Cruel Fortune Page 4

  Words.

  Beautiful words.

  They had finally returned to me.

  I almost wanted to cry with relief.

  I’d thought I was broken. For so long, I’d believed that I didn’t have it in me anymore to write a novel. My whole life, I’d wanted to be a writer. And, now that I was finally being published, I couldn’t write a damn thing. How cruel!

  And yet, here they were again.

  Bright, shiny, glorious words, sentences, paragraphs, even pages.

  “I had the most incredible day,” Amy said. She twirled around in a circle with shopping bags dangling from her arms. She honestly looked like a cartoon character with her excitement and many expensive purchases.

  “Me too.”

  Amy dumped all the bags on the floor. “Enzo was…as sexy as I remembered. Luckily, no whiskey dick this time. And he made up for all that lost time in Paris. And, dear Lord, I swear, he is a god.” Her head popped up. “Wait…what are you doing?”

  “Writing.”

  Amy squealed. “Writing? Really? Your day must have been amazing. Since when do you have a muse?”

  “Since today.”

  “Oh my god, we both had sex.”

  I snorted. “Not quite.”

  “Oh please, we both know writing is like sex for you.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  “What brought this on?” she asked, looking over my shoulder. “Wow, this is really good, Nat.”

  “Thanks. I’m not sure what it was. Maybe it’s this city.”

  “Maybe…but you didn’t write yesterday.”

  I finished the sentence I’d been working on and turned to face my best friend. “I saw Lewis today.”

  “What?” she gasped. “Where?”

  I quickly filled her in on everything that had happened this afternoon.

  “Holy shit. That’s crazy. And now, you’ve written five thousand words in a matter of hours? Natalie, that’s huge!”

  “I know.” I nodded and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t know if it’s him or my rising anger through the entire interaction. Or if it was just bringing back all those memories of last year, which helped me write Bet on It to begin with.”

  “You wrote the last one in a couple of weeks after leaving all of them behind,” Amy said with raised eyebrows.

  I huffed. “I know.”

  “Hey, when you have a muse, you have a muse.”

  “But does it have to be him?”

  “Lewis or Penn?”

  “Yes?” I asked with a wince.

  “Look,” Amy said, sinking into a seat next to me, “the crew, as horrible as they were to you, gave you something. Inspiration and passion and drive. They took what you fantasized about and gave you the ability to put it on paper. They’re larger than life, and there’s a reason people want to read about them. It’s not surprising that you’re reacting to that same feeling again.”

  I hated it though. I didn’t want the crew to be my muse. In any way.

  “I guess this is what people mean when they say writing is easy. Just open up a vein and bleed.”

  Amy snorted. “Well, either way, you’re writing. Who cares why?”

  “Maybe,” I said unconvincingly. “Of course, I’m not writing the book I should be writing. This is that literary novel I’ve always wanted to write. This isn’t even in the same realm as my Olivia book.”

  “Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” Amy said.

  “Yeah, but what do I tell them? I want to publish this one under my name.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I guess I’ll ask my agent tomorrow.”

  “I can’t see her saying no to you since this one is going to be a smash success.”

  “Maybe.” I chewed on my bottom lip.

  “Why so glum?” Amy asked, stroking my hair.

  “What if the words go away again?” I asked morosely.

  “If you were able to write after seeing Lewis, whether or not he was the reason, what does that tell you?”

  “That I’m an idiot?”

  She laughed and nudged me. “No, silly. It means you see him again.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “I don’t want to see him again. He’s complicated. And he reminds me of Penn.”

  “He is Penn’s best friend. That’s true. But what is the worst thing that could happen?”

  “Oh god, don’t ask that again.” I stood and paced away from her.

  I slung open the curtain and looked down at Central Park below us. It was a beautiful day. I should be out there. We both should. But I couldn’t stop the flow of the words even if I wanted to, and I definitely didn’t.

  “Last time was different.”

  “It’s always different.”

  “Okay,” Amy said with a huff. “The worst that can happen is, you see Penn again.”

  I glared at her. “Don’t even joke about that. It isn’t funny.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “But Lewis isn’t Penn, and he promised to keep your secret. What’s the harm in milking every last drop of muse out of him while you’re in town? It’s only a few days.”

  I bit my lip. “I’d be using him.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’re an artist, Natalie. Artists need their muses. He’d be flattered. Plus, he did ask to see you and escort you to your party. Doesn’t sound like a boy who would care why you said yes.”

  It was a bad idea. But this was for my craft. Not for pleasure. I wasn’t going to see Lewis so that I could see Penn. Because I didn’t want to see his stupid, pretty face. And Lewis was going to be at the release party anyway. So, I would have to deal with him either way. It wouldn’t harm anything to take him up on his offer.

  “All right. Fine.”

  Amy whooped. “Limos and champagne and caviar, here we come!”

  “We do not know that he would do any of that.”

  Amy laughed and twirled around in a circle. “He’s a Warren, Natalie. He absolutely will!”

  * * *

  I couldn’t give Lewis the satisfaction of calling right away. Not that I was going to walk away from my computer when I was writing again. I stayed glued to it up until the last minute before I had to head out the door to see Gillian for dinner at Twig. And I raced back to my computer screen as soon as it was over.

  Amy knew better than to complain to me about the whole thing. I told her to make plans with Enzo, and she happily disappeared to his apartment in the Village. I lost track of time from there. My fingers started to cramp, and my eyes got blurry. I knew that I had plans for tomorrow, but I also wasn’t going to stop once I was on this train.

  Finally, at about three in the morning, I fell into bed and slept soundly.

  I awoke the next day and stared down at my phone in confusion. I had about five hundred notifications on my phone.

  Today was release day.

  “Oh my god,” I gasped.

  In my fever dream of writing yesterday, I’d actually been able to push out the fear of release day. And now, my book was out in the world. People were buying it. They were reading it. It was on shelves.

  And I might vomit.

  I was glad that I had lunch with Caroline at noon or else I might just stress-pace the room all afternoon. Forget the bliss of writing last night. I wasn’t going to be able to do that today. Not on release day.

  I scrolled through the messages. Most of it was posts on my Crew social media account for Olivia. But also texts from family and the handful of friends who knew that I’d published. The pen name was to protect myself from the crew and the Upper East Side, not the people I cared about. And, between having the crew blocked on social media and living on my Olivia page, I didn’t think they’d have a way of finding out.

  I spent the next half hour replying to texts and liking post after post from people sharing it. It was kind of overwhelming. Then I stopped on a text message that I’d gotten early this morning from Lewis.

  Happy release day, gorgeous! Excited for every
one to finally read this book.

  I stared down at it in surprise. He really was excited for me. And maybe…he did want to apologize for what had happened in some way. I’d thought he was bullshitting me yesterday. No real part of me had hoped that he was for real. This was Lewis Warren after all. I wasn’t dumb enough to think that there wasn’t a catch.

  But damn, that conversation with Amy was too real. Maybe I hadn’t had words in the last year because I’d found that muse in the crew. In the group of five Upper East Siders who had hurt me. And it didn’t matter if I didn’t want them to be my muse. They were. Somehow, Lewis was.

  And it might be worth it to see him if I could write again.

  I sighed and sent back a response.

  Thanks! It’s a bit surreal. I can’t believe the day is finally here.

  I like to see people succeed who deserve it.

  Then, a minute later…

  A bit surprised that you responded, but I’m glad you did.

  I think I surprised myself.

  What changed your mind?

  I don’t know. I feel like there’s probably a catch here with you.

  No catch. Just me. I’m happy for you. You deserve this and more.

  I grinned at the words on the screen. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. That I was actually going to invite him to the party with me. Fuck, I couldn’t even believe we were even chatting. Amicably.

  Except…Lewis and I had always gotten along. We certainly had never had a problem talking or hanging out. Maybe it would be okay for a night when none of the other crew would be there.

  I’ve reconsidered. Pick me up for the party tonight?

  I’d like that. See you tonight.

  I tossed my phone onto the bed and stretched my arms overhead. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done it. I was really going to use Lewis Warren as my writing muse. It was yet to be determined if this was the most brilliant decision of my life or if it was going to backfire spectacularly.

  I headed into the shower and washed off my long night of writing. After a quick blowout, I hustled from my hotel room to the meeting with Caroline. We were meeting at Norma’s. I was both giddy with excitement, as it was my favorite restaurant in the city, and sick that the only times I’d come here were with Penn. I could practically feel his blue eyes on me as I slipped in from the side entrance of the Parker Hotel, past the bar furnished with red velvet chaises, and into the marble interior of the lobby.

  Caroline stood from where she’d been seated on a small wooden bench. “Natalie, so good to finally meet you!”

  “Oh my god, Caroline!”

  She pulled me in for a hug like we were long-lost friends even though this was our first official meeting. We’d talked on the phone, in text message, and email constantly for the last couple of years, but we hadn’t met up the last time I was in the city, and now, we finally were.

  “I’m sure you’re starving,” she said in her thick New York accent. I never got tired of hearing it. She flicked her shoulder-length bleach-blonde hair, whirled a purple scarf over a shoulder, and then looped arms with me. “Let’s go inside and get you a big, hearty lunch.”

  The hostess seated us at Caroline’s usual table, and we both shucked off our layers from the cold. After a quick perusal of the menu, I ordered a bagel and lox while Caroline got two eggs, over easy, and a grapefruit.

  “Damn diet,” Caroline muttered. She took a long sip of her black coffee. “My husband will know if I get the waffle.”

  “You should definitely get the waffle,” I said with a smile.

  She waved her hand. “Another time. Now, how does it feel? You’re a published author now.”

  “Amazing and terrifying. Not quite real yet,” I added.

  “That all sounds completely normal. I’m so glad to be the one to get this book into the right hands. It’s one that needs to be read.”

  “Thank you.” I flushed and took a sip of my own coffee.

  “So, tell me about the new book. What do you have in the pipeline?”

  “Well,” I said, meeting her steely dark gaze, “it’s not what I thought it would be.”

  “That happens.”

  “It’s not exactly…an Olivia book.”

  Caroline merely arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s a literary novel about a family and their relationships. How different paths shape who they become. It’s not exactly commercial, like Bet on It.”

  “All right. I’m listening.”

  I took a deep breath and told her the whole story. Everything that I had worked out for the new novel and how easily it was coming to me. Caroline nodded along the whole time, but I couldn’t exactly judge her on it.

  “And I’m so obsessed with the story. But I don’t want to publish it as Olivia. I want to publish it as me. As Natalie. I feel like Olivia is great for the kind of book I wrote, when the true story aspect was behind it, but I don’t want to hide behind Olivia forever.”

  “Look, Natalie,” Caroline said, plunking her mug down on the table, “the people at Warren, they love you. You’re a rock star for them. I’m sure they’d publish anything of yours. But you have to decide if it’s Olivia or Natalie. For the long haul.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “Right.”

  “It’s nothing personal. It’s just business. They’re going to want your book, but they spent a lot of money building you up. Olivia has starred reviews in journals, and hopefully, you’ll hit a major best-seller list. That’s something they can use. If you write as Natalie, then you start over. You’re another debut. Unless, of course, you out the pen name.”

  “No,” I said at once. That was a hard no. The last thing I wanted was for the rest of the crew to get a whiff of who I really was or what I’d written about them.

  “So, long-term, choosing one or the other is going to be the way to go.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t really like that answer, but there it was.

  Natalie or Olivia?

  The books I really wanted to write or the one that had brought me success?

  Lord help me that I made the right choice.

  Natalie

  5

  My stomach was in knots. I stood outside of my hotel with Amy and Enzo. He kept sliding his hand to her ass, rippling the red sequined material. She’d swat at him and giggle. And I just stood there, wringing my hands and trying to decide if I’d made a mistake.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Amy muttered. She knocked her hip into me, and I teetered on my strappy black heels. “He’ll be here.”

  “Uncertain if that’s the problem or not.”

  But I didn’t have more time to overanalyze that as a black limo slid up to the front of the hotel.

  “Told you,” Amy said under her breath.

  The back door opened, and every delectable inch of Lewis Warren stepped out of the backseat in a tailored three-piece suit. I swallowed hard and took a small step forward in response.

  “Fuck,” Amy said next to me.

  Yeah. Fuck.

  His dark eyes slid up the slinky royal-blue dress that hugged all my curves in all the right places, taking me in like a feast he was prepared to devour. A sensual smile tilted his lips as he straightened to his considerable height. He exuded confidence that had been born from years of getting everything he had ever wanted. He wore it like a second skin. And I loved as much as hated how good he looked with the considerable arrogance and charm wafting off of him.

  “Natalie,” he finally murmured. “You look beautiful.”

  I flushed expectantly. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

  “Pretty good?” Amy asked. She brushed past me and stepped up to the limo. “You’re wearing a Savile Row suit. You look hot as fuck.”

  “Nice to see you again, Amy.”

  “Good thing you’re not my type.”

  “Such a charmer.” He tilted his head at Enzo. “Your date?”

  “Enzo, Lewis. Lewis, Enzo.” She shot Lewis a daring smile. “You’
d better have champagne in there.”

  “I don’t disappoint.”

  Amy grinned and entered the limo with Enzo, leaving us alone for a minute.

  “After you, Miss Bishop,” Lewis said with a grin.

  “Thank you for picking us up,” I said as I stepped up to him. I had always considered myself relatively tall, and still, I barely reached his shoulder. I looked up into his open expression. “I appreciate it.”

  “It’s really my pleasure.” He gestured for me to enter. “Don’t let Amy drink all the champagne.”

  I laughed and shuffled into the limo. As expected, Amy had popped the champagne bottle, and she and Enzo were already imbibing. Lewis followed behind me, and we started off as soon as the door was closed.

  “You really went all out,” I told him.

  “How could I not?” Lewis took the champagne bottle and poured each of us a glass. Then, he raised his champagne flute. “To Natalie and the release of her debut novel!”

  Amy and Enzo raised their half-drained glasses, and I held mine up too. I downed most of mine for liquid courage. Today had been a day of nerves. I didn’t know if it was worse or better that my book was doing well. I couldn’t imagine feeling any worse about the release. Despite the fact that, after I’d left my meeting with Caroline, Amy and I had dragged ourselves all over Manhattan. We’d peeked into every bookstore to find my book. And to my amazement, it had been there.

  In every bookstore.

  On every main display.

  With giant letters of recommendation to patrons and rave reviews from booksellers and displays in the front of Barnes & Noble.

  I was blown away. It was more than I could have ever dreamed of.

  “You really do look beautiful,” Lewis whispered, leaning close to my ear.

  I flushed at his praise. “Thank you. It’s all Amy’s doing.”

  “Don’t be modest.”