I could hear Stella yelling into the phone, “Don’t be an ass! It’ll be fantastic publicity for the release. Come Monday, all your hard work will have paid off. For now, enjoy the limelight and treat yourself to some downtime this weekend.”
“I’m hanging up now. I’ve got to go.” He slammed his phone on the nightstand.
I sat on top of the covers, and we watched the movie on the huge screen. Hugo didn’t speak, but I could hear his breathing, a stressed sound, raspy even. Like a fire breathing dragon kindling the eventual flames.
I’d been on the receiving end of Miles’ stress rants, so I sat quietly and stared at the screen without really watching the movie.
After half an hour of silence, I heard a knock at the door. “I’ll get it.”
I practically ran out of the bedroom.
I opened the door to find a delivery man from Tom Thumb. He held out the bags. “Order for Mr. Hugo Popovits.”
“You guys deliver?” I wished I’d known this before.
He smiled gracefully. “For Mr. Popovits, we do.” Of course you do.
I took the bags. “Thanks.” Then I leaned in close to him, “Do I need to tip you?”
The thick gentleman of about fifty smiled and held up his chubby hands in a “don’t shoot” style. “It’s already taken care of, thank you.”
He turned to leave, and I sniffed at the food in the bags.
“Pizza?” I said to Hugo as I entered the bedroom.
“Not just any pizza,” he said. He sat up in the bed. “Bring those over here. We’ll have a picnic in bed.”
I unloaded the bags. Red wine, white wine, bottled water, sparkling water (Pellegrino, my favorite), and four pizzas with the same type of ingredients Gwen and I usually use when we make our own pizza. And in a bag of their own, a dozen cupcakes. From their designer frosting, I could tell he’d bought two of each. I may have drooled.
Hugo unpacked the bags and put them on the floor, then handed me a bottle of Pellegrino. “Dinner is served.”
He picked up the remote for the TV and restarted the movie. We both lay back and stuffed our faces, laughing at the clever movie and enjoying our escape from reality.
I looked over and felt a warm blanket of calm and happiness envelope me as I watch the stress fade from Hugo’s face.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t make it to the end of the movie before I fell asleep. Around three in the morning, I woke up, and the TV screen had been paused on a scene from a Bogart movie. Sabrina. Audrey and Humphrey. What a great movie.
Hugo had cleared the pizza and cupcake boxes off the bed. I looked over to catch a glimpse of him sleeping, but he wasn’t there. I sat up in bed and looked around. The glow from the TV gave me perspective on my surroundings, and I got up to go to the bathroom. I looked around the room. He’d left me alone. As promised, he didn’t bite, and he didn’t jump my bones. Instead, he abandoned me. My stomach flopped around like a fish out of water.
When I walked to the master bathroom, I saw the light on. I pushed the door, because it hadn’t been closed all the way.
“Oh God, excuse me. I’m so sorry.” I backed out of the room, but I couldn’t force myself to avert my eyes.
The water ran so quietly, I hadn’t heard it. In a shower large enough for five people, like a locker room or deep roman tub, but without a curtain, Hugo stood with his back to me, water running over his body, and highlighting the curve of his shoulders, and his ass. His left hand out to his left and up in the air, as his right hand pumped furiously in front of his groin area. He didn’t even turn around when I spoke. He must’ve been really into it, if even hearing me didn’t make him stop. I wanted him to turn around so I could see exactly what he held in his right hand. The steam from the shower heated me. Or was it the steam?
Then he spun around, and I realized he didn’t have anything in his hand. He’d been playing the air guitar and was wearing earbuds. And he’d manscaped more than just his face. Wow!
He sang something from an 80s hair band at the top of his lungs, then opened his eyes. “Fuck!”
He dropped his air guitar, but didn’t think to cover his man parts.
“Sorry. I had to pee.” I continued to look at the non-existent guitar. Wink, wink.
He pulled something from his ears, then reached out to the wall. “Sweetie, my eyes are up here.”
I tore my gaze from his guitar…and looked him in the eyes. “Sorry, I was admiring your air guitar.”
He pretended to set his guitar in the corner of the shower.
“How long have you been standing there?” He turned around and shut off the water, then wrapped a towel around his middle.
“I just opened the door.” And watched your pumping action, hoping you were thinking of me. “What were you singing? Sounded like Whitesnake.”
He pointed to a door. “The toilet is in there.”
I scooted past the shower and closed the door of the loo behind me. As I sat down to pee, I laughed out loud and realized he didn’t answer my question.
Could this night have been any odder? And now this?
Hugo knocked on the door. “Sorry I was rude, but you caught me off guard. I’m not used to sharing my bathroom.” A pause. “Or anything, for that matter. And I’m sorry if I hurt your ears. I didn’t mean to sing loud. I didn’t want to wake you. Stupid earbuds.”
I’d been drying my hands on a towel when I opened the door, not expecting Hugo to be a foot away. I looked up and tossed the towel at him. “I’m sorry, but I think I missed most of the show.” I snickered.“Other than those few seconds of you singing, I only heard the guitar.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Wasn’t it a good riff, though?”
“Absolutely,” I played along.
I walked by him, trying to pretend I wasn’t completely mortified, and turned on at the same time. The tent pole in his towel made me want to accidentally yank it as I passed him. Yank the towel, not the tent pole. I felt a tingling in my nipples.
He trailed after me. “I’ll go sleep in the other room. I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I had a waterproof MP3 player installed in the shower, and I didn’t think I’d been so loud.”
I turned around and stood within inches, daring him to touch me. “I woke up because I had to pee, not because you made a racket. Now I’m going back to bed. But this dress is way too uncomfortable.” I pulled it over my head and dropped it on the sofa next to his suit. “Good night.”
I walked around to my side of the bed and slid between the sheets dressed only in my bra and white lace panties, before I remembered about my state of hairiness. OMG, my armpits! Hugo pulled his towel off and slid in on his side of the bed. I took the opportunity to lift my arms and check. Oh, thank the skin gods, I’d shaved my pits. I hadn’t poked him in the eye with a stray hair as I took off my dress.
He rolled over, facing away from me and said, “Good night. Thanks for picking me up last night and keeping me company.”
I rolled away from him and closed my eyes, praying he didn’t roll over toward me and decide to get frisky. How could I have undressed? How could I have forgotten my physical state after just a few hours of sleep? Or maybe since he liked body and facial hair, he might also like it on his women. More likely, he’d have been grossed out. I smiled at that.
Chapter Three
In the morning, I woke up to a phone blowing up and an empty bed. Almost empty, Hugo had left me a note.
Emergency with my launch, I had to go into the city with Timmy. Call me when you wake up.
I looked at my phone again. Almost ten o’clock! I never slept that late, at least not since I was a teen. I slept like a rock after Hugo came back to bed and didn’t even hear him leave. I didn’t usually sleep so sound either, especially when I wasn’t in my own bed.
I looked around. No clean clothes, nothing to eat except old pizza that had been…never mind. Hugo had cleaned up the food from the previous night. Probably taken the garbage with him, since he wouldn’t want it
in this empty house.
My phone vibrated. “Hi, Stella,” I said as I answered.
No pleasant greetings, just, “Have you seen Hugo?” Her voice weary.
“Not since last night, why?”
I heard her take a deep breath. “He’s not answering my calls or texts. Last night he hung up on me, pissed. I mean I’ve never heard him so mad. He said you’d picked him up, so I wondered if you’d seen him since. I checked the house, the office in the city, everywhere.”
“We went to the cottage and watched movies all night. If he’s mad, he didn’t say anything.” Their argument must have gotten heated when I was outside. I tried to remember what I’d heard of the conversation.
“So you were with him. He didn’t do anything stupid?” She sighed.
“No. Last I saw him, it was around three this morning. He left a note saying he went into the city. Something about the launch.”
No response.
“Stella?”
“You slept with my brother last night? You knew he was vulnerable and you took advantage of him? I hired you because I didn’t think you were a gold digger. Well, fuck, my radar was way off on this one.”
Before I could answer, she disconnected.
I said to the dead phone, “No, you assuming bitch, I didn’t sleep with your sorry brother. You’re just lucky I’d been in self-pity mode and hadn’t shaved. Not to mention, your brother is a grown-ass man who can do whatever and whomever he wants!”
And now I thanked my lucky stars nothing happened. I pulled on my dress and went out to the car to head home. I’d had enough of the Popovits twins: the publicity-seeking social butterfly (or snake, as the case may be) and her bipolar brother.
As I drove Hugo’s car back to my house, I contemplated the best way to tell him I didn’t want to fly to Vegas with him and that he needed to come get his SUV. In between, I plotted ways to benefit from the paparazzi taking photos of the gala.
I decided I’d look up the sporting events and celebrity galas on the Dallas social calendars, and I’d find a way to chat with the haves. The have-nots could be quite devious when needed. And since I was done with the Popovits twins, I needed a new plan.
As I pulled into the driveway, I considered all of the social media I could use to my advantage. I’d put together sick outfits on Polyvore and get some attention by posting them on Twitter and Instagram. The people I’d be targeting had rehab-worthy addictions to social media. I’d figure a way to get into the gym where the Mavericks’ wives exercised. Gwen might have that information. Basketball players’ wives had a lot of time and money on their hands, and I wanted a piece of that action.
I buried my head in my hands and leaned against the steering wheel. What was I thinking? I couldn’t do this on my own. I had no idea how to actually run a stylist company. I knew the clothes I liked. I could sometimes read other people and know the clothes they’d love or look great in. But I had no frickin’ idea how to do the rest. I didn’t even know how to bill the clients. Marla had her own in-house accounting, so I never dealt with any of the money or business. I bumped my head against the steering wheel, telling myself to delete my blog before the world realize I’m a fraud. Hell, I’d turned into a mink myself, so how could I tell others to clean up and dress well?
Caffeine. I needed an espresso shot, or six, to get my head back on straight. I sent Orlean a text. I’m available for coffee after all.
I waited a minute or two for a response, and when I didn’t get one, I got out of the car to go in the house and take a shower. After all I’d seen and imagined, I felt dirty. I smiled at the image of Hugo in the shower, playing the air guitar. I laughed out loud at what I’d thought he’d been doing.
I didn’t bother with my muff mutton for the time being, thinking it would keep me from acting on doing the dirty deed with Hugo, but I did shave my toes and legs, and re-shaved my pits. I felt better about myself as I turned off the water and pulled the towel from the hook to dry off my body.
After I got out of the bathroom, I laid down on my bed and answered all of the text messages from my friends, blocked the numbers I never wanted to see again, and listened to voice messages.
The only one I didn’t delete before listening all the way through was the one from socialite Arianna Harden.
“Miss Maisy, I got your number from Stella. You know, Stella Popovits? Anyway, I just adore that dress she wore last night, and she said you’d found it for her. I know it’s the weekend, and you’re probably not working, but I’d love to meet up and talk about you doing some work for me. Okay, not just me. My husband needs a makeover, and I saw what you did for Hugo. Let me just say, honey, I’m amazed.” She rambled on, then left her home and cell number at the end of the message.
I did a little jig while lying on my bed. I might have a new client, I screamed silently. So maybe I wouldn’t hang up the stylist towel right away or delete the blog quite yet.
An hour later I still hadn’t heard from Orlean, and I decided I didn’t want coffee anymore. I’d been googling Arianna and building fashion plates I thought she’d like when my phone rang.
“Hey, sorry I left without saying goodbye, but you looked so peaceful,” Hugo said.
“No worries. But will you please call your sister? She called me looking for you.”
“I talked to her already.” His tone stiffened.
“Did you tell her we didn’t have sex? Because she called me a gold digger and basically fired me as her stylist.” Not that I really considered her a client.
“We talked.”
“Really? So she knows we didn’t have sex and that I’m not after your money?” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Look, Vegas isn’t going to happen this weekend,” he cut to the point. No other explanation.
What the fuck? Fine, I had planned to cancel anyway, but now he canceled without so much as a reason? What the hell had Stella said to him?
“That’s fine, it’s all good. I have a new client I need to go shopping for anyway.” I sensed I’d been dumped. “Oh, and you looked handsome in your suit last night. It’d be great if you kept your hair that length, and your face shaved. A shame to hide that lovely face from all of the eligible women.”
“Look, I just…” Hugo started.
“I have another call coming in, I’ve got to go. I’ll leave the keys to the Mercedes under the floor mat and you can come get it.” Why did this feel like a break up and not the end of a client relationship? It sucked.
“I’m going to be crazy busy through the weekend. Keep the car. I’ve got a check for your services. The launch is Wednesday, so I think things will settle down after that.”
“I’ve got to go, Hugo, the other line is going to hang up.”
“What are you doing right now?” he asked. Okay, he’s “breaking up” with me but won’t let me hang up.
“I’m working on boards for a new client,” I said stiffly.
“Can you spare an hour?”
“Where do you want me to drop the car off? Your house, or your home?” A bit of sarcasm dripped from my words.
“I don’t want you to drop off the car. I want you to open your front door.”
I suddenly forgot about the imaginary person on the other line. I jumped up and jogged to the front of the house. “What’s going on?”
“I can see you. Come with me.” He got out of the back of the Bentley I’d ridden in last week. He didn’t even wait for Timmy to open his door.
“I’m busy, Hugo. I can’t just drop everything each time you get a whim.” Like everybody in your life probably does. I stared at him walking up to the front door as I spoke into the phone. “I gave you a ride last night. I’m done being your nanny now.”
He knocked on the front door.
I had the house to myself, so I considered letting him continue to knock.
Why was it, I always looked my very best when Hugo summoned me. I wore the same yoga pants I’d been wearing the day we met,
only they were now clean, and a sports bra with a razor back dri-weave shirt over it. I flung open the door.
His blue eyes shined like I hadn’t seen before, and he hadn’t shaved, so the day-old stubble made him even sexier than the night before. His strong jaw and chiseled chin moved as he looked at me.
“You look perfect. Put on some running shoes and come with me.”
I looked him up and down. He’d gone back to his staple wardrobe, but no Crocs. He wore running shoes.
“I’m not in the mood for running, Hugo, I’m busy, like I told you.” I started to close the door.
“Come on, I’ve got something more fun in mind.”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t figure this man out. He had no physical interest in me, so why come by? I didn’t have anything he wanted or needed. I wasn’t sure I had anything anyone wanted or needed.
“Give me a minute.” I left the door wide open and went back to my bedroom for socks and running shoes.
When I came back to the door, Hugo stood waiting, leaning against the door frame with an amused look on his face. He walked me to the car.
I sat glued to the opposite side of the car from Hugo. He sat behind Timmy, and I stared out the passenger window, watching the familiar landscape and wishing I’d never left Los Angeles. I didn’t miss Miles so much as I missed the smog and the traffic and the rude people. Oh, and the beach.
“When my sister and I graduated from college, our parents gave each of us a million dollars,” he said.
I didn’t respond, since I can’t relate, but secretly wished my parents had that kind of money to give as a gift. Or half of it, or a quarter of it…
“My parents are wise people. They kept a close eye on me and Stella. We came from a volatile home when they got us, and they knew the statistics. Even though we weren’t really old enough to know what had happened, we came from a mother who loved drugs more than her children. Addiction being hereditary, they made sure we never strayed off the right path. That’s not an easy task. Stella has her story to tell, but mine is different.”
Why did he go out of his way to pick me up and tell me this? I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to be in the car at all, much less feeling any sympathy for Hugo. The Popovits family saved them from a druggie mother, and that’s great, but why is he telling it like a sob story now, now that he’s one of the richest men in the country.
Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy Page 3