Page 19 of Ms. Fortune

My phone rings, and I see it’s Maggie. The press is now the furthest thing from my mind, but I guess I have to deal with it.

“Hey Maggie, what’s the latest?” May as well dive right in.

“Well, Brandon, you and Ms. Blake sure have been shot out of a cannon.” She doesn’t sound upset like I thought she would be.

“Oh? How’s that?” I can’t say I like this attitude any more than if she were upset.

“The public loves Normandy. She’s pulling you up by the collar of your shirt.”

What an odd saying. “Can I assume that’s a good thing? It sounds painful.”

“Whoever it was that caught you two in the restaurant got some great pictures.” She pauses as though pulling them up to view. “There’s you hugging the restaurant owner. Boy, she’s short, huh? Then you and Normandy holding hands at a table, deep in conversation.”

I hold my breath, waiting to hear if there are any of us arguing, and Normandy almost walking out of the restaurant. Those would be hard to explain. Oh yeah, that was when I offered her money to fucking date me.

“Is that it?”

“Oh, that’s plenty. I’d say good job, but I don’t think you had anything to do with these, unfortunately.”

“That is correct. I was unaware of anyone taking pictures. If I had been, I would have been able to prepare Ms. Blake for the onslaught that awaited us outside the restaurant and her house. She just got trial by firing squad, and I don’t think it went over too well.”

Maggie sighs, “Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later once you found someone. It just happened to be sooner.”

That doesn’t make me feel any better. We hang up, and I consider calling Normandy to see how she’s doing, but I don’t want to disturb her either. I send a text instead.

ME: Are you doing okay? Sorry about the crazy end of the evening. Next time will be much smoother. I promise.

I don’t get a response by the time I go to bed, making me wonder if there will even be a next time.

Chapter 14

RUN RABBIT RUN

NORMANDY

The following morning when I turn on my phone, I’m bombarded with hundreds of alerts for voicemails, text messages, and emails. I don’t know most of the people sending them either. I shut the bedroom window that I leave open a crack at night, no matter how cold it gets, and as I make my way downstairs for a much-needed cup of coffee, I hear a phone ringing. I look down at the phone in my hand, but that’s not the culprit. Dad still has a landline. I glance around the kitchen, trying to locate the phone, and find it on a desk built into the counter. The phone doesn’t even have a Caller ID, so I can’t tell who’s calling. How did people function before smartphones? I would typically let an unknown number go to voicemail, but I don’t think Dad has that or an answering machine. I take a chance and answer, hoping it’s the most daring thing I have to do today.

“Hello?”

“Finally. Let me in.” It takes me a second to register that it’s Bianca’s voice. I am really not awake yet.

“What? What do you mean? Let you in where?”

“Into the house, dummy.” Her words coincide with knocking on the back door to the kitchen. I turn around and spy Bianca waving at me through the window on the door, a big grin on her face.

I roll my eyes, and hang up the phone, then shuffle to the door to unlock it for her. Once she storms in, I make my way to the life support machine, a.k.a., the coffee maker, for some caffeine.

“So, how’s it feel?” Her Cheshire cat grin takes over half of her face as she makes herself at home on a barstool. “Normandy Blake, the new Vegas celebrity at large.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I take it you’re here to drive me to work?”

“You really want to go to work today?” She wrinkles her nose at me. “Don’t you have ‘billionaire girlfriend’ stuff to do?”

I can’t help but both scoff and cringe at the title. That is not going to fly with me.

“Yeah, no. Not a billionaire’s girlfriend. Just pretending to be one on TV.” I give her the fakest smile I can to prove my point.

She looks me over curiously. “Seriously? Does he know you’re pretending?” She scrolls through her phone briefly, then holds it out to me. On the screen is a photo of Brandon and me at the restaurant last night, holding hands while we talked. If I didn’t know any better, I would think the amorous look in his eyes was genuine. But I do know better. It’s all a ploy to improve his image and boost my business. Though my heart does flutter a little at the sight of him. Stupid heart.

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