by Lauren Rowe
She sits on Jonas’ lap and throws her arms around his neck. “I had to come find you.” She kisses his cheek. “I started to feel lonely.”
“Oh no. You were feeling lonely, baby?”
“Mmm hmm.” She kisses his lips.
Jonas puts down his beer and stands, holding Sarah in his arms like he’s about to cross a threshold with his bride. “Well, I know exactly what to do to cure my baby’s loneliness. See you in the morning, Josh. Nice chatting with you.”
With that, Jonas is gone, taking the woman of his dreams with him.
I return my gaze to the slow-moving lights on the dark river in the distance, a certain loneliness I’m well acquainted with descending upon me. Almost immediately, my thoughts turn to Kat. To the awesome photos she sent me from Las Vegas. To the way she fell asleep in my arms after reading my application. To the way she laughs like a dude—and fucks like one, too. To the long list of porno-fantasies she shared with me last night after we got back from our night out with Henn and Hannah. To the way she stomped down that hallway, soaking wet in her G-string, after Reed’s party. To the way she kicked ass in each and every one of those banks. To the way she called me “babe” in front of Henn after he woke us up.
I take a long swig of my beer and stare at the dark river, Jonas’ words echoing in my head: If a guy needs more than all that to be eternally happy with one woman, then he’s either crazier than me or just a greedy-ass motherfucker.
Chapter 17
Kat
I look out the window of the taxi at the driving rain pelting the car window. My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I look at the screen.
“Hey, PG,” Josh’s text says. “I’m about to board a flight from JFK to LAX. Just wanted to say hi real quick.”
I smile at my phone. I can’t believe how attentive Josh has been these past few days during his trip to New York. What a stark difference from his prior trip to New York right before Las Vegas, when he sent me crap messages all week long like, “Hey, Party Girl!” and “What’s up?” Looks like Josh is ready to move past The Game Where We Pretend We Don’t Give a Shit. And that’s a damned good thing, because I stopped playing that game a long time ago.
“Hey there, Playboy,” I type. “I was just thinking about you. I just landed at SEA from... Dang it. What’s the airport code for Las Vegas? LVS?”
“LAS,” Josh writes.
“Well, aren’t you the airport-code guru.”
“Yeah, I know them all,” he writes. “My life is one giant airport code.”
“LOL. (That’s not an airport code, btw—that’s just me laughing.)”
“Thanks for the clarification,” he writes. “For a second, I thought you were flying in from Derby Field in Lovelock, Nevada.”
“Wow, you really DO know your airport codes. Why have you been to Lovelock, Nevada?”
“I haven’t. I only know LOL because I once read an article about funny airport codes. Other sidesplitting entries include SUX in Sioux City and OMG in Namibia.”
“LOL.”
“Derby Field!” he writes.
“Hey, it’s an airport-code version of ‘Who’s on First?’” I write.
“Totally. OMG.”
“Namibia!” I write.
“LOL.”
“Derby Field!” I write.
“Gah!” he writes. “Make it stop.”
I laugh out loud and the taxi driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror glance back at me.
“Can you talk?” Josh writes. “I’ve got a few minutes before boarding.”
“Yes, sir. Call me now.”
When his call comes in, I pick up immediately, smiling broadly.
“Hi, Playboy,” I coo.
“Hi, Party Girl with a Hyphen,” he says. “How are you, beautiful?”
Wow, he sounds incredibly chipper. “I’m great. I’m sitting in a taxi on my way home. How are you?”
“Well, I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and feeling fine as wine, thank you for asking. The world is my oyster.”
“Wow. You sound extremely perky today.”
“I am. Jonas and I told my uncle we’re leaving Faraday & Sons the other night, and yesterday we mapped out the transition with the board of directors. I’m so excited, I’m bouncing off the walls.”
“Congratulations. Does this mean you can finally tell me about what you and Jonas are planning?”
“Yeah, but I’d rather tell you in person in between kissing every inch of your naked body. It’s too awesome to explain in a brief phone call.” He makes a celebratory grunt. “I’m so pumped.”
Holy shitballs. He’s acting like that “kissing-every-inch-of-your-naked-body” comment was a total throwaway, but it took my breath away. “I’m so excited for you, Josh,” I breathe.
“Thanks. Can’t wait to tell you about it when I see you, which by the way, is the reason I wanted to talk to you. When are you gonna come see me?”
“As soon as possible,” I say, though the words catch in my throat. Josh and I were together in Las Vegas for only a week, after all, though it certainly felt a whole lot longer than that, and, now that I’m back in Seattle and returning to my real life, I feel unsure of where things stand between us. “So, hey, thank you so much for flying Hannah and me first class, by the way—we geeked out the whole time. It was awesome, but totally unnecessary.”
“Kat, please, you can’t fly coach.” He makes a sound like he’s shuddering.
I laugh, but I’m not entirely sure he’s kidding.
“It was my first time, actually,” I say. “Wow, the seats are so cushy and the flight attendants are so damned nice.”
“That was your first time out of steerage? Oh, the humanity.”
“Yeah. Hannah’s too. She kept asking for extra peanuts just to see if they’d bring ’em.”
“Well, get used to the idea of unlimited peanuts, babe—I see lots and lots of peanuts in your future.”
My heart stops. What does that mean? Is he saying that, since I’m about to become a mill-i-on-aire, I’ll be able to book first-class tickets any time I please on my own—or is he implying he’ll regularly be flying me first class... to visit him?
“Oh, hey, guess what?” Josh says. “Henn has some ‘work’ in Seattle next week. What a coincidence, huh?”
“Yeah, Hannah told me. They’ve already got dinner plans. We’re invited to join, if we can.”
“Next week? Nope. If I get my way, you’ll be here in L.A. next week, acting like my paid whore.” He snickers.
Holy hell. Josh is positively on fire right now. This is as relaxed and easygoing as he’s ever been with me.
“Speaking of which,” Josh continues, “I’ve been thinking about how to pull off all your mini-pornos, and I think I’m gonna hit ’em out of the park.”
I giggle. On our last night in Vegas, after coming back from our night-on-the-town with Henn and Hannah, and after having some freaking awesome sex, Josh and I lay in bed together and I told him chapter and verse about each and every one of the mini-pornos that regularly play inside my head. The man was so enthusiastic he even pulled out his laptop and started taking notes.
“Some of that shit’s gonna be like putting on a fucking Broadway show,” Josh continues, chuckling, “but I’m up for the challenge.”
I cup my hand over my mouth to keep my voice from traveling to my driver.
“You don’t have to enact every fantasy I told you about—” I begin, but Josh cuts me off.
“Oh, I’m doin’ em all, PG—and I’m doing ’em right. Fuck yeah, I am. I’ve got a few things I gotta pound out at work for the next week or so,” Josh continues, “but then I’m all yours, baby. So what’s your calendar look like for a visit some time next week?”
“Um, I dunno,” I say, heat rising in my cheeks. This conversation is overwhelming me in the best possible way. “I’ll need to look at what’s waiting for me on the work calendar and let you know.”
“Cool. Don’t keep me hanging th
ough, or I’m gonna go all Jonas Faraday on your ass.” He laughs to himself. “Oh my fucking God. I can’t wait to see you and get started on our little fantasy-fulfillment exchange. It’s gonna be epic.” He lowers his voice. “Kat, I can’t stop thinking about—” He abruptly stops. There’s a ridiculously long pause. “It.”
It? There’s a long pause. That felt like a weird choice of words.
“I can’t stop thinking about... it, either,” I say slowly, but I’m not completely sure what we’re talking about. Are we saying we can’t stop thinking about our upcoming fantasy-fulfillment exchange? Is that the “it”?
“Oh, they’re boarding my flight,” Josh says quickly. “Be sure to send me a note telling me when you can come to L.A. I’ve still got you on the clock for my ‘PR campaign,’ so if it’ll make it easier for you to get away from work, I’d be happy to throw some more money onto the ‘campaign’ and—”
“Oh, gosh, no, don’t pay anything more to my firm, Josh. Once I get my finder’s fee money, I’ll probably be quitting, anyway, to start my own thing.”
“Awesome, Kat. Wow. Just think—we’ll both be birthin’ babies at the exact same time. My new company with Jonas and Party Girl PR will grow up together.”
“Ha! Well, our babies might be born at the same time, but they’re definitely not gonna grow up together. Your baby’s gonna be in a slightly different tax bracket than mine. Yours will be attending private pre-school and learning to play cello and speak Mandarin while Party Girl PR will be eating paste in the corner at the McDonald’s Play Land.”
Josh hoots with laughter. “God, you’re funny. But, no, Kat, seriously—the size of your business doesn’t matter—you’ll still be an entrepreneur. And in my book, that makes you a fucking beast.” He makes an exaggerated roar like a T-Rex.
I laugh. “Wow.”
“Try it.”
I mimic his roar.
“There you go. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Um... Well, actually, I think my roar is a bit premature. I’ve got a crap-ton to figure out before I decide if I’m actually gonna do it or not.”
“Why wouldn’t you do it?”
“Because I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. I know PR, but I don’t know anything about running a business. I’m only twenty-four, for crying out loud. I’m a wee little baybay, Joshua. Waaah.”
He scoffs. “I started the L.A. office of Faraday & Sons at twenty-four and I didn’t know a goddamned thing. But I kicked fucking ass and took names, anyway—like the wise and powerful man I am. I learned on the job and so will you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have a brother and uncle working with me in case I don’t know something—it’s just me, and I don’t know the first thing about a million things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like whether my company should be an LLC or S-Corp or which billing software I should use. Plus, I’ve got to figure out a logo and website design and—oh crap—what if I wanna hire an actual employee? I don’t have the first idea how to set up payroll or—”
“Whoa, slow down, High-Speed,” Josh soothes. “You’re stressing me the fuck out.” He chuckles. “I’ll help you with all that stuff. Piece of chocolate cake, little baybay.”
“Josh, no, you can’t help me with that stuff—I have to learn it, that’s the whole point of starting my own thing.”
“No, doing everything by yourself is most definitely not the whole point, you fool.” He makes yet another scoffing noise. “The point of owning your own business is being your own boss and getting to do the thing that makes you a fucking beast—which in your case is being a PR phenom—it’s definitely not setting up billing software and payroll. And, realistically, you’ll probably be a one-woman operation for a while, so getting you up and running will be easy-peasy. Don’t stress it, babe. I got you.”
“Yeah, but I still don’t know how—”
“Ssh. I tell you what I’m gonna do, baby,” Josh says smoothly. “I’ll line up whatever you’re gonna need to get your business off the ground—an accountant, bookkeeper, IT guy, website designer, whatever. I’ve got all those folks sitting on my contacts list already, so just a couple of quick phone calls and, boom, you’ll be all set.”
I’m positively swooning right now. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course, I would. I’d do anything for you, Kat.”
Holy shitballs. Josh tossed out that last sentence like he was simply stating the obvious, but I’m floored. “I really didn’t mean to imply I was expecting you to—”
“Oh, I know. I never thought that. I just wanna help.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You know you don’t have to—”
“Dude. You’re pissing me off. Just say ‘thank you.’”
I smile into the phone. “Thank you. Very much.”
“My pleasure.”
I feel light-headed. “So does that mean you’re gonna be, like, an investor?”
“No,” he says quickly. “I don’t want an ownership stake—I’m not making a long-term commitment here. I’m just offering to help you get your baby off the ground, that’s all—no strings attached.”
There’s an awkward pause. He said all that a lot more emphatically than was necessary, I do believe.
“Okay,” I say slowly, my heart beating wildly. Did he just tell me in code he doesn’t want a long-term relationship with me?
There’s a long pause.
“But, I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he stammers. “I’m super excited for you and I wanna help you out.”
I pause, trying to decide what we’re really talking about here. I feel like he just kissed me and slapped me. “Maybe I’d better figure everything out on my own, after all,” I say tentatively. “But thanks for your offer, anyway.”
He makes a sound of frustration. “What the fuck just happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were all happy and grateful and excited and then you suddenly became a chick. What suddenly crawled up your ass?”
I’m shocked. “What crawled up my ass?”
“Oh, Jesus. Vagina!” he shouts. “Sometimes I forget you’re not just a hot-lookin’ dude.”
“What the hell...?” I say, bristling. “What crawled up my ass?”
“Bad choice of words. Sorry. It’s what I’d say to a dude. Forget I said it. Listen, Kat. Here’s the deal. I’m gonna help you because you’re my Party Girl with a Hyphen—not because I want a stake in your company, that’s all I’m saying. Okay? Don’t get all freaked out and start overanalyzing everything and start looking for secret codes.”
Whoa. It’s like he can read my damned mind.
“I’m being above-board with you: I wanna help you. That’s how I feel right now. How will I feel a few months from now? I have no idea. All I know is that right now, I wanna help you. And I wanna see you. And be with you and touch you and fuck you and lick you and fucking bite you, and I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter what the fuck I do—” He abruptly stops talking.
Suddenly, there’s complete silence on the line.
Wow, that was quite the rambling speech from Mr. Joshua William Faraday.
I pause a really long time, collecting myself, my hand on my heart.
He doesn’t say another word.
“Okay,” I finally say. “Well, then, thank you for your short-term and completely uncommitted help. I appreciate and accept it.”
There’s another really long beat.
Josh swallows hard on his end of the line and clears his throat. “Great. You’re welcome. So what do you think about calling the company ‘Party Girl with a Hyphen PR’?” he asks, clearly changing the topic of conversation. “Is that too long?” he asks.
“Is what too long?”
“The name ‘Party Girl with a Hyphen PR.’”
“Oh. Yeah, definitely,” I manage to reply. “And also too weird.” I clear my throat. “Actually, I was thinki
ng of calling my company ‘PG PR’? Is that too boring? I’m thinking ‘Party Girl PR’ kinda sounds like an event planner.”
“Yeah, you’re totally right. Good call, PG. That’s why they pay you the big bucks. ‘PG PR.’ I like it. Oh fuck, they’re boarding my flight.”
“Okay. Thanks for everything, Josh.”
“My pleasure.”
My pulse is pounding in my ears. “Fly safely.”
“That’s always the plan, babe. Oh, hey, PG. One more thing. Real quick. I sent you a little present. It should be waiting for you when you get home.”
“A present? Oh my God, Josh, no. I still haven’t thanked you enough for everything you’ve already done for me.”
“It’s just a small gift. You’ll see.”
“But, no, Josh, you’ve already done too much.”
“Hey, you’ve done a lot for me, too. By my count, we’re pretty even.”
“If you’re talking about all the amazing sex we’ve had, we’re not close to even—that was all for my benefit, I assure you.”
“Dude. I’m not paying you for sex—though sex with you is so damned good, I gladly would—especially since I know you have a raging call-girl fantasy and all.” He snickers. “But no, you big dummy, I’m talking about evening the score for everything you did in Las Vegas. We all owe you big, Oksana, especially me.”
“Especially you? How’s that?”
“Because if something were to happen to Sarah, then Jonas would fall apart—which means my life would suck. So I need to guard Sarah like the crown jewels. Plus, on a personal note, I’d strongly prefer my application never get into the wrong hands, so I’m pretty relieved about the way things worked out.”
Oh, I never thought about that.
He takes a deep breath. “So, like I said, I’d say we’re pretty much even—in fact, I might very well still owe you—oh shit. Gotta run, PG. Hey, there’ll be wifi on my flight, so be sure to email me when you get my gift.”
“Okay, I will. Thank you again. Fly safely.”
He sounds like he’s running. “Oh, and don’t forget to tell me when you can make it to L.A. so I can book your flight—whoa, whoa, hang on!” He’s obviously shouting to someone on his end of the line. “Yeah, I’m on this flight. Thanks.” He addresses me again. “Okay, PG? Email me.”