Page 78 of Shade
Do you see that girl about to walk into the hotel restaurant wearing Mila’s dress that doesn’t look as flattering on her as it did on Mila and shoes that are a size too small?
That’s me. In case you’re wondering, I’m nervous to the point where I’m certain my stomach is trying to turn itself inside out. And succeeding. But hey, at least I no longer smell like a mocha threw up on me.
Once inside, I nearly drop to my knees. Not only is Willa sitting in a back-corner booth tucked away from everyone else, but guess who’s sitting next to her?
His name rhymes with maid.
Do you see me trying to put one foot in front of the other? It’s taking a good amount of effort, isn’t it? It’s something similar to watching a teenager in her mother’s heels for the first time. Believe it or not, I don’t wear heels all that often.
Not only do my toes feel like they’re being squeezed into a hot dog press, but Shade Sawyer is sitting fifteen feet from me wearing a black T-shirt, his usual sunglasses, and leather pants. Yes, fucking leather pants. Dude has more style than most women I know. Including myself.
Don’t run up and lick him. If you want the job, you have to remain dignified and professional. But do I know how to do that?
Have you ever had that feeling in your chest your heart’s going to explode, and you think to yourself, well, this is the end, isn’t it? Been nice knowing you because I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out. I’m currently experiencing said symptoms.
Listen, do me a favor. If I do pass out, tell Shade I forgive him for the pull-out condom fiasco as long as he comes to my funeral and lets me have his sunglasses in my coffin. But only on the conditions listed above.
One shaky step at a time, I approach their table, my wild mess of blond curls in my face. Reaching up, I calmly pick away a few loose strands clinging to my lips like they’ve been glued there. Lip gloss and I don’t mix.
Once at the table, Willa smiles at me.
Shade doesn’t even look up. Instead, his focus is on his cell phone, the window, and the glass of amber-colored liquor in front of him. So not so different from the last time I saw him.
Awesome. I want to rip his sunglasses off his face and scream at him, “Why’d you pull out, dick?”
But I don’t because the idea of being his assistant is far more rewarding than him making eye contact. I also have to give him a break. He’s struggling, and I get that. I’ve been there. Maybe if I were his assistant, I could pull him out of his slump by you know, sexual favors?
Hey, it’s an idea. Maybe not a good one, but an idea. And then I’m kind of disappointed in myself because the last thing I want Shade to assume is that I’d take the job just to have sex with him on a regular basis.
Leaning forward, Willa reaches out to shake my hand. “Good evening, Scarlet. Thanks so much for meeting with us on such short notice.” And then she elbows Shade next to her in the ribs. “Say hello.”
With a heavy sigh, Shade rolls his head my direction like a defiant teenager and groans before saying, “Hello.” And then nothing. No, how are you? No, hey, I fucked you once, didn’t I?
What if he doesn’t remember me? Look at him. He doesn’t.
Although, he did warn me about that. Remember?
He said, and I quote, “I’m fucked up. You know I won’t remember this.” Or something along those lines.
So. . . he warned me. Do you remember what I said?
Yeah, me too.
I let out a slow, even breath and put on my best smile as I sit down across from them and try not to kick Shade’s shin for ignoring me.
What I can’t ignore is the gravity pulling me to him, both physically and mentally, and I can’t for the life of me stop myself from staring at him. He’s wearing his sunglasses, so maybe he’s looking at me too?
Not likely. He’s texting someone, slouched in the chair with one hand on his drink, the other holding his phone. Much like the night I spent with him, he seems distracted.
Before I met Shade, I was blinded by the idea of him. Now, I see his faults and weaknesses. His lack of attention in anything aside from himself. But then again, I don’t think it’s him being selfish. I think it stems from him living a lifestyle where his privacy is never his.
Willa makes small talk with me, and I’m sweating so badly, my heart jumping up and down, I’m not sure if I hear anything she’s saying.
My stare keeps darting from Shade, to his hands, and the tattoos on them and more importantly, what those hands did for me the last time I saw him.
Do you think he remembers me?
Look at him. Nope. Not a fucking clue.
