Chapter Sixteen
George jumps down from the bookcase onto my shoulders as soon as I walk into my living room. I throw the envelope with Jonathan’s key onto the console before picking up my kitty and giving him a vigorous rub. “Hiya, Georgie. Is the mean man treating you well?” As expected, he doesn’t answer.
I put my cat down and start to walk through my house. It feels very weird here. For one thing, it doesn’t smell like my house anymore. The familiar kitty litter and cookie fragrance that I know and love has been replaced with a clean citrusy aroma. It’s not unpleasant, just foreign.
I kick off my shoes and flop onto my sofa with my laptop. Now that Abril and I are on the outs, I might just stay out of the office today and work from home. This translates into making a few appointments to show other clients houses, then quickly devolves into binge-watching The Crown on Netflix.
I can easily see Jonathan and a young Prince Phillip hanging out together, shooting the breeze like a couple of alpha males. The queen and I would be a less likely fit, although I give her high marks for staying true to her own style and not trying to be something she isn’t.
I’m not a napper, and I slept great last night in my ginormous new digs, but I still fall asleep somewhere around the time Princess Margaret’s love life starts to fall apart for the second time. I wake up to frantic pounding on the front door.
“Emily, it’s Jonathan. Open up!”
I toss off the cashmere throw I was snuggling under and hurry to unlock the door. “Hey,” I greet sleepily.
“I’ve been knocking for ten minutes,” he accuses like I was purposefully not letting him in.
“I fell asleep on the couch. I’m a sound sleeper.”
He forges past me, looking around as though fearful that I’ve somehow disrupted his order. Then he turns around and holds out his hand. “The key?”
I gesture to the envelope on the console before going into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. “Are you planning on staying?” He sounds worried.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Jonathan. I’m going back to your house in a few minutes. I’m having dinner with friends.”
“At my house?” He’s back to sounding panicked. This guy needs a horse tranquilizer or something.
“Don’t worry. Martin will babysit and make sure we don’t get into any trouble.” I don’t tell him that it’s his staff I’m having dinner with because I don’t want to get them into any hot water. I can’t imagine that Jonathan would be happy with me befriending his help.
He moves past me with the grace of a panther and pulls a glass down from the cabinet. “I’m sorry if I upset you by changing the locks. I can have them changed back when I leave if you’d like.”
“It’s okay.” I decide to let this one go. Then I ask, “Justin Fox, huh?”
“He’s just signed on to do a film with us.”
“That film ought to do very well,” I tell him while filling a plastic bag with several boxes of macaroni and cheese from my pantry.
“You’re a fan?” For some reason he doesn’t sound pleased.
“Atlas is my Greek god crush.” Justin starred in the blockbuster film Atlas Unearthed. I explain, “How many men can actually hold the entire planet on their shoulders?”
“So, it’s not Justin that you like, but Atlas?” He sounds surprised.
“I’m not one to crush on celebrities,” I tell him.
“But if Atlas asked you out, you’d go?” He’s laughing at me.
“You bet.” I explain, “Even though Atlas lost control of the universe to the Olympic gods, I’d be hard pressed to pass up an opportunity to make him a taco dinner.”
“Tacos?”
“I think he’d be a taco guy.” I add, “Maybe shrimp tacos, but yeah, tacos would be his jam.”
“You’re not normal, are you, Emily?”
Instead of making me grumpy, I suppress a laugh. Jonathan’s stuffed-shirt self amuses me. “On the contrary, I’m very normal.” Then for clarification purposes, I ask, “What’s your definition of normal?” If he describes a Lucy type—which he might, considering the industry he’s in—I would not be normal.
“Normal women would want to date Justin Fox and not the god he plays in the movies. They’d also probably want to be wined and dined at an expensive restaurant where they could show their date off. I don’t think tacos would enter into the picture.”
I screw the lid back on my bottle of water, grab my sack of macaroni, and head for the living room while saying, “I’d kind of like to try to fire his big gun, you know the one from the movie.”
Jonathan full-on starts to laugh at me. “That’s quite a euphemism.”
The heat of a blush covers my face. “I mean his real gun, you perv.” I grab my laptop, my sweater, and my purse off the couch before bending over to pick up George. If carrying stuff was an Olympic event, I’d so win gold.
“Make sure you give my kitty a lot of attention. He’s going to be very lonely for me.”
“Not if you keep stopping by,” he says before adding, “He slept with me last night.”
I’m surprised that Jonathan would sleep with George. There might be some hope for him. “Good. And don’t forget to rub his belly and tell him he’s pretty boy. George is very proud of how handsome he is.”
Jonathan pretends to be taking notes with an imaginary pen and pad. “And if Atlas stops by, I’ll invite him in and call you so you can come over and make him tacos.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Jonathan. I know there is no real Atlas, but surely you’ve had a fairytale crush before.”
“Sandra Bullock from the nineties,” he replies without missing a beat.
“But she’s a real person,” I say. “For it to be a fairytale crush, it would have to be one of the characters she played.”
He shakes his head. “I’d need a time machine to meet her back then. That makes it fairytale enough, don’t you think?”
“I’m not sure. I mean she still looks great, I bet you’d date her now.”
“She’s in her fifties; I’m in my late thirties. I don’t think we’d make the best fit.”
“Are you an ageist?” I demand, like he’s insulting my good friend Sandra.
“No, but I’d like to have a family someday and I don’t think Ms. Bullock will be on board with that in her sixties.”
“I guess.”
“Although, I could always find someone who reminds me of her back in the day. Maybe that way I could really live my fairy tale.” It hasn’t escaped my notice that Jonathan told me I reminded him of Sandra Bullock from the nineties when we first talked on the telephone.
With the grace of a puppy on ice skates, I hurry out the door without commenting. I can’t help but wonder, Is Jonathan Silver flirting with me?