He wouldn’t. Because he could have anyone he wanted. Someone as smart and sexy and successful as he was. Someone professional. Someone mature. Someone with a university education, a beautiful house, and a Ferrari in his garage—maybe two. That’s the guy he would want, and the guy he would deserve. Not some scrappy Russian immigrant who wasn’t even sure where his next meal was going to come from.
And anyway, I had enough to do today without getting distracted by Derek. I grabbed my phone to see if Jake had texted or called and saw that I had voicemail from him.
I played it, putting the phone to my ear. “Hey dude, it's Jake. I’m trying to get ahold of you but your phone keeps sending me to voicemail. You’re probably on your way here already. Anyway, my car broke down in the mountains and I’m stuck here for another day or two until I get it repaired. Sorry I won't be able to pick you up at the airport, but you can get a cab and go straight to the apartment. It's in Hollywood, and I’ll text you the address. My friend Mike lives there and he’s expecting you. He’s also the guy to ask about jobs for cash. I’ll send his contact info. Sorry again about not picking you up, hope you arrive okay. Bye.”
I checked my messages and saw that Jake had texted an address and shared contact info for someone named Mike Jones. I quickly texted Mike that I was Jake’s friend who had rented the apartment and wanted to move in today. I also inquired about any immediate jobs for cash. I’d spoken to my mother last night, and after she’d freaked out over what had happened to me (and demanded to know if Derek was a movie star), she’d promised to wire my savings to me as soon as the bank opened on Monday. Hopefully, Mike would have some work that would get me through the next couple days.
I set my phone down and opened the nightstand drawer, hoping to find a pen. Of course, there was a pen. And a notepad, and a book light, and a book of matches. Derek should run a hotel or something, I thought. He’s so good at this. But he’s probably good at his real job too. He’s probably good at everything.
Sitting up against the headboard, I opened the notebook to a blank page and wrote down everything about him I remembered from last night as well as how I’d felt sitting across from him. After filling up an entire page, I closed the notebook and put it back on the nightstand.
Rolling out of bed, I pulled on my jeans from yesterday, and the clean shirt and socks he’d given me. I’d never worn another man’s clothes. It was strangely intimate, which was exactly what I’d wanted, of course. I felt guilty again. Stop thinking about him that way.
I made the bed and left the pants I’d slept in neatly folded at the foot. In the bathroom, I used the toothbrush and toothpaste he’d left for me once more and wet my hair a little.
As soon as I started down the stairs, I smelled breakfast cooking and coffee brewing. My stomach rumbled hungrily. When I got to the kitchen, I saw Derek at the stove. He looked over his shoulder at me as I entered the room.
“Morning,” he said. He was freshly showered, his dark hair still a little bit damp. He wore jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and back.
“Morning.” I tried not to stare.
He turned back to the stove. “Sleep okay?”
“Yes. More than okay.”
“I see the clothes fit.”
“Yes. I’ll get them back to you right away.”
“No rush. Are you hungry? Want some breakfast?”
“Yes,
” I admitted. “It smells delicious. Although you’ve already fed me once, and I don’t want to be greedy.”
“You’re not. It’s just eggs. And like I said, I enjoy cooking for people.” He began filling two plates with food. “Help yourself to coffee. There’s a cup there for you.”
Grateful for something to do, I tucked my phone into my pocket and poured coffee from the pot into the empty cup next to it. I noticed his cup was only half full. “Can I pour some more for you?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Our elbows bumped as I filled it up, but he didn’t move away. I replaced the pot and brought the coffee to the table, setting the cups down at what I thought of as “our places” from last night. “Would you like me to set the table?”
“Sure. Mats are in this drawer.” He nodded toward a drawer near his hip. “Silverware is in that one on the far right.”
“Got it,” I said, opening the drawer with the placemats in it. Every time I got close to him, my stomach jumped.
I set the placemats and silverware on the table, and Derek brought the plates over a minute later. I almost laughed out loud when I saw them. What he had called “just eggs” was actually an omelet full of vegetables, crispy strips of bacon, and two slices of fresh melon. “This looks so good. You must have been a chef in a past life.”
He rolled his eyes as we sat down. “You sound like Ellen. Don’t tell me you believe in that stuff.”
I smiled. “Okay, I won’t.”
He groaned loudly, and something about the sound turned me on.
“You don’t believe in anything she does?” I asked as we began to eat.
“No. I need to see something to believe it. Did you get ahold of your friend?”