Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

I came to with a start sometime later. Sitting up and glancing around the strange space. Memories of the night before flooded my brain and I cursed under my breath, clutching my forehead. He was gone.

My stomach felt empty and sick and I hadn’t been expecting that—not that I’d had time to expect anything. It was completely irrational, but I wanted to cry. I’d never met anyone like Broderick and, in retrospect, everything about him as seen through the filter of my dreamy recollections, felt once-in-a-lifetime.

Boo, Ophelia. Boo.

That’s right, I was heckling myself.

I should’ve had fantastic sex with him.

He made me feel seen in a way no one ever had before, not even Gran, and I was infinitely sad because I knew, deep down, I’d never see him again.

Glancing around the room—half hoping he hadn’t left, that he’d suddenly appear—I spotted a piece of paper on the coffee table. I picked it up and discovered he’d left a note.

My heart leapt.

Dear O,

I didn’t want to wake you, but it seemed rude to leave without saying goodbye. Last night was perfect. I’ll never forget it. Especially your sunbeam smile and your voice. You have a unique talent, Ophelia, a talent you need to share with the world. (Not just old dudes drinking pints in dark bars.) I’m leaving you the contact information for someone who I think will be able to help you make a start with a music career, if you’re interested.

Thank you for spending Christmas Eve with me.

Yours,

Broderick Addams.

My cheeks heated when I finished reading, my mind a whirr with hope and possibility, but also a strange sense of niggling doom because his name sounded familiar. But I couldn’t focus on that.

He thought I had the chance at a music career? The very thought made my insides go haywire. Then I looked at the note again and realized—again—that he’d signed his full name. Broderick Addams.

I gasped, and then I leapt—quite ungracefully—from the couch and then jumped on top of it as another kind of hope seized me. If he never wanted to see me again then he would’ve just signed with his first name. Including his last name made me feel like he wanted me to look him up! He wants to see me again!!

Or . . .

Maybe I was reading too much into it. I frowned at his last name. Ugh. What did it mean? And why did his name sound so familiar?

Without overthinking it, I pulled out my phone and quickly typed his name into Google. And then I dropped my phone as my arse fell back to the sofa and I covered my mouth.

Shite.

“Holy fucking shite.”

Broderick Addams.

God. I knew him. I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was—well, everyone who followed music. Producer with Blackbird Records, he’d worked on some of the biggest albums of the last five years. Like, tens of millions of copies sold, launching new careers, rejuvenating old ones.

And I’d just spent the night with him.

And he’d kissed me.

And I was now staying in an apartment he’d paid for.

My heart beat fast, thrumming away inside my chest, my mind a mess, torn. What would I do? What should I do? All my dreams could become a reality. Broderick Addams believed in me, thought I had talent. He could make things happen, if I wanted them to happen.

But . . . Happy Christmas, indeed.

I touched my lips with my fingertips, remembering the kiss—our kiss—and I felt hot with confusion. Did he like me for my voice? Or did he like my voice for me?

My supervisor Sally’s words from the end of my shift yesterday repeated in my head. I’d thought it a platitude at the time. Something people said to each other that didn’t really mean anything. Well, it seemed this time it did.