“Ready for the—”
In an act of sheer desperation, I threw caution to the wind and actually snatched the coffee mug right out of her hands. Anything to stop her perpetual motion.
“I’m sorry, but you need to please tell me what’s going on.” I held the caffeine just out of reach, trying to ignore the way her eyes were dilating like an angry cat. “Nick sent you over to my place to help me prepare for an event? What event? And if it’s at night, why the hell do I need to start getting ready right now? And why would he send you here to help me?”
My voice rose in panic with each question, flailing as things spiraled further and further out of my control. By the last one, I was nearly shouting—sending little drops of coffee flying in every direction.
“And...and how the fuck does everyone know where I live?!”
Most people would have cringed to be on the receiving end of such a tantrum. Most people would have had the good sense to avoid the scalding drops of liquid shooting like shrapnel through the air.
Stacy simply looked bored.
“Are you finished shouting?”
I sucked in a quick breath, considering the question.
“For now.”
Her lips twitched up in a rare smile.
“Good. Then I’ll tell you what I know.” She ticked things off her fingers, one by one. “To start, Nick sent me over here because you’re no longer ‘Abigail Wilder his publicist,’ you’re now ‘Abigail Wilder his girlfriend.’ That means you’re not a behind-the-scenes puppet-master anymore, you’re center stage. The leading lady. And in this town, at Nick’s level, that means you officially relinquished the right to dress yourself. That’s where I come in. With me so far?”
Strangely enough, I was. When Nick had first proposed the idea in Barcelona, it hadn’t really occurred to me that I would have to look the part if I was to play it.
“Yeah...I guess.”
“You’re going to be on breakfast television. You know, Good Morning America.”
My jaw dropped. “Say what?”
“It’s just a little segment. Not long at all. A few minutes tops.”
I let out a long breath. “Okay, I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. So make our Nikey look all shiny and clean.”
A few women burst out in laughter.
“As if that’s possible,” one muttered.
I chuckled. “I work in PR. I know how the game works.”
“Great, then let’s get started, shall we?”
I glanced down at the bag she’d brought with her, suddenly seeing it in a whole new light. For the first time in my entire life, someone was here to do my makeup. They were here to curl my hair and pick out clothes. For the first time ever...that bag was here for me.
But Stacy was just getting started.
“As for the rest of it, I don’t know what the event is. Rumor has it that Nick planned the whole thing out himself—and you know how secretive he gets when he’s planning a surprise.”
I didn’t, actually. Most of the time, I was planning it with him. Going through all the logistics while he monologued excitedly from the sofa. Never once had the surprise been for me.
A sudden stir of excitement fluttered in my stomach, but it was instantly countered with a wave of nerves. I might not know exactly what Nick was up to—but I did know Nick. The man was a fucking poster boy for the perils of ‘getting a little carried away.’
Case and point: he had once launched a hot air balloon off the top of the Empire State Building, just because his friends bet that he couldn’t land it in the Hudson. (He couldn’t.)
Without me there to rein him in...who knew what the lunatic was planning.