by Mj Fields
“You missed me,” I shrug and smile bigger.
He comes back quickly with, “Maybe I just wanted to make sure I got my favorite shirt back.”
I laugh and sit back in the leather seat. “I’ll trade you this for the leather jacket.”
When he doesn’t reply, I look over at him, his lips are a straight-line.
“What?” I laugh.
“You need to dial it back a bit, Little Warrior.”
Smiling at the nickname, I ask, “Dial what back?”
“The bad ass.” He puts his hand out. “Your phone.”
“My what?” I laugh.
“You have a follower you need to steer clear of.” He points to my purse. “Phone, Natasha.”
“Ines?” His eyes narrow at the mention of her name. “I’ve already told her I’m not interested. And now that you reminded me.” I reach in my bag and pull out my phone. “I need to see if she’s replied.”
“Natasha, she’s a dangerous woman. She doesn’t play little girl games.”
“I’m not a little girl and this isn’t a game.”
“No, it’s not a fucking game. How long do you think it’ll take for her to figure out who you are and where you attend school, if she already hasn’t?”
“What do you mean?”
He looks past me and out the window. I follow his line of vision and see Shana, Harry, and Charlie looking at us.
When he starts the car and peels out, I have to grab the handle above the door. “Jeepers, Oliver.”
“Seat belt, Natasha,” he instructs.
Ten minutes later, we’re slowing down in front of The Spread Eagle, then he pulls into the hotel garage. The tires squeal as he takes the corners like he’s driving a getaway car.
“I haven’t eaten since this morning, Mario, unless you want a repeat of last night, you should slow down.”
He pulls into a parking spot, shuts off the engine, and looks at me without saying a word. Silence is never been a place I was uncomfortable in, but since Oliver’s admission that he doesn’t share the same position on it, I break the silence.
“You must really want this shirt back.”
The corner of his lip twitches up slightly but is gone so fast it may possibly have been an illusion. “Let’s go.”
“Go where, exactly?” I ask his back, before the door shuts behind him.
I unbuckle my seat belt and look out my window. He’s standing beside the car and for a moment I suspect he’s going to open the door, but when he shoves his hands in his pockets, I open the door myself and get out.
I follow behind his fast pace as closely as I can to the parking garage’s elevator. When the door closes, he hits the button to the eighth floor then he leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
He looks intimidating as hell. “If I didn’t know you, this would make me a little nervous, you know.”
“If you really knew me, you’d probably be pissing all over my shirt.”
“Pfft.” I roll my eyes and his brow darts up.
“You gonna show me the phone or am I going to have to hack the account?”
“Invasion of privacy much, Oliver?”
“You could give me the damn thing so I can see what she said,” he says impatiently as the door opens.
I follow him out. “I’d rather see you try to hack it.”
I hold my phone out for him and he takes it as we walk down the corridor.
After a few steps, he stops and holds it out. “Is this it?”
I look at the screen. “Is what it?”
He chuckles, and I look at him. “What?”
“A little warrior you may be, but you lack some sense.” He reaches in his pocket and grabs his room key, swipes it and opens the door. “Facial recognition, Natasha.”
I grab for my phone and he lifts it above his head, his brown eyes shining with mischief.
“You tricked me.” I shake my head.
“You need to learn to be less naïve and trusting.”
He tosses my phone onto the bed, pulls his out of his pocket, and answers it.
“What’s up, Bass?” He pauses. “Yes, she’s here.”
Bass knows I’m here? Oh no, does Mom know I got drunk? Oliver would never… but he did say I should be less naïve and trusting. No… no, he wouldn’t.
I tap on his back to get his attention, he looks over his shoulder at me, then turns away and continues talking, “She’ll be fine with it. Ines has already messaged her.”
He steps toward the bed and grabs my phone. “Password, Natasha.”
I take my phone from him and hold it up to my face, it opens.
I mouth, “Do they know I got drunk?”
His look is a clear indication he hasn’t a clue what I said. So, I hold up my hand as if I’m holding a cup and mouth slowly do, they, know. Then I toss back my pretend drink.
And he rolls his eyes and again turns his back to me.
Frustrated, I march around him, and catch a smirk.
He turns serious as he takes my phone and thumbs through it then reads out loud.
“Requesting to set up a meeting to discuss a future in fashion, Natasha replied, not interested. Ines responded, do you already have interest? Natasha didn’t reply, Ines said, I can promise IF2010 takes better care of their designers than anyone in the industry. Let’s not tiptoe around this anymore, when Bastien tires of your mother, where do you think a poor little girl from Brooklyn will end up?”
His eyes widen and then I hear Bass through the phone. “That fucking bitch–”
Oliver cuts him off, “As I said before–”
“I know, yes, do it. But Ang, doesn’t need any fucking stress, Oliver, and Natasha doesn’t either.”
Oliver’s jaw muscles flex as he closes his eyes, I see them roll behind his lids. “Already said I had it handled.”
Bass’s voice is quieter now so I can’t hear him. I sit down and wait, wondering how Oliver is handling it. It annoys me that I’m also being handled. Me, me who has navigated through seas of bitches and islands of idiots all my life. Me, a nearly nineteen-year-old woman in college. Me, the daughter of a woman who has just finally, after all these years, found love.
He walks toward the dresser and sets my phone on it, walks in to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
I jump up and grab my phone, hit the Instagram app, tap the little message arrow, and respond.
I’d rather dress windows at Walmart than work with a bitter old woman that doesn’t realize her time has passed. A bitter bitch, instead of accepting it, she chooses to try to manipulate someone she sees as a child. Newsflash, lady, I’m no child. And as far as where this poor little girl from Brooklyn will end up, it’s always going to be at a higher moral standing than the likes of you.
I hit send as I smile to myself as I look at the screen.
“What the hell are you doing?” Oliver snaps and I look up.
“I’m not a kid, Oliver, and this old bat–”
He grabs my phone and looks at it. “In text you said bitch.”
“Fine, this bitch, is messing with me and my mom, I don’t need to be ‘handled’.” I air quote handled even though he’s not looking at me, he’s reading my message.
“For fuck’s sake, nothing like poking the goddamn snake.”
“I’m not afraid of her.” I stand and take my phone from him and walk toward the door.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to walk my grown ass out of here and find dinner.” I twist the door handle and start to pull it open.
From behind me, he pushes it shut. “Like hell you are.”
Turning around quickly, I look up at him and put my hands on my hips. “You aren’t my father!”
He steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. “No, but I’m the man who just told my friend, who will be your stepfather someday, that I had this handled.”
“You worry about Bass, I’ll worry about me and my
mother.”
I turn to open the door again, and again, he shuts it.
“What the hell, Oliver? I’m not your goddamned prisoner!” I spin around and poke him in the chest. “Got it?”
His blank expression changes to amusement again.
“God, you’re such a dick.”
I turn again and before I even have my hand on the doorknob, he grabs me around the waist and picks me up. Somehow, I end up feeling like a damn football, my body horizontal to his vertical as he marches toward the bed.
He tosses me on it. “Sit your little ass down and chill.”
“I’m–”
“Hangry and high on probably the baddest ass text you’ve sent in your whole fucking life. So chill, Little Warrior, and I’ll tell you–”
I interrupt him, “I’m an adult.”
“Yeah, you sure are making some great adult decisions these past twenty-four hours, aren’t you?”
He sits on the bed and grabs the room service menu off the nightstand.
“I’m sure you always made the best decisions.”
“As an adult, hell yes, I did,” he nods then tosses the menu aside. He picks up the room phone and orders two filet mignon dinners from room service.
I’m so pissed at him, I push myself off the bed and march to the bathroom.
“Hey big girl, you may want to fix my shirt you’re wearing as a dress, your Muggle in the streets, Wizard in the sheets panties are showing.”
Oh. My. God.
I’m gonna kill Shana for buying these damn things.
27
Oliver
She’s not Grace.
Not at all, but I can’t stop comparing them. Not when I got off the flying love shack because she asked me to go to lunch and I declined and felt bad after, not last night when I saw her at the bar, and certainly not this morning waking up with her, dropping her off at school, kissing her fucking nose for show, using every bit of control I possessed to walk away and not kiss her like I wanted to.
I knew I was fucked when I opened a goddamn Instagram account so I could see her posts when I was in New York, yet I knew I had control over it. But when I saw that bitch liking her posts, I knew I had to stay and put in place something I thought I might have to in the future, but not after this morning… not now.
Of all the places to bring her, I chose back here, to my fucking hotel room. It makes perfect fucking sense because if that bitch has someone following her, they won’t know why I need to see her, yet it’s also insane, because she’s here in my fucking shirt.
And now she’s pissed at me, so we’re back to the first weekend… again.
But there is a calm now because I realize I’m not feeling all this shit because she could be the twin of the one girl I ever loved.
She’s not Grace; she’s Natasha, the little warrior who apparently is a muggle in the streets and a wizard in the sheets.
The twelve-year-old boy in me wanted to offer my magic wand and dare her to prove it as soon as I saw my shirt tucked in the waistband of her underwear, and I had to remind myself I’m not a twelve-year-old boy, never was. I’m a fucking man. A man who is at a tipping point and knows he can’t keep doing this, tempting himself, not with her. Never with her.
Logically, I know I need to handle this situation with kid gloves because I know what drew me to her. But I’m pretty fucking sure that’s not what keeps bringing me back.
Christ, I’m fucked six ways from Sunday.
When the door opens, her chin is held high, but her face is beet red. I want to laugh, but I need to make damn sure she knows this is serious.
“You can be pissed if you’d like.”
“I don’t like, Oliver, but you insist and you won’t let me leave.”
I can’t stop myself from asking, “Do you really want to leave?”
I shouldn’t like that she looks torn, but I do. Regardless, I need it to stop. “Ines is wealthy and dangerous. She fucked a mess of a kid to get back at an ex-lover, his estranged father. She then manipulated him and now, now Natasha, he’s grown the fuck up and he told her there was no way in hell he’d sell de la Porte to her.”
Her head cocks to the side. “Jean-Paul and Ines?”
I nod and continue, “The most powerful fuel for hate, Natasha, comes from humiliation. That hate can fuel rage for years. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, leave it alone.”
“My mother–.”
She stops when her voice breaks. I stand and go to her. Taking her hand, I look in those aspen eyes and then close mine. “I swear to you, Bastien is the most loyal and honest man I have ever met. He will make sure she is loved forever. And I promise you, I will not let Ines hurt you, but you have to stop engaging, Natasha. I can’t be everywhere.”
When she lets go of my hands and hugs me, I almost pull away, but I just can’t. It feels so fucking good.
A knock at the door forces me to act responsibly, to step the fuck back from her warmth, her lavender and ocean scent, her comforting touch.
I open the door, and I step back so room service can bring a cart in and I hear, “I hope you brought enough for me, boss.”
I glance at Natasha who looks at me curiously.
“Come in, Celine, your timing is impeccable.” I turn and look at Natasha whose curiosity has turned to confusion. “Natasha, this is Celine. Celine, this is Natasha, the young woman you’ll be watching over.”
“Excuse me?” Natasha scowls.
Celine walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
Natasha’s eyes dart back and forth between Celine and me and finally settle on mine. Before she has a chance to ask the question I clearly see in her eyes, I explain.
“Celine and I served together.”
“US Army,” Celine nods.
“She’s still in the reserves, but she now works full-time in the private sector.”
Celine adds, “For myself.”
I nod at Celine then look at Natasha. “For herself.”
I pull over the chair from the hotel’s desk. “Have a seat, Natasha.”
She hesitates, but after I pull another chair next to the one I offered her, she sits.
I pull the cart over between the bed and the chair where Natasha is sitting.
“I’d introduced myself, but I’m assuming you already know–”
“Natasha Petrov, birthday November 28th; you’ll be 19 in a couple months. Your parents divorced and your primary residence, up until you moved to London for college, was with your mother, Angela, in Brooklyn, New York. She is now part owner of de la Porte. Your father is Davis Petrov and he works for de la Porte US. Your stepmother, Sabrina, is a stay at home mother. You have a stepbrother named John, and two half-sisters, Jordan and Joy. You attended–”
Watching Natasha grow more and more uncomfortable, I cut Celine off and explain her purpose. “Celine will be ensuring you don’t run into any issues while here.”
Natasha looks down at her hands, that she’s twisting on her lap. “Does my mother know about this?”
“No, she doesn’t. And I think Bass would like it to remain between the four of us.”
I take the silver top off her plate, then unwrap the linen holding her silverware and hand her a fork. “Eat, ask questions, and relax.”
She leans forward and pushes the green beans around.
“What if I say no?”
Celine chimes in, “Then you still won’t even know I’m here.”
“I live in a very safe area of the city. I walk to campus with friends, I–”
“You can continue doing that,” I assure her. “Like she said, you won’t know she’s even there. And as long as there isn’t an issue with Ines, it can stay that way.” When she doesn’t respond, I add, “You’re going to be a big name soon, Natasha. Once your line is released, things may have to change, until then, just stop responding to her. If she messages you, screenshot it and send it to me.”
“To me,” Celine
corrects me.
“To both of us,” I tell her firmly and look back at Natasha. “When you’re in Paris, you share your location on your phone with Celine. Don’t go wandering alone and if all remains calm, Celine won’t even be there.”
“Well, that’s probably a good idea, especially since my mom may think it odd if I start bringing her with me.”
Celine laughs, and I see Natasha look up at her. When they exchange smiles, I feel as if this situation will be acceptable to her.
“Give her your schedule here, let her know when you and your friends go out–”
“And if you don’t feel like walking or biking around the city, I can give you and your girl a lift.”
“Shana?”
“Shana,” Celine smirks.
“None of my friends are aware of what I’m doing in Paris, or that I’m–”
“They will soon enough, Natasha Petrov, from Brooklyn, New York,” Celine sighs. “You’re going to be a household name, and the young woman every little girl dreams of being.”
I watch her eyes, her beautiful fucking eyes. I have no idea what she’s thinking or what to expect. My heart begins to beat harder faster, because I know I need to be firm with her, an asshole even because I’m riding the line… again.
Finally, I ask, “Any questions?”
She shakes her head as her stomach growls.
I inwardly scold myself for just remembering she said she hadn’t eaten all day.
“Maybe instead of pushing that food around, you should actually eat,” Celine jokes.
As Natasha takes a bite of her green beans, I now scold myself for not ordering more fucking food. I’m famished.
Driving her back to her dorms, I’m fucking anxious, even my damn palms are sweating.
“You’ve been too quiet, say something.”
Her response is immediate. “How do I know I can trust her?”
“I trust her.”
She looks out the window, resuming her silence.
“Natasha–”
“I’m wary of all the people who pretend to care about me, pretend that they want to be my friend and help me.”
I know exactly how that feels, but that admission will cause further doubt. I spew some shit Maisie tells us. “Maisie’s always telling us, when your feeling down, look up.”