“I have a REAL ID–compliant California identification card. For nondrivers. I still don’t have my driver’s license.”
He wrinkles his brow and scratches his head. “Right. I momentarily forgot. I don’t have time to address this issue right now.”
“Fantastic—neither do I.” I go into my bedroom to retrieve my unused passport from my bedside table.
“We’ll be spending two days in London at my flat before driving to the Cotswolds, where we’ll stay at a house I’ve rented.”
“You have a flat in London?!”
“Of course. I’m there every other month. We’ll also be staying at my condo in Manhattan.”
“You have a condo in Manhattan?!”
“Yes. In Tribeca. One bed, two bath. The building has a state-of-the-art fitness center, lap pool, sauna, lounge area in the lobby, twenty-four-hour doorman. I’m only there six or seven times a year, but it’s an excellent investment. The property is…sick.”
“Do you rent out these apartments when you’re not there?”
“I do not.” Before I can reprimand him for that, he continues. “It’s a long flight to London, and while we’ll be flying first class, in comfort, it can be a difficult trip. Jetlag-wise. Especially when it’s a relatively short one like this. But if you stay well hydrated and practice good sleep hygiene, it should be fine. I get IV vitamin infusions before traveling internationally. I recommend it. You haven’t traveled internationally before, have you?”
“No, but obviously I’ve always wanted to.”
“Good. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
John opens up his briefcase and hands me a fat sealed envelope. I open to find it filled with a stack of crisp new bills—twenties, fifties, and hundreds. Ten- and five-dollar bills. A selection. “Um. Thanks.”
He proceeds to pull a platinum credit card from his wallet and hands that to me. “This has been activated. For incidentals. Wardrobe. What have you.”
“Thank you again.”
“I will call Louisa today regarding YouTube, and I will bring up the other matter after a couple of weeks, to discuss mydonation and your immense talent. Once we’ve established a public persona as a couple.”
“Fair enough,” I say.
“You deserve to be featured, Olivia. You’re very talented and lovely to look at. Unfortunately, art does not survive without commerce.”
“It is indeed unfortunate,” I say. “A few years ago, I would have been appalled by your offer, but I’ve learned pretty quickly that money talks at this company.”
“Don’t be naive. Money talks at every company.”
“Right.”
I hear Callie open the front door, calling out to me before she enters the front hallway.
Before I can answer, Johnny mutters, “I’m going to hug you now,” as he closes the distance between us. He wraps one arm around my shoulders, one around my upper back, pulling me into him.
Instinctively, I snake my arms around his waist, gripping the back of his shirt and burying my face into his chest. Warmth emanates from the V of exposed skin at his unbuttoned collar. One of his hands cradles the back of my head, and I feel his lips press against my forehead. It’s so tender and intimate, it silences and stills me.
This is the opposite of buzzing-fly energy. This is, without a doubt, the best hug I’ve ever gotten from a male human. All his protective energy is holding me in a tender embrace. It’s not sexual, but it is so, sooooo sensual.
“Oh!” Callie exclaims. I can hear her pausing in the entrance to the living room.
I lift my chin, wanting to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his Adam’s apple, anything. But Johnny pulls away from me and turns to face my little redheaded roommate.
“Hello,” he says. “I’m John Brandt.” He crosses the room to shake hands with her, and I am still floating, dreamily suspended in time and space for a few hypnotic seconds until I am enveloped by cool air. Filled with confusion and longing and more confusion.
The fuck just happened?
“Hi, John Brandt,” she says. “I’m Callie. I am so sorry to interrupt. I’ll just go to my room. Hey, O!”
