Mr Spencer(40)

And even though I told him that my virginity ship has sailed…. I also know deep down in my heart that telling him I was no longer a virgin was an appalling lie, and he isn’t actually attracted to women like me.

He likes the challenge.

I would too if I were him.

God, I can’t believe that he actually thinks I may have slept with Wyatt. That’s laughable.

“Do you want to come up to level fourteen, Lottie?” Sarah asks.

“What for?” I frown.

“It’s Callam’s birthday. They‘re having cake.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I smile.

“How old is Mr Hot Dick turning?” I ask.

“Who cares? All I know is that he’s old enough to do terrible things to my body.”

I giggle as she pulls me towards the lifts and we get inside.

“I just wish he would get with the program and do it already.” She sighs.

“You should ask Callam out?”

“Yeah.” She thinks for a moment. “Maybe I will.” She shrugs. “If I used my brain and had some foresight, I would have popped out of his birthday cake.”

I burst out laughing, getting a vision of her covered in whipped cream and popping out of a huge cake. “I don’t think level fourteen is prepared for your level of hotness, Sarah.”

“I know, right?”





*



The ceiling of my room is plastered with fancy, swirling circular shapes, and my apartment is dead quiet as I stare up at it. It’s the early hours of the morning, but I can’t sleep. I’m preoccupied with this weird feeling—one of realisation. It’s as if my eyes have finally been open to what I’m missing out on by being a Prescott.

Working, laughing, and being asked out every hour at work by gorgeous men have all made me happy—the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

And this isn’t even my life.

It’s one big fat lie.

I roll over and punch my pillow in disgust. Who am I kidding? Most people on the planet would give their right arm to have what I’ve been born into and the privileged life that I live.

I’m being ungrateful, I know I am. I mean, I do appreciate everything that I have.

I stare into the darkness as a tear rolls down my face and onto my pillow.

I feel so lost.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me? Maybe I need to go back to my grief counsellor?

Yes…that’s probably it. I’ll call and make an appointment tomorrow. I haven’t been for over a year now.

I get out of bed and walk to the bathroom to stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Big blue eyes and pale skin stare back at me. My blonde hair is in a high messy bun, and I’m wearing odd pyjamas. There’s nothing special about me. I’m just a normal girl who happens to have four-billion dollars in the bank.

I storm back to bed and pull the covers over me to stare up at the ceiling again.

I’m lonely as hell.





*



My email pings. Spencer Jones again.

I smirk and look around guilty. It’s 4:00 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon, and I hate to admit it, but I’ve checked my emails every half an hour today.

I don’t want him to email me, but then I kind of do.

Dear Lottie

I am so sorry to hear that you’ve had a terrible accident and broken all of your fingers and are unable to email me back.





I smirk.

I shall however, as usual, pick up your slack and continue with my reasons as to why you should have dinner with me.





11 – I am a specialist in broken finger first aid.





I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud. He’s an idiot.

12 – I don’t have a YouPorn profile.





I frown. What does that mean?

13 – I have nice feet 14 – I can fold a fitted sheet.

15 – I have huge muscles.





I roll my lips to hide my goofy smile, why does he have to be all cute and adorable?

16 – I read ten books a week.





Pft, I highly doubt that.

17 – I’m nocturnal.

18 – I manscape.





He manscapes.…. My shoulders begin to bounce as I try to hide my giggles.

19 - I am on the navigation team for Santa Claus’s sleigh.





I burst out laughing, unable to catch myself.

Sarah looks over. “What’s funny?”

I close the email quickly. “Nothing, I was just…” I pause as I try to think of something. “I was just remembering something I watched last night.”

“What was it?” She keeps typing.

“Oh, just this weird guy was playing tricks on people.” I widen my eyes, good grief. “It was hilarious,” I add.

She raises her eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hmm, sounds it.” She stands. “I’m going to the bathroom. Does anyone want a coffee while I’m up?”

“Please,” we both say.

I drop my head to desperately try to stop myself from laughing out loud. Spencer’s on the navigation team for Santa Claus. Now I really have heard it all. I click the email open again and read the last reason.