walking and it seems like he knows his way around here, because he’s not paying any attention to his surroundings at all. Maybe he comes here often. He has probably worked for Audi much longer than I have and has visited before.
He replies in Dutch, with a thick American accent, “Yes, my grandparents were farmers from the south of Holland, who immigrated to America. They settled near Chicago.”
I’m impressed, and his Dutch is actually far from bad. He continues in English.
“There is a large group of Dutch farmers there. They are proud of their Dutch heritage and even have this saying—if it ain’t Dutch, it ain’t much. The Dutch language that they speak is a bit old-fashioned. I can understand it better than I can speak it myself; I often struggle to find the right words.”
“That’s so great! So actually, you’re some kind of Dutch cowboy? I would never have guessed! This means that I probably should be careful with what I say to my girlfriends if you’re with me!” I wink to lighten the mood.
‘I like the way you talk about me to your friends. Keep it up, please.’ He lifts one eyebrow and looks me in the eye.
He’s Dutch ... I still can’t believe it.
Then I realize something. ‘You are secretly a native and I’m a secret alien. Because I have no accent, most people don’t know I’m Italian.’
‘I know what you mean. As far as I’m concerned, I feel American. The American culture is actually nothing more than a melting pot of various Europeans. Italians, Dutch, Germans, British, all of them who moved to the west at some point, looking for a better life.’
All of a sudden, he looks serious again, doubtful even. After a short pause, it appears he decides to tell me something but is having a hard time figuring out whether he should really do that or not.
‘Sebastian Strong is not my real name.’ He almost spits out the words really fast, as if it’s a big secret he’s carrying.
‘It’s not?’ is the only thing that comes out of me as we walk. I knew it! I knew Sebastian Strong couldn’t be his real name. It sounded way too much like the name of the hero in a romance novel.
‘No, and it’s not meant for everyone to know either. Because I’m bit ashamed of it, you see.’
‘You are ashamed of something?’ I’m having a hard time believing that.
‘Yes. Would you like to know my real name?’
My head is bobbling up and down frantically right now. I’m so excited he’s telling me this, the ability to form words and sentences briefly escapes me.
‘Gers Sterk,’ he whispers and looks away immediately, biting his lower lip. When he turns his head back to me, he has one eye opened and the other one closed, awaiting my reaction.
‘You can imagine that Gers is very hard to pronounce for an American. I’ve struggled with it all my life. You don’t want to know how much I was bullied as a child. That’s the reason why I started calling myself Sebastian pretty early on. And then I changed my last name into an English name as well. Eventually, when I became an adult, I had my name officially changed to Sebastian Strong.’
‘Okay, now I get it ... Your secret’s safe with me.’ I gesture in front of my mouth as if I’m turning a key and then throwing it away. ‘So, should I call you Gers from now on?’ I laugh.
‘Well ... I really prefer you wouldn’t.’ He frowns.
We both stop walking and look at each other. ‘But now that I know that your parents named you Gers and that you’re actually Dutch, I don’t think Sebastian suits you anymore.’ Both my shoulders rise simultaneously, and I tilt my head up thinking about this. ‘Why did you tell me your real name if you want me to continue calling you Sebastian?’
His eyes pierce my soul. No one has ev
er looked at me that intensely. ‘I want us to get to know each other. I want you to get to know me. I want you to know things about me that no one else knows. That you understand me, better than anyone has ever understood me.’
This man really needs to stop with the romantic bullshit and the extensive love declarations. I take a step back because I need to create some distance at this point. ‘All right, Mr. Intense! You make it sound like you’ve already planned our whole future. Do you mind taking it a bit slower? Take it day by day, without all of these future plans you seem to have for us?’
My reaction startles him. Apparently, he didn’t see that coming. He also takes a step back and replies with a short ‘No.’
Okay ... this conversation is getting a bit out of hand. How did things become so serious all of a sudden, and how can I lighten things up again?
‘I have an alternative. Would you be okay with me calling you something else besides Gers or Sebastian?’
His curious look shows me he’s intrigued, but I don’t wait for his reply. ‘I’ll think about it. Just wait, I will find something that suits you.’
I’m still pondering over that when my right foot gets stuck behind something and I feel myself falling forward. Sebastian’s reaction is very fast and before I know what hits me, he has already caught me firmly by my elbows. We both look down and find a man on the sidewalk with his back against the wall and both of his legs stretched out in front of him. It’s clearly a hobo, dirty and very ragged. There is a tin can next to him with a couple of coins in it. I notice he’s not wearing any shoes and both his feet look dirty and battered. He looks startled and quickly pulls in his legs so they are no longer in the way.
‘Oh, sorry!’ I tell him in Dutch. We’re in Germany, Nina, do you really think he will understand that?
‘Entschuldigung,’ I try in my best German, stepping back.
The man smiles up at me and raises his shoulders apologetically. Then he conjures up a very old-looking harmonica and starts playing a song. I quickly search the pockets of my jacket for coins; the man looks as if he could use a little help. He’s very scrawny and he must be cold, bare feet and all. Sebastian takes it all in as well, looks at me, and asks, ‘Do you mind if I leave you alone for just two seconds?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll be right back. You stay here.’
‘Okay,’ I say in an uneasy voice. I’d rather not be left alone with a hobo right next to me and so few people in the streets. Who knows what he could be capable of? If he tries anything, I’ll just start running. He won’t get far on his bare feet, that’s for sure.
I’m still watching the man playing his harmonica and manage to find some money in my purse. I throw some more coins in his can and he accepts them gratefully. Sebastian returns very quickly. He’s clearly been running because he’s a bit out of breath. In his right hand, he holds a pair of running shoes and in his left hand, a pair of white sports socks. He hands them over to the man, who looks very surprised. He chucks his harmonica to the ground and gets up to accept Sebastian’s gifts.
Sebastian shakes his hand and gives the man a pat on the back. He is still looking at us in awe and probably doesn’t understand what’s happening. I feel Sebastian’s hand at the small of my back as he gives me a little nudge to get me moving. During the entire interaction with this hobo, I didn’t hear a single word come out of Sebastian’s mouth, but his actions said more than words.
Suddenly, I feel proud of this man. Apparently, he is much more than a control freak. More than a romantic with a private, tricolor harem. I still don’t know a lot about this mysterious cowboy from America, but I do know one thing—he’s a cowboy with a big heart.
If my life were a highway, we are suddenly driving through a beautiful rolling landscape while the sun begins to set.
Chapter 12 - Fruitcake
NINA
When we start walking again, he points at the facade of a large Starbucks and asks me if I’m in for breakfast. I don’t reply, but I’ve gotten so hungry I pick up my pace to walk ahead of him. In no time, I’ve acquired a table. I don’t care what I eat, as long as there’s coffee. American coffee is fine. Although, I would prefer a nice Italian cappuccino ... but hey, you can’t always get want you want, right?
I suddenly realize Sebastian didn’t follow me in. He’s standing right outside the door, studying something on the wall next to the floor-to-ceiling window. I walk back and look over his shoulder. He’s studying the blueprint with the flight plan for calamities.
“Did you find anything interesting?” I ask, semi-curious.
“Interesting, no, necessary, yes,” he replies with a serious face, localizing the various exits with his finger.
“Necessary?” This man is so odd ...
“Yes, I’m always prepared for anything. If something happens, I want to know exactly how I can exit a building safely.” I nod to show him I understand, but actually, I think his behavior is strange. He appears to be looking straight through me when he clarifies, “If I’m prepared, I have the power. If I have the power, there is nothing I can’t accomplish. Nothing. Nada. Niente. A good friend once told me that.”
Control freak... pops into my mind. In my mind, yes, because I wouldn’t dare say it to his face. There is an awkward silence, in which he looks at me, waiting for my reaction. I really don’t know what to say, so I keep my mouth shut. It takes a while, but then he shoots one last glance at the blueprint and walks inside.
As I take my seat at the table again, he remains standing next to it. “Shall I order for you? What would you like?”
“To be honest, I’ve never been to Starbucks before, so I have no idea. You pick. Something with caffeine, please.” He nods and takes his place in line.
Good, he’s gone. That gives me a minute to myself. Making clever remarks is my usual way of dealing with stress, so hopefully, he didn’t notice I’m nervous. But this whole time, I’ve been feeling there is a good chance I will start hyperventilating soon. I’m staring at his delicious, jeans-covered, round ass while he waits his turn. And the only thing I can think is, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Why I am so shaken up? Why not might be a better question. There are so many reasons. He is very, very intense. When he’s around me, I feel like I can’t breathe. It doesn’t help I still feel so very exposed because of that phone call with Anita, which he has been able to follow from start to end.
In addition, he is breathtakingly handsome. He’s a feast for the eyes and his beauty intimidates me. At the same time, he’s peculiar and unpredictable. And I find it adorable how he wants to be prepared for everything. I never know what he will say or do next. It confuses me a little. Furthermore, I don’t really understand what we’re doing here. How did I convince myself to spend the day with this man? He declined my invitations to have sex, but he wants to become friends with me? That’s weird, isn’t it? What man on this earth would refuse sex? I, for one, have never come across one before.
So. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Okay, Nina, calm down now. You are doing well. Keep it light and funny. And most important—keep breathing.
The mental pep talk continues until about ten minutes later, when he returns to me with a large cafe latte or something, and two large chocolate scones.
“So, you clearly don’t have to mind your calories?” I say, almost causally.
“You don’t either.” He gives me a smug look.
“Is that a compliment?” I laugh.
“Well, I think I owe you a couple of compliments after you called me a God.”
Pity. I had hoped we had moved past that awkward moment, but clearly, that’s not his intention. Potato chips and cracker jacks ...
What can I say so I won’t lose face? Think fast, think fast. “Come on, I hardly believe I’m the first one to call you that.”
“You’re the first one to say it in my presence,” he says.
“Well, keep your feet on the ground, mi
ster, because the next time, you will have to earn it.” It’s unbelievable the crap that comes out of my mouth. Still, I’m kind of proud of myself for how I’m handling this situation and give myself a mental pat on the back.
“So, there will be a next time? A next time for what?” He softly presses his lips to the cardboard cup and blows over the hot liquid, looking at me with his magnificent brown eyes, while waiting for my answer. Is everything this man does sexy?
“You tell me. I’m treading unfamiliar ground here. I’m going against all my rules with you.” Oops, that came out a bit too harsh. I’m not surprised by his inquiring look.
I take a small sip from my boiling hot coffee, thinking about my next step. I decide to be honest with him. “Look, here’s the thing. When I have sex with someone, I follow certain principles. One, I don’t hook up with married men. Two, I always have safe sex. And three, never more than once with the same guy, no repetitions.”
He ignores my last remark. “It’s a good thing then that we didn’t have sex because, according to your rules, we wouldn’t be allowed to see each other again.’ How does he do that, be so fucking smart all the time? And he reacts so freakishly fast too.
Although, it is interesting that he only reacts to rule number three and doesn’t mention the other two. I don’t see a ring around his finger, nor an imprint of one, so it’s safe to conclude he’s probably not married. Rule number one—check!
But I do think he needs to understand how I’m wired. I don’t want to waste his time, or mine. I like him enough to let him know what he may and may not expect from me.
“I’m not looking for a relationship. What I’m looking for is an adventure, and I’m afraid you won’t settle for that.” I don’t want to say too much, so I quickly take a bite from my scone because it would be impolite to talk with my mouth full.
He’s also chewing and clearly thinking about what I just said. We look at each other while we chew and swallow. Then he wipes his lips with a paper napkin before he speaks again.
Chasing the CEO (The CEO duet Book 1) Page 8