Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

36. Willow

Chapter 36

Willow

A little over a week later, Heena and I are walking through the door of my family’s Manhattan penthouse, three bodyguards in tow. Normally, I’d yearn to be free of the guards, but I’m grateful for them today since they’re extra hands to hold all the stuff I bought for dinner and sprucing up the place.

“You can just set it all on the counter,” I say, placing my own bags on the huge marble island.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Justin asks.

He’s worked for me sparingly throughout the last year or so, only working when I was doing something high-profile enough that Tito alone wasn’t enough (like fashion month). Now, he’s a new permanent fixture in my life as my second full-time guard.

Heena’s guard, Cole, met us at the penthouse. While she shared my guards with me today, she’s going out tonight and needed someone to accompany her. Cole must be relatively new, because I think I’d remember a face that attractive. Even among Heena’s Rolodex of notoriously hot bodyguards, he stands out above the others .

“No,” I reply to Justin’s concern. “Don’t be ridiculous. Riley’s above suspicion.”

Justin shrugs. “Hey, your dad would kill us if we didn’t at least offer.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m not my dad. I let you go home and enjoy your night.” I reach for the giant bouquet I bought today to make the penthouse feel more alive and pluck out two vibrant white roses. “For Anna.” I give one to Justin “And Lucía.” I hand the other to Tito.

“Thank you, Willow,” Tito says, grinning broader than the small gesture warrants.

“You’re welcome. Now get out of my sight,” I joke, pushing the two giants toward the door.

“Hey, where’s my rose?” Cole asks Heena when I return to the kitchen.

“You didn’t walk all over the city today carrying our shit,” Heena responds.

“So, no rose then?”

“Here.” Heena plucks a rose and hands it to him. “If you want to hold on to that all night, feel free.”

Cole tucks it into his shirt pocket, smirking. “Thanks.”

“Mhm. Let’s get out of here. We’re meeting Zac Schwartz at Jean-Georges in—” She glances at her thin Cartier watch, “—five minutes.”

“Good luck with that,” Cole scoffs.

“I know we’re going to be late, but let’s not be later than we have to be. Bye, Willow, have a nice date,” she whispers in my ear as she hugs me goodbye.

“It’s not a date,” I insist as she backs away.

Cole chuckles as he holds the door for Heena. “Sure it’s not.”

Interesting dynamic those two seem to have. Unlike everyone else in the world, he doesn't seem afraid of Heena—he acts amused by her. But I don’t have time to unpack all that. Riley’s going to be here in ten minutes, and I have a long list of things to do before then.

I quickly change and touch up my makeup and spend the remaining two minutes trying to make the vacant penthouse seem more homely. I hide the three small gaps in the flowers, light a scented candle, turn on some low music, and get out some plates and glasses. Right when I finish, there’s a call to our in-home system.

“Willow, Riley Coleman is here to see you,” the doorman says through the small pad on the wall.

“Send him up,” I answer.

The minute I wait for him to arrive seems to drag on for hours. I run my hands through my hair, stooping low enough (physically and metaphorically) to check my reflection in the oven. I run my palms down the strappy yellow dress I chose to wear tonight, flipping between thinking it’s too formal and too casual. I walk to the door and walk back to the kitchen, debating whether it’s polite or overzealous to meet him at the door.

What the fuck is my problem? I need to stop freaking out. It’s only Riley.

As I’m scrolling through the music—finding the current classical song too flutey —I hear the elevator to the penthouse ding.

I walk as casually as I can to meet him in the foyer, trying to figure out why the hell I’m so nervous.

“Hi.” Riley flashes his trademark boyish grin at me and I’m suddenly reminded why the hell I’m so nervous—because he’s quite possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life .

“Hi,” I answer, drinking in his khakis and blue button-up.

His sleeves are rolled up, and his shirt is left slightly more open than is business-appropriate. It’s like he read a manual on what women want or something.

“You look incredible,” he says huskily, looking at me as greedily as I imagine I’m looking at him.

“Thanks, you look great too.”

After a second or two more of staring at each other, he clears his throat and diverts his gaze from me. “So, this is where you grew up?” he asks, looking beyond me towards the large first floor.

Except for a select few rooms, the first floor has an open floor plan: the kitchen and foyer blend into the living room and dining room. The floor is flanked by huge windows on all sides, displaying an incredible view of Central Park and Manhattan.

“Yep, this is it.” I awkwardly spread my arms before silently cursing myself for being so weird and dropping them back at my sides. “Can I get you something to drink? We have pretty much everything. My mom’s a big wine fan, and my dad’s into whiskey, so our drink cellar is pretty evenly divided between those two. But we also have beer, seltzer, whatever.”

Riley smiles, dimples on full display. “Beer’s good with me.”

“You got it,” I say, opening the drink fridge. “Budweiser or Coors or this IPA thing, or…you know what, just come pick one.” I chuckle. “Who knew we had so much beer?”

Riley comes up behind me, close enough that I can feel his body heat, and reaches over me to grab a Corona. “This place would have been epic for high school parties,” he says, leaning back against the counter and admiring the place again.

I pour myself a glass of wine and meet him at the counter. “Probably. But I left high school at sixteen, so I never got the chance. ”

“Ah. Probably for the best. Wouldn’t want this place getting messed up. It’s too nice.”

“It’s really nice, yeah. It feels a little sterile with everyone in LA right now, but I love it here nonetheless. I missed being home.”

“I know the feeling,” he says, and I meet his gaze.

Holy shit, his eyes are so many shades of green. I could stare at them all day, I swear. I need to stop lusting after him. This is getting pathetic.

“So, have you ever had Joe’s pizza before?” I cut the sexual tension, opening the top pizza box.

“Nope, but I’m assuming it’s your favorite?”

“Oh, mine and half the city’s. This pizza is more famous than I am,” I joke. “I got a few different ones because I didn’t know what kind you like, so there’s a veggie, a cheese, and a pepperoni.”

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble. I’ll eat anything. Seriously, thank you so much, Willow, this looks amazing.”

“No problem. Any excuse to get pizza. And you’re going to Venmo me for all this, right?”

Riley laughs. “Totally, I know how much you need the money. It must be so hard to be a struggling artist. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, Riley, not all of us can have sold-out tours. And do you get paid for those photos of your abs you post, too? Or do you just give that away for free?”

He raises his brows. “What photos of my abs?”

“Don’t play coy. The ones from the tour, where you purposefully lift your shirt up. You’re not fooling anyone. That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“Oh, those ! Yeah, those photos are actually only on my OnlyFans, babe, but nice to know you subscribe. ”

“Shut up. If you were on OnlyFans, I would’ve heard about it. In fact, it would probably break the internet.”

“I don’t know about that. But I’m glad to know I’d at least have one subscriber, Willow Jordan. I’ll have to tell my manager about this lucrative new business idea.”

“Yeah, you’d have thousands of subscribers between me and all those girls online who freak out anytime you do anything .”

He quirks one side of his mouth into a smirk. “Careful, someone might think you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. Just making an observation.”

“Mhm. Don’t worry. I kind of like when you get jealous. It’s flattering,” he teases.

“Like you don’t scroll through my comments, either.”

“Yours are turned off,” he responds without thinking, eyes widening slightly.

“Aha! Caught red-handed, Riley!”

“Whatever.” He raises his hands defensively. “Fine, I internet stalk you. At least I’m honest about it.”

“I stalk you too,” I admit. “I once went down a rabbit hole of some girl who had this elaborate theory about who you wrote ‘Masterpiece’ about.”

“Who’d she think it was about?”

“ Lottie Lawson ,” I scoff.

Riley’s shoulders shake from laughing so hard. “You’re totally jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I just know there’s no way that song is about her. You’ve never mentioned Lottie before. I mean, have you ever even met her? This girl was making the most far-fetched connections possible. It was ridiculous. Horrible investigative journalism.”

“I guess I’ll have to name my next song Willow, just to prevent the confusion. Although, the song doesn’t actually mention your name, so it might be a little weird to title it that…but whatever you want, it’s up to you.”

“You’ve already written it?”

“Yep. And a third is in the works.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Want to hear it?”

“Why don’t you play it for me at your show tomorrow?” I ask.

Riley pauses, narrowing his eyes. “But you’re not going to that show, right? It’s sold out,” he emphasizes weirdly.

“I bought some scalped tickets.” I shrug. “And they were crazy expensive, so you’d better play that song for me.”

“Willow.”

“What! You can’t seriously expect me to be in the same city as one of your shows and not go, Riley. That’s absurd.”

“Willow, I got you tickets to the show . I gave two tickets to Heena, they were supposed to be a surprise for you.”

“Oh my God. You were my hot date?”

“What?”

“Forget it. Ugh, you dick.” I groan. “I paid six thousand dollars for two tickets!”

He roars with laughter. “That’s such a rip-off.”

I lightly shove him.

He rubs his arm playfully. “I’m very familiar with that set, and it’s definitely not worth three thousand dollars a ticket,” he keeps laughing. “Who would pay that much?”

“Apparently, me.”

“Oh, God, I’m literally crying. That’s so funny,” he says, hunched over and wiping his eyes. “What are we going to do? Can you return them?”

“ Return them ?” I laugh. “No way, they’re scalped.”

“Fuck, I’ll have to give you a free T-shirt or something for that. ”

“A free T-shirt ? You better give me more than that.”

“Like what? A free autographed T-shirt?”

“Famous Riley is unbearable,” I reply, my stomach hurting from laughing so hard. “But fine, I guess I won’t say no to an autographed T-shirt.”