When in Rome(57)

“Uh…what are you talking about?”

“The guy you gushed about last time we talked,” she says in a clipped tone. “I assume he’s the reason you’re still hiding wherever you are. Please at least tell me that you, a world-famous star, are not contemplating having a relationship with an average pie shop owner who will never be good enough for you?”

“Goodness, Susan. That’s harsh, don’t you think? He’s a great guy.”

“Oh my gosh, you are. You’re considering it.” She scoffs. “I honestly can’t believe you’re still wasting your time there. This whole thing makes me worried about your mental state.”

“HA!” I bark out an unamused laugh. “Now you’re worried about my mental state? I’m trying to tell you, Susan, that I feel better than I have in years. I needed a break.” I’m done apologizing for needing a vacation.

“I would have scheduled you a spa day, you know? Anyway, I’m just going into a meeting. Since you’re on the phone, I’m going to hand you to Claire so she can go over the scheduling I need answers for. When you’re ready to be a professional again, call me and I’ll send you a car.”

My jaw is on the floor, almost unable to believe she would talk to me like this. But then I guess she’s never had to talk to me like this because I’ve always nodded, smiled, and agreed to everything she’s ever asked of me. Polite, polite, polite.

“Hi,” Claire says tentatively after Susan hands her the phone.

“Hey, Claire.”

“So, Susan wanted me to talk to you about the opening week of the tour and—” Claire pauses and I hear a door shut. She then lets out a full breath. “Okay, she’s gone. Listen, I just have to tell you a few things because I can’t keep it to myself any longer. First, I’m not sure how many more days I’ll be working for Susan. She’s a nightmare. So much of a nightmare, I see a therapist weekly where I do nothing but talk about Susan.” She pauses, but not long enough for me to interject.

“The thing is, she’s terrible and there’s a lot going on behind your back that I just found out about. I don’t have time to fill you in now, but I will when you come back to town. Which, I hope you don’t do quickly, because I’m so happy you finally took a vacation. I could see you needed it, but I’ve been too cowardly to say anything until now.” Another brief silence that I don’t fill because I’m too stunned to speak.

“Listen, I don’t want you to have to worry about work. So I’m going to tell Susan your call dropped and I couldn’t get ahold of you again.” Who is this person? I’m having trouble reconciling her with the quiet woman who usually stands in Susan’s shadow. I want to jump through the phone and hug her.

“Claire,” I say quickly because I can feel that she’s getting ready to end the call. “Thank you. Just…thank you. Do what you need to do to take care of yourself, but I’ll be sad to lose you from the team. Let’s talk when I get back.”

“Sure thing,” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Bye, Amelia.”

When Claire hangs up, my head is spinning. I needed something to take my mind off Noah and, boy, did that do the trick. I have so much to consider now. So much to decide. And what is going on behind my back that I don’t know about?

I march my way down the hallway, intending to disappear into my room and contemplate all my options for the future. For once, it doesn’t feel set in stone. I feel like I can make some changes. Like I should make some changes. Except I never make it to my room, because while walking down the hallway, I trip on the bottom hem of these too-long pj bottoms and flail right into Noah’s door where my body throws it open with the force of a 60 mph wind. I fall flat on my belly, sprawled out over his floor like a starfish.

I gasp and sit up, where I find Noah, wide eyed and gaping at me from his seated position on his bed. He blinks. I blink. And then we both talk at the same time.

Me: I’m sorry I fell into your room, it was an accident!

Him: Holy shit are you okay? That was a hard fall!



We both make no attempts to move.

He lets me talk first this time. “I’m fine. My ego is a little bruised, but I’m—” My eyes finally snag on Noah’s chest and he’s…he’s wearing the exact same pj set as the one I’m wearing, but in the color gray. My smile blooms wide and wicked as I pop up to my feet with renewed vigor. He gives me a warning look after noticing the sparkle in my eyes.

I point anyway. “You have more of these pj sets! And you wear them!”

He wets his lips and rolls his eyes, snapping shut the book he was reading—oh my gosh Noah is a reader—and sets it aside. “Okay, get it all out of your system.”

“These weren’t just a gag gift. You own them because you love them. Noah, the Classic Man, is even more classic than I ever knew. Look at you wearing collars on your pj’s. Oh my gosh, you have them all the way buttoned up!” And still looks fine as ever in them. It’s unfair.

He should look ridiculous in a buttoned-up matching set of pa-ja-mas, as he would call them. But no. He looks sexy as hell. Comfy in cotton. Like a handsome businessman in the 1950s just before he puts on his suit, and fedora, and goes to his fancy job on Wall Street to do businessy stuff. And the way his broad chest and shoulders fill out that shirt is undeniably, knee-knockingly delicious. Mainly because I can imagine sitting across his lap and unbuttoning each and every one of those little buttons.