With Love

Chapter 3

I sweep my now wavy hair into a pony tail, even with it up my hair still falls half way down my back. I curl the ends between my fingers, the length and dead ends more evident than ever. I should get a haircut, I think to myself. A haircut wouldn't be half bad, my long curly locks are an asset of mine but I've kept my hair long since I was sixteen, out with the hold and in the new. I assess my bare and puffy face in the bathroom mirror, wiping away the steamy residue to get a clearer look. Ouch, I wince, my head already hurts and my hangover hasn't even begun yet. I skull a glass of water and down two aspirin before making my way to my bedroom.

I pull an old baggy tee, Sam's old baggy tee, over my head and pull out some boy legged underwear to wear underneath, as I climb into bed I let out a sigh - a sigh that feels like it's been cooped up inside me for longer than it should've. I get comfortable and reach for my laptop, 2:01am the time reads. An hour ago you were sharing a cigar and a car ride home with possibly the hottest man under 30 in New York City, I think to myself. I decide to google search in the infamous Navy-Novice, 'Beau Jones New York City,' I punch in. A million articles pop up, I scroll through them - Reading snippets of some here and there. As I scroll addictively through them, one catches my eye.

'Beau Jones Jnr. Caught in the firing line of his fathers actions once again' Beau Jones Jnr? I decide to re-type into the search bar 'Beau Jones Jnr." My mouth creates an 'O' shape at what pops up next. Article after article of the Navy-Novices' achievements and heroics, I can't say the same for his father though. The 'bachelor in hell' article Charlotte and I came across earlier in the night pops up, upon reading it I realise it was directed at his father. I also learn they're business partners, business partners in what? I extend my search, 'Beau Jones famous' I punch into the search bar. My pulse fastens at what shows up, they own six world renowned hotels. The Hilton. From what google can tell me, they own The Hilton in New York, one in Portland, Fiji, Hawaii, Sydney and Paris. I scramble for my phone, swiping it open to quickly text Charlotte my new-found information.

'I linked you for proof but Beau AKA Navy-Novice owns SIX Hilton hotels!!!! Ones even in Paris!!!!! Talk to you tomorrow, enjoy X' I text her, linking her to the article I read.

The Hilton, wow. I knew he was rich, but that rich? And out of all people he pays for my coffee tab? He followed me outside from the Charity Ball, on purpose. He took me home, me! My cheeks are hot and I can feel my pulse quicken the more I think about tonight's events. Beau Jones Jnr, I blush even thinking about it. He kissed my damned hand! I stare at the time on my phone, 3:38am, I debate whether or not I pick up from where I left off earlier today before Charlotte rudely interrupted my self indulgent moment with myself. I decide, yes!

-

Buzz, buzz, buzz. I groan, fucking alarms! Buzz, buzz, buzz. I roll over lazily, patting around for my phone. I pick it up, my eyes rolling as I read 'Charlotte Calling', "Yes!" I snap through the phone.

"God you answer the phone with way too much attitude these days!" She chirps.

"What time is it?" I groan, my eyes still half closed as I rub my temple.

"Eight-thirty," she giggles, "How're you feeling?" She asks.

"Like shit," I burp into my mouth as I finish my sentence, the familiar taste of alcohol burning its way up my throat. "I had an alarm set for 10am, but who needs an alarm when they have a Charlotte Abernathy." I let out a painful laugh.

She returns a laugh, "Well how does coffee sound? I can pick you up in thirty minutes?" She chimes. Why is she so happy so fucking early in the morning? Oh, that's right... she got laid. The events of last night suddenly encourage me to go to coffee with her, especially my curiosity towards her own events of last night.