You've Been Warned - James Patterson [3]
“Hello?”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Michael whispers, “this is your phone sex wake-up call.”
I’ve heard him say the line a hundred times and still I giggle. “Good morning,” I whisper back. And now I’m smiling.
“How did you sleep, Kris?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I had this horrible, horrible dream, and to top it off, my crackpot neighbor just pounded on my door and flipped out on me.”
“Let me guess,” he says. “It’s that nasty old lady from down the hall. The one out of Rosemary’s Baby.”
“Bingo. The woman’s got one foot in the grave and the other in her mouth. I swear, the things she says, she’s going to drive me crazy.” Maybe she has already.
“Even more of a reason to move, Kris.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“The offer still stands. It’s only what you deserve.”
“I told you, Michael, I don’t want you getting me a new place. I need to do it myself. I will. My portfolio is at the Abbott Show. I’m gonna be a star. Aren’t I?”
“Of course you are. But you’re so stubborn sometimes.”
“That’s what you love about me.”
“You’re right,” he says. “The fact that you’re smart, talented, and gorgeous has nothing to do with it.”
God, how I love him. He’s such a sweetheart!
Mind you, it doesn’t hurt that he’s also handsome, athletic, and a managing partner at Baer Stevens Asset Management. Michael could buy me ten new apartments without batting an eyelash.
“So, are you already at the office?” I ask.
“Of course. Either you eat the Baer Stevens, or the Baer Stevens —”
I chuckle. The sun’s barely up. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Clean living, that’s how.”
“Ha.”
“Speaking of doing it, though . . .”
“Very funny, lover boy. Just for that you’re going to have to buy me dinner first.”
“Damn, I wish I could, except I’ve got to wine and dine some important clients in town for the night. Business before pleasure, as they say. What about after dinner? You could be my dessert. Yum.”
“We’ll just see about yum.”
Of course, Michael knows that’s as good as a yes with me. All I really want to do is my photography and be with him, my almost perfect man.
“Now tell me,” I say.
His voice drops to a whisper again. “I love you, Kristin. I adore you. I can’t live without you.”
“And I love you, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I do, Michael.”
He sighs. “Such music to my ears. You really do love me, don’t you?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. The word has me momentarily frozen.
Music.
It dawns on me that since Michael called, I no longer hear the song in my head. What a relief! I’m not losing my mind after all.
“Kristin, you there?” he asks.
For a split second, I consider telling him about the music. I don’t, though. It’s a little too flaky.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine — sorry, I was just checking the time. Don’t want to be late for work.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I’ll let you go. Lord knows you don’t want to piss off that boss of yours.”
1
Chapter 4
SO, WHAT OTHER BAD THING can possibly happen to me this morning?
I think I’m kidding as I hang up and head for the bathroom. That’s when I turn on the shower and discover there’s no hot water. Ugh! No way!
Now there’s a different sound in my head. It’s Michael, laughing, with yet another reason why I should let him be my sugar daddy and buy me an apartment. No way!
Shivering under what amounts to an arctic drizzle, I proceed to take the world’s fastest shower.
I dress, gulp some OJ while munching on a Chai Tea Luna bar, and do a quick inventory of my shoulder bag before heading out the door. It’s all there — wallet, keys, cell phone, and the only other thing I carry with me at all times, my Leica.
Walking up Second Avenue past 46th Street, I pass the same cramped newsstand I do every day. It’s lined sidewalk to ceiling with every magazine imaginable, and I glance at the covers, my eyes taking in the flawless faces of various celebrities and supermodels. Good morning, Brad, Leo, Gisele, Angelina.
Funny, most people want to be them. I just want to photograph them.
That’s my dream,