Page 22 of Ms. Fortune

“Who is Wayne?” I don’t recall meeting anyone here by that name. The jealous tone in my voice takes Taylor by surprise. It kind of shocks me too.

“He’s the head mechanic…?”

“And you have his number?”

“I have everyone here’s number, sir.”

“Of course, you do.” I think I see Taylor’s lip twitch into a smile out of the corner of my eye. “Too bad you don’t have the code to this gate.”

He glances at me in question as if I’d actually want him to get it. “Sir?”

“Taylor, come on. I’m joking.” I lift an eyebrow at him, curious now. “Could you get it, though?”

He only smiles in return, and I guess I have my answer. There isn’t much Taylor can’t find out, given enough time.

An older man in coveralls appears as the tall gate slides open. He steps aside to let us through, yelling colorful profanities at the paparazzi. Okay, I like this Wayne guy.

We park and enter the main garage, where there doesn’t appear to be anybody working. The lights are on, but it’s deathly silent. I glance at Taylor, but he just shrugs a shoulder.

“Hello?” I call out, and my voice echoes in the cavernous space.

A head peeks out of one of the office doors. Chelsie’s eyes widen as she sees us.

“Oh, hi Brandon--” She quickly disappears as if being yanked away from the door. A flurry of whispering that I can’t decipher follows and goes on for a few minutes.

Taylor and I stay awkwardly silent, unsure what to do now. They’ve seen that we’re here, but no movement has been made to address or greet us outside Chelsie’s brief appearance.

Wayne enters behind us, stares at us, standing by ourselves quizzically for a minute, but shrugs without a word and walks to the back of the garage. This is getting absurd now and a little rude.

When it’s gone on for an unreasonable amount of time, I head toward the office Chelsie appeared from.

“Well, that’s not your decision to make,” an angry whisper reaches me, but I can’t tell whose it is. If I had to guess from the context, I would say Normandy.

As I step into the doorway, Normandy and Chelsie jump at the sight of me as if caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Nervous smiles are plastered on both of their faces, and standing side by side like this, the resemblance to each other is evident. Even though they are entirely different, their similarities are more distinct than I previously thought.

“My apologies, ladies, for intruding on your discussion, but could I possibly speak to Normandy in private?”

They glance at each other briefly, Chelsie maintaining her smile, which now looks authentic, and Normandy, with panic and fear, hinted at in hers. She reaches out for Chelsie as she steps away toward the door to keep her in place. I’d almost be amused if I wasn’t concerned about why she’d be afraid to talk to me.

“Of course,” Chelsie smoothly evades Normandy’s reach. “You two have a good talk.” She winks at me before closing the door behind her. I have no clue what that was all about, and I’m not sure I want to know.

“Normandy--” I start but don’t get to say anything else as she interrupts me.

“Mr. Carmichael, I sent you a message this morning; perhaps you didn’t get it, letting you know I will not be able to proceed with our agreement. I hope you understand. I seem to have bitten off more than I can chew when it comes to the press and publicity surrounding us, and it’s starting to reflect poorly on the business, which is unacceptable and not something I anticipated, though I’m sure I should have….”

I step up and place my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. She’s wound so tightly, spinning herself into knots over this. I can’t stand to see her so upset, especially since I feel like I caused it, because I did.

“Deep breath.” I take a long drag of air, waiting for her to copy me. When she finally does, I exhale slowly along with her, giving her a small smile. She relaxes a little, and I step back, giving her space. “Better?”

Nodding, she runs her hands through her hair. “Yes. Thank you.” She falls into one of the office chairs, and I lean back against the desk. “The past 24 hours have been way too crazy for me. I can’t function like this. I know I should have, but I didn’t realize what exactly I was signing up for.”

“Normandy, as soon as we went out in public, this was going to happen. I should have warned you, but I have a bad habit of assuming that everyone knows what my life is like since it’s so public. Case in point, what happened last night and today.” I reach down and take both of her hands in mine, a jolt of electricity rushing through me as our skin meets. She doesn’t pull away like I thought she would, which is encouraging. “So, yeah, my life is crazy, and the internet is disgusting, the paparazzi are assholes, and the general public, believe it or not, is kind of tolerable. Most days.”

“Did you know I was a stripper and a backup dancer for Celine Dion and Britney Spears?”

Her expression is so serious that I honestly don’t know if she’s pulling my leg or telling the truth. If it’s true, it’s a random thing to burst out in the middle of a conversation. It’s got to be something that the tabloids falsely reported, but damn, my mind can’t help but imagine all of those scenarios, particularly the stripper idea….

She must sense my thoughts because she starts to turn pink and clears her throat, pulling her hands away and crossing her arms. Bashful Normandy is adorable. So, we have hot and skeptical, and sweet and bashful Normandy as our favorites so far. I have a feeling that list is going to grow exponentially over time.

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