“Hey, hey, it's okay. Stop,” Nick urged, cupping her face in his hands.
“No, it's not okay. This is what I was so scared of, I didn't want to use you. I didn't want to hurt you,” she cried. The people around them were starting to look uncomfortable, but she didn't care.
“I'm okay. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, it kinda hurts to come in second,” he managed a laugh, and her heart broke a little for the beautiful, amazing man in front of her. “But somehow, I don't think I was ever really in the running.”
“I tried,” she whispered.
“I know,” he whispered back.
“Please, don't hate me. I can't stand the thought of you hating me,” she begged, and he outright laughed.
“Tatum O'Shea, I could never hate you. I just hope that while you're jet setting, or vacationing in Monaco, or lounging in the Hamptons, that sometimes you'll think of me,” he told her.
“Nick, I could never forget you,” she laughed as well.
“You sure about that? I'm not a mutli-millionaire, or an aspiring porn star,” he teased.
“No. You're better.”
“Don't you forget it. Now, get out of here. You're cramping my style. I was very set on not going home alone tonight, and the girl I had my eye on is taken,” he told her, playfully shoving her head away. She laughed.
“The girl you had your eye on is stupid,” she sniffled, wiping at her nose with a napkin.
“Sometimes. But sometimes, she's pretty great.”
She leaned forward and kissed him, just softly, on the lips. She felt his hand on the back of her neck, for the briefest moment, then he pulled away. He smiled at her, wiped at the edge of her bottom lip with his thumb, then nodded. He grabbed her jewelry box, snapping it closed before handing it over.
“Alright. Make sure he works for it – that guy's an asshole,” he warned her. She stood up and nodded, wiping at her eyes.
“I know. Haven't you learned yet? That's exactly my type,” she joked.
“Jesus, I really never stood a chance.”
“Is it okay if I call you?” she asked.
“You had better. Now go.”
She walked out of the conference room. Dashed across the lobby. Ran up to the elevators. She hopped from foot to foot, struggling to take off her heels. The elevator doors finally opened and she hopped inside, managing to get one shoe off. A little girl, clearly straight from the pool, walked onto the elevator as well, hugging a huge towel around her body. The doors slid shut and Tate hit the button for the second to highest floor.
“Hey,” Tate asked, bending down to take off her other shoe. “Do you have a hair tie I could borrow?”
“What?” the girl asked.
“A hair tie. I'll give you my shoes,” Tate laughed. The little girl pulled an elastic band off her wrist and handed it over.
“They won't fit me. Don't you need your shoes?” the girl asked, eyeballing Tate like she was insane.
“No, not where I'm going,” Tate replied, yanking her hair up into a high, messy ponytail.
“Where are you going?”
“To chase down a guy.”
“Your boyfriend?”
Tate laughed.
“No, not my boyfriend,” she replied.
“Then why are you chasing him?” the girl asked. Tate looked at her reflection in the shiny walls, straightened out her dress.
“Because I think I want him to be my boyfriend,” she said. The girl scrunched up her nose.
“Oh. I thought boys asked girls out,” she said in a matter-o-fact voice. Tate snorted and lowered herself so she was eye to eye with the girl.
“No way, girls can do anything boys can do, including ask people out. You know what I say? If you really like somebody, just go for it,” Tate explained. The girl smiled.
“I think you'll get him,” she assured her. Tate stood up.
“You think so?” she asked, holding out her arms like she was under inspection.
“Yes. You look really pretty,” she told her. Tate nodded.
“Good. He likes pretty,” Tate said, turning to stare at the floor numbers.
“Is he cute?” the girl asked. Tate glanced down at her.
“The truth? He is the cutest boy I have ever met, in my entire life,” she told the girl.
“Wow. Cuter than Justin Bieber?”
“Yes. Cuter than Justin Bieber.”
“Wow.”
The elevator stopped and the doors dinged open. Tate squealed and kicked her shoes out onto the floor in front of her. She glanced up and down the hall, then turned back to the elevator. The little girl was giving her the thumbs up. Tate gave it back.
“Wish me luck!” she said. The girl laughed.
“Good luck!”
And then the elevator doors slid shut.
Tate realized in her romance-movie-style rush to see Jameson, she had forgotten that she didn't have a fucking clue what room he was in, let alone what floor. He was staying in a suite, that was for sure. The suites were on the top floors. She dug her fingers underneath the side of her dress, at the side of her waist. She made contact with something hard and she pinched it between her fingers, yanking her cell phone out. She called the front desk.
“Hi!” she shouted when someone picked up. “Hi, yeah, sorry, I need to speak with a guest.”
“Alright, who are you looking for?” a sweet sounding woman asked.