Iread over the email from Arty for the third time, because I just can’t be reading this right. When I told him to book my trip, I expected to be on the record label’s private jet. Instead, it looks like I’ll be flying out of San Diego. Oh boy, lucky me—my ticket isn’t even first class. It’s after ten, and I know better than to call my manager this late, but this already sounds like a PR nightmare. My flight doesn’t leave until eleven-thirty tomorrow. At least I’ll have enough time to get the agency to upgrade my seat. I reply to the email and title the message:Urgent.Then CC my manager. Hopefully, an email tonight means by the time I wake up tomorrow, the problem will be fixed.
Frustrated, I toss my phone on the bed and finish packing my bag. It’s only a little past nine in Colorado, so I type out a text.
Me: You + Me = This Weekend
Vivienne: Who is this?
This could actually be fun. She told me to stalk her. I wonder if she can figure out that it’s me, ready to collect my official date.
Me: Your stalker
No response. I chuckle as I climb into bed. It’s hard to believe in less than twenty-four hours I’ll be back in Colorado to see my little muse. I haven’t been able to get this song idea out of my head since the chorus popped into it.
Vivienne: ?
Vivienne: Obviously, since you’re stalking me, I don’t exactly know who you are and if I’m even interested in spending time with you this weekend. What if I decline your invitation?
Me: You can deny my invitation all you want. It’s not going to stop me from getting what I want.
Vivienne: And what exactly is it that you want?
Me: That’s for me to know and you to find out.
Cute. I forgot she’s spicy, just the way I like my women. She can play hard to get all she wants. Nothing is going to stop me from executing this plan. She doesn’t text me back.
When I wake up to my alarm the next morning, she still hasn’t texted. I don’t know why, but it makes me smile. Next, I check my email, hoping for a reply. There’s one from Arty apologizing. Below his in the thread is a response from Todd. It says to either cancel my trip or take the flight because the plane is full and there are no open seats.
Fucking wonderful.
I send a reply back.I specifically said I wanted to keep a low profile, and I DIDN’T want the paparazzi to find out about my trip.
At this point, I’m better off begging the universe for a miracle. I hope there’s no one on the plane who notices me. Maybe if I look less like me, I can blend in. Who am I kidding? This trip is officially doomed. A wise man would call the whole thing off, but I’m far too obsessed with her. It’s going to be next to impossible to resist driving straight to her house once I land.
A low moan escapes my lips at the thought of her inviting me in, and a shiver of excitement runs down my back. Before I can imagine anything else, my watch vibrates. It’s the first of several reminders I set to help me stay on schedule today. I also pre-scheduled a pick-up, which arrives soon. At this point, I’m not trusting anything Arty set up. I fucking hope the plane has Wi-Fi. I’ll have to read the rest of the email in the car, and download a movie or something so I can disassociate.
When the car finally arrives, it’s seven minutes late. This trip is on a fast track to hell. I put my bags in the back and slide in next to them. My driver is a normal-looking middle-aged guy. He greets me warmly and we exchange the basics.
We drive in a comfortable silence as I read my email from Arty. The good news is he rented a car. The bad news? I’ve never heard of the hotel chain: Lakewood Comfort Lodge. I run my hand over my face with a sigh and keep reading. I told him to get me tickets to dinner and a show. I have tickets to a local movie theater at the mall and reservations at BananaBees.
“How fucking old is this guy?” I mutter under my breath.
The driver flicks his eyes to the mirror. “Did you say something to me, sir?”
“Oh no, sorry. I was just talking to this email I was reading. I know it’s silly.”
He laughs gently. “I completely understand.”
“Thanks,” I reply, genuinely grateful he didn’t make me feel weird for talking to my emails.
I check my inbox. No reply yet. Oh well, I guess I’ll send another one.
Arty, how old are you? I asked for dinner reservations and a show. You seriously booked me BananaBees and a movie at the mall. Is this a joke?
It can’t get any worse at this point. I switch over to downloading a few movie options off my streaming apps. We’ll be at the airport soon.
Everything goes smoothly on my way through security. I board pretty early. Other than being stuck in the center seat on the plane, it hasn’t been terrible. But once you fly first class, it’s so hard to go back to a regular seat. While I still have internet, I check my emails one last time. Arty sent a short response:Trust. Hot girls love the chicken penne.
I snort, which earns me a dirty look from the lady in the window seat. She looks genuinely terrified to be sitting next to me. I guess I can see how someone like me in their designer sweatsuit might draw that reaction. The man next to me is already reading a book, wiggling around trying to find a comfortable spot on his neck pillow.
