“Ouch. Douse me in rosé. Insult me. Your whole country this mean, or is it a you thing?”
“I’m doing you a favor,” she said, chin lifted. “Someone has to save you from those fashion crimes.”
“You are mean.”
“And yet, you’re still talking to me.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes flickering to her lips. “Weird, right? Must be your flawless English.”
Her cheeks warmed. “No other reason?” she asked.
Nate opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, an arm slid around her shoulders.
“I wondered where you’d got to,” Liam’s voice rumbled behind her ear.
Ohhh.Right, him. The Irish guy, whose face had somehow vanished from her brain. Her head twisted toward Liam, then back to Nate. “I, uh, spilled my wine. On… this is Nate.”
Liam’s eyes flicked to Nate, a thin-lipped smile cutting across his face. He made no move to shake Nate’s hand. Allegra felt a tiny shiver of nerves—or maybe excitement—run down her spine.
“Well, anyway,” Nate said, “nice to meet you, Ella from Austria. I should go clean myself up.”
He tipped his head in a quiet goodbye and slipped back into the crowd. Allegra inhaled to call him back but paused. Something gleamed near her toes: a silver rectangle. His phone. Fantastic. She’d literally tackled the man and mugged him in the process.
“Wait!” she yelped, scooping it up and weaving through bodies. She followed the path he’d taken, pushing her way toward the exit until the humid night air hit her. Outside, the crowd thinned to scattered groups. And there, just ahead, a man in a cap, turning toward the station. Her pulse leapt.
“Nate!” she called, jogging after him. He didn’t turn. She picked up speed, reached out, and tapped his shoulder.
The man spun.
Not Nate. A bewildered stranger.
“Oh, sorry! Wrong cap,” she said, backing away. She scanned the station entrance again. Nothing but a rush of commutersand the screech of an arriving train. He was gone. Deflated, she tucked the phone into her purse. He’d have to come back for it eventually, right?
With a heavy sigh, she trudged back inside.
Chapter Four
Nate stood in the hotel lobby, peeling his T-shirt off his chest like it was a half-dead snake. Perfect. Nothing screamedI have my life togetherlike a wine-stained shirt clinging to your torso at 11.30 p.m.
He exhaled, slow and heavy, as if that alone could reset the chaos of the evening. All he’d wanted was a couple of beers before his ungodly early flight tomorrow. Instead, he’d managed to bodycheck a stranger—an attractive stranger who was going to live rent-free in his brain—and now he looked like a crime scene.
The collision replayed behind his eyes.
God, there was something about Ella that bulldozed right through his usual checklist ofStuff I’m Into.Ella wasn’t put together like the women who glided through his world on set. Her hair was too dark for her skin, probably DIYed in a bathroom sink. Her laugh was loud, unapologetic, the kind that burst out before she could think to tame it. And her flirting? Clumsy, sure. But it was genuine.
He scrubbed at his pec, irked that it still buzzed from her touch. But what really got under his skin was that look—like she didn’t want him to go. Like he was someone worth knowing. Which, Jesus, was not a feeling he was used to. Nate was accustomed to being treated like a mannequin. Half the time, his face wasn’t even in the frame. Just a torso, some abs, and a dick.
Maybe I should go back. See if she’s still there.His sensible brain elbowed in hard.Don’t be an idiot. She’s with her boyfriend. Or whoever that guy was.
He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. Anyway, a girl like that would want nothing to do with him. She probably rescued dolphins or fostered kittens. Meanwhile, Nate? He could ejaculate on command and occasionally memorize lines. Yeah, real world-changer right there.
He grunted, settling into the thought with a sour twist in his gut.Whoever she was, Ella deserved better. So much better.
Nate jabbed the elevator button and stared straight ahead. Sure, he could mope here another week or two, but cheaper existential crises existed. What he needed was a scalding shower, a plane home, and a few months hiding out in his mom’s guest room, where judgment existed only in the form of small sighs and occasionally burnt toast.
A woman slid up beside him, her rumpled business suit and glazed eyes suggested a long day of meetings that had bled into a night of networking. “Hi,” she slurred, accent lilting like someone had sprinkled Swedish sugar on the syllables. “Do I know you?”
“Uh, no. Don’t think so.”
