I took a moment to compose myself and tried to decipher his words. He didn’t deny it. But did that mean he was playing with me? Or that I was special because I was one of the few he wanted to play with? I felt a wine headache coming on and typed out the first thing I could think of.
Me: Are you seeing anyone right now?
After I hit send, I silently cursed myself. I didn’t want to seem overly interested. He was probably just messing with me, anyway. Just bored and killing time. He couldn’t really be interested in me. Could he?
Ben: I don’t really date.
I could see that, I suppose. Being a model with a hectic travel schedule, it was probably hard for him to meet people, let alone quality women. My phone pinged again.
Ben: I don’t like to be tied down.
Ha! So much for giving him the benefit of the doubt. He was practically admitting to being a player. Summoning my courage, I typed a response back.
Me: Spoken like a true manwhore.
Take that! That would put him in his place. There was a subtle difference between being flirty and being a bitch, and I wanted to stay on the correct side of it. But sheesh, someone had to call him out.
Ben: Not a manwhore, babe. Only three girls have gotten it.
It. My mouth went instantly dry. He was an exquisitely handsome man, quite obviously women threw themselves at him, yet only three lucky ladies had gotten the goods. That was rather curious information, if he was telling the truth. Maybe he had more restraint than I gave him credit for. Or maybe he’d had a long-term girlfriend somewhere along the way.
I wanted to type back and ask him why he was flirting with me when he could get anyone he wanted. I wondered if he even found me attractive. But of course I didn’t write any of that. I needed to play it cool.
Ben: Emmy?
Wow. I liked that he used my real first name more than was even remotely normal. Breathe, Emmy. Breathe.
Me: Yes?
Ben: Do you have plans for tomorrow?
Breathing became secondary as I took a moment to squeal like a giddy schoolgirl. There wasn’t a shoot tomorrow, and it would be one of the few days we had off, so Gunnar and I had planned to go to the Louvre.
Me: Not really. Probably going to do some sightseeing.
I was sooo canceling on Gunnar if the opportunity called for it. He would just have to deal with it. Our plans weren’t set in stone, anyway.
Ben: I have plans with Fiona during the day, but if you want to meet up for a drink later.
• • •
His friendship with Fiona still confused me, but maybe that was one of the things I could ask him about tomorrow. Perhaps she wasn’t such a fire-breathing dragon once you got to know her. Who knew? And maybe I could discreetly pump Gunnar for information.
Me: Sure. I can meet you later.
Ben: Meet me in the lobby at eight. We can walk to the place I have in mind for drinks.
Me: Great. See you then.
And just like that, I had a date with Ben Freaking Shaw.
5
Ben
Fiona signaled the waiter for more wine. I took a piece of bread from the basket in the center of our table and Fiona frowned. She could shove it.
She rattled on about some up-and-coming French designer and a sample sale she wanted me to take her to. Oh, joy. I tuned her out and let my mind drift back to last night.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Emmy’s playful texts. I’d really just been messing around, feeling sort of lonely and, not gonna lie, horny. I didn’t expect her to get naughty with me, yet she had. Even sent me a flirty pic of herself, softly lit, with bedroom eyes and pouty lips. I smiled at the memory.
I’d looked at the text first thing this morning, chuckling to myself. I was normally a really direct guy and told girls what I wanted. But I knew ordering her to come up to my room so I could f**k her wouldn’t have gone over well. Something told me Emmy was different from most girls. I could tell she wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl. She was smart and hardworking. And her sweet southern accent was pretty f**king adorable.
I had a vitamin consultant, a massage therapist, an aesthetician, a personal trainer, a dietitian, an herbal consultant, a f**king grooming companion, whatever that was, and Gunnar—my personal assistant. The only thing I didn’t have here in Paris was a friend. Maybe Emmy could fill that role. Of course, I wanted to f**k her. Badly. And I doubted how friendly she’d feel toward me after that happened. And it would happen.
“What’s that smile for?” Fiona asked, pulling me from my reverie.
I swallowed hard, letting my smile fade. “Nothing.” Nothing she needed to know about, anyhow. I was looking forward to my plans with Emmy later.
Emmy
Pulling out the most recent stack of Post-its, I sat down on my bed with a cup of coffee to sort through them. I figured I would handle a few of Fiona’s personal affairs before I went out sightseeing for the day. After booking her facial appointment and making dinner reservations for her and Ben early that Sunday night, I decided some further Ben Shaw research was in order.
Relaxing on my duvet with my laptop, I typed his name into Google and hit enter, then I sat back to enjoy the view. Holy Mother, he was hot.
My brain screamed at me, Abort! Abort! I knew this was a bad idea, yet I couldn’t help myself. I watched him go about his life: VIP parties, red-carpet events, black-tie charity functions with a beautiful model on his arm, and photos of him at the beach on his Instagram page. A sharp pain stabbed at my chest.
It was a decidedly baaad idea to crush on him, I knew that. But he was gorgeous, and he flirted with me. Clearly my fantasies knew no limit. I hoped that wouldn’t come to a crashing end tonight when he realized I was so far out of his league that there were probably laws against us dating. Yet still, my stalking knew no bounds. Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I’d need a twelve-step program if I were to cut myself off from this. But he was so good-looking, I couldn’t possibly be held accountable for my actions.