Wrong Number (Or Not) Page 2

  The party itself was hosted in the main ballroom of the Ritz Hotel downtown. Naturally, everything was over the top and pristine. I found myself surrounded by polished marble, golden chandeliers, an entire tower made of champagne flutes, uniformed servers holding silver platters of hors d’oeuvres, and lavish banners with pictures of children surrounded by books wearing toothy grins.

  And it was too much.

  I didn’t believe in exorbitant displays of wealth despite what I had stowed away in my bank account. In my opinion, those who were truly wealthy never needed to go to such extents to prove they were wealthy. It was true that I was wearing a fitted tux, black leather shoes, and a silver Rolex, but the clothes were all rented, and the Rolex was a family keepsake. I liked to think I was smart with my money.

  Matty insisted that I was just cheap.

  He was probably right. I had my upbringing to thank for my frugal ways.

  After a couple of minutes of obligatory handshaking with some of the fellow guests of notable repute, Matty and I settled down at one of the standing bar tables. His eyes wandered about the massive space, glancing this way and that at every pretty girl that happened to catch his eye.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “What about that one?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t even look at her.”

  “Didn’t need to.”

  “Then why did you say no?”

  I shoot Matty a skeptical look. “How long have we known each other?”

  “Too long.”

  A soft chuckle escaped me. “You always do this, Matty. You pick a girl that’s too self-absorbed to notice you. You last maybe a month before she gets tired of you.”

  “Are you saying I’m dating out of my league?”

  I took a sip of my champagne. “You said it, not me.”

  Matty crossed his arms in front of his chest and squinted his eyes at me. He really did look like a bratty trust fund baby. Sometimes it was hard for me to believe that he was four years older than myself and the founder and designer of El Saval, a rather successful street fashion label.

  “Alright, hot shot,” he scoffed, “what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “The only reason women ever date you is because of your money. It’s not like you have it any better off.”

  “That’s exactly why I haven’t dated anyone since Natasha.”

  Matty smirked, glancing upwards at the crystal chandelier above our heads with a fond look in his eye. “Ah, Natasha. I miss her. She was a lot of fun. And the one before that… Rebecca? I liked her, too. She was such a riot.”

  “Yeah, on my dime.”

  A mischievous flash crossed his expression. He pumped his eyebrows at me and asked, “Care to make this evening more interesting?”

  “Dear God, no.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, wow,” I said dryly. “You’ve got me convinced.”

  Matty ignored my sarcastic comment and continued happily. “Let’s make a bet. I’ll bet you five grand that you can’t pick a girl up tonight without flaunting your cash and status.”

  I frowned and pressed my lips together. “This is a charity dinner with the rich and famous. People would recognize me in an instant.”

  “Would they, Mr. I-live-alone-at-Wayne-Manor?”

  “Probably?”

  “That’s part of the fun.”

  “And if I say no?”

  Matty groaned. “Then I’ll be sorely disappointed in you.”

  I took another casual sip of my champagne. “Fine by me.”

  “Don’t be such a party pooper.” Matty pointed across the room. “What about her? If you get her number without using your money or success, I’ll give you five grand.”

  “You really need to pick up a hobby. I’m saying this as your friend.”

  I examined the woman, mainly because I was growing tired with Matty’s antics and figured I should just get things over with. Whether I gain or lose five thousand dollars really didn’t matter to me. It was a drop in the bucket, as far as I was concerned.

  The woman was a tall, slender blonde. Young, probably no older than twenty. She had on an expensive red evening gown, delicate pearl beading woven into the silky fabric. Her long golden locks were done up in gentle curls that pooled over her shoulders like waterfalls. She reminded me of a doll. Full lashes, bright blue eyes, skin as smooth and pristine as marble. Her lips were absurdly plump –likely fake– and there was a shiny, glittering quality to her that screamed look at me.

  “Does she look familiar to you?” I asked Matty.

  He was quiet for a moment, appearing to give it some actual thought. “Now that you mention it, I’ve seen her face before somewhere. Can’t remember.”

  I finished my drink and straightened my tuxedo jacket. “Alright, fine. I’ll take the money in cash, thank you.”

  Matty snorted, but seemed amused all the same. “Good luck, tiger.”

  The woman’s surrounded by at least ten different friends. They didn’t look particularly classy despite their expensive clothes. They were all dressed in revealing ensembles and adorned with a gawdy amount of jewelry. Where did they think they were? The Met Gala? This was a charity for children, for goodness sake. Didn’t they understand that there was a time and place for this sort of outlandish dress –which mean never?

  I cleared my throat and put on a smile. “Hello,” I greeted calmly.

  The blonde looked me up and down, not even a twinkle in her eyes. The level of indifference in her expression surprised me. I wasn’t full of myself, but I knew I was built like a swimmer and not entirely bad looking. Judging by the size of her entourage, maybe she was used to this kind of attention.

  Where have I seen her before?

  “What do you want?” she asked, voice shrill and nasally.

  “Just wanted to come over and introduce myself,” I said, unphased. “The name’s Nathan.” I stuck my hand out to shake. She stared down at my palm like it was covered in mud.

  One of the girls standing next to her leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

  The woman waved her away with a dismissive hand. “What can I do you for, Nathan?”

  “I was wondering if I could get your number.”

  Her friends snickered together like a group of chickens, clucking judgmentally. Billie just looked amused.

  “Seriously?” she asked, a quizzical eyebrow raised.

  “Why not? I’d like to get to know you better.”

  The blonde exchanged glances with her friends, a silent conversation passing between them. I frankly didn’t like being kept out of the loop, but this was all for some dumb bet. If I got her number, great. If I didn’t get her number, I wasn’t exactly going to shed a tear. There was no denying that she was beautiful, but her attitude was a serious boner killer.

  “You’re awfully confident,” she said lowly.

  “I get that a lot.”

  “I take it you do this with a lot of women.”

  “Just the pretty ones.”

  The corner of the woman’s lip curled into a crooked smirk. I took it as a good sign. Maybe I was starting to win her over. She reached into her little clutch –a blinding thing made of Swarovski crystals– and pulled out a business card. She held it out to me, pinching it between her index and middle finger.

  “Here,” she said.

  I took the card and looked it over. It was kind of flimsy, made of cheap paper and poor-quality printer ink. Her name and number were on the card in a plain font, but there was little else.

  “Dianna Snow?”

  Her friends held back a collective giggle. I had no idea what their problem was.

  “That’s me,” Dianna replied. “Call me later. But not too late, I’ve got a very busy schedule and I need my beauty rest.”

  That was easier than I thought it was going to be.

  “Thanks. Will do,” I said before turning
on my heel to return to Matty.

  As I approached, he simply shook his head in dismay. “I don’t understand how you do that. You swear you said nothing about who you are?”

  “I gave my first name and that’s it.”

  “Damn.”

  I chuckled at his misfortune. “You can also email transfer me the money, if that’s more convenient for you.”

  Matty reached into his blazer pocket to pull out his phone, grumbling a string of curses under his breath. With a few swipes and taps of the screen, followed by a quiet ding, he shoved his phone back in his pocket.

  “There. Sent.”

  “‘Don’t be such a party pooper.’”

  “Shut up. I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Matty shoved an hors d’oeuvre into his mouth –some sort of salmon, roe, and wasabi combination on a cracker– before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Are you actually going to call her? I could take her number off your hands if you’re not interested.”

  “Who said I wasn’t interested?”

  “Please, she’s so not your type. Help a brother out and hook me up, man.”

  I snorted. “Then why don’t you go up to a girl and ask her for her number. I’m not here to do all the leg work for you.”

  “You’re the literal worst wingman ever.”

  “Come on. There’s a group of women over there. Go talk to them. Or do you need me to hold your hand?”

  Matty rolled his eyes and said nothing, choosing instead to focus his attention on the little platter of appetizers he’d accumulated in the brief moments that I was gone. Under his breath, he mumbled something about how much he hated the fact that women lumped together. It wasn’t fair that this left him outnumbered.

  I simply laughed and patted my friend on the shoulder.

  3

  Dianna

  I

  was all cuddled up in bed when my phone buzzed twice to alert me of a new message.

  I had to unwrap myself from the nest of blankets I’d created, put my copy of Rotor Drone down, and carefully place my mug of green tea down on the nightstand. It was my favorite mug: the one shaped like an orange cartoon tabby with its tail curling at the side to act as a handle.

  My bedroom was also my living room and my kitchen. The studio apartment was all I could really afford. It had been listed in the newspaper classifieds as a ‘spacious bachelor apartment,’ when it was in fact no bigger than six parking spots clumped together. It was mine, though, and I did my best to make it feel like home. One of the best things about being born and raised in LA is I learned how to be resilient no matter the circumstances. When life threw me a curveball, I was always ready to swing.

  The risk of missing was always there, but it was better to try than not at all.

  My daybed also served as my couch when not in use. There were three drawers built into the frame beneath the twin-sized mattress where I tucked away my thin duvet blanket and pillows when I wasn’t sleeping and just need a place to sit. The third drawer at the very end was where I hid the numerous accent pillows and throw blankets for decoration. By day, you couldn’t even tell where I lay down for the night because I transformed the place every morning like Cinderella turning back at the stroke of midnight.

  My kitchen table also served as my work desk and entertainment center. An old clunky monitor sat atop a thick textbook about photography that I’d purchased for college and never once cracked open. I liked to tell guests that my four-hundred dollar TV stand was my pride and joy. I didn’t actually have cable television because the rate plans in the area were too expensive, and there wasn’t any good content to watch anyways. Instead, I hooked the monitor up with an HDMI cable to my secondhand laptop and watched Netflix –using Rachel’s account.

  She gave me her login password when we were in college together. I was pretty sure she’d forgotten about it.

  The digital alarm clock beside me read 10:34PM in glowing green digits. I flipped through the pages of my magazine, folding down corners to bookmark interesting articles I’d try to read later.

  Did I feel like an old woman being in bed before eleven? Yes.

  Was I going to complain after the awful day I’d had? No.

  Sometimes it was better to wind down early than burn the candle at both ends. Burn-out was a serious worry of mine. Since I was the only one paying the bills, I needed to make sure to take care of myself. I couldn’t afford to get sick. And if that meant cuddling up with tea and fuzzy blankets like an old granny, so be it.

  My phone buzzed twice, alerting me that I received a new message. I picked my phone up automatically, frowning when I didn’t recognize the sender.

  Unknown Number – Hey, Dianna. It’s Nathan Alexander. You look like you had a good time at the party tonight. Interested in a nightcap? Didn’t really get a chance to talk with you. I was scared your friends were going to swarm me.

  A wave of confusion swept through me. I had no idea who this Nathan guy was. And yet he had both my name and phone number. I was about to delete and block him when another text appeared on screen.

  Unknown Number – You looked very beautiful tonight, by the way. I thought you should know.

  I felt sorry for the guy. Whoever he thought he was talking to must have given him the wrong number. My thumbs flew over my phone, eager to message him back before things got out of hand.

  Dianna – Hi, Nathan. I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.

  In less than three seconds, I received a response.

  Unknown Number – Are you the blonde from the Hexion Literary Association Charity Dinner? Blue eyes, red dress, sparkly clutch? Dianna Snow. You gave me your card.

  I frowned. I had a number of business cards made up when I joined Pelican Media, but I rarely gave it to people. But this guy, whoever he was, knew my full name. I only grew more confused.

  Dianna – I think there must have been some sort of mix-up.

  Unknown Number – Are you playing hard to get?

  I sighed. There was only one way to clear things up definitively. I quickly combed my fingers through my hair and threw up a peace sign, taking a quick selfie. As a photographer, I was a little ashamed at how poor the lighting was. And the fact that I was in an oversized sleep shirt covered in cute Monteverde flour leaf clover logos. They’ve all got smiley faces, which was a little embarrassing, but I got the shirt for free so whatever. I sent the image off without a second thought.

  Unknown Number – Oh, okay. Sorry about that.

  Dianna – That’s alright. Have a good night.

  I placed my phone back down on the nightstand, fully expecting that to be that.

  Buzz buzz.

  Unknown Number – Cute shirt, by the way.

  A smile stretched across my lips, followed by the softest of giggles.

  Dianna – Thanks. Ex-roommate left it here, so I’ve called dibs.

  My thumbs froze over the touchscreen as I frowned at myself. What was I doing? I had no idea who this Nathan guy was. He knew my name and number, and with that last message, he likely knew I lived alone. I mentally kicked myself for being so careless. He could be some scary stalker for all I knew, and I just sent him a picture of myself.

  “Alright, Anna,” I mumbled to myself. “Get it together. Where’d your common sense go?”

  Unknown Number – If you’re interested in photography drones, Monteverde has a great tech gear sale on right now. I think it’s up to 50% on select items.

  My eyebrow perked up. My magazine’s cover must have been visible in the selfie I took. It was a little out of the blue and totally random, but I definitely appreciated the head’s up. Drones weren’t exactly the cheapest thing I could buy on my limited salary.

  Dianna – Thanks! That’s actually super helpful.

  Unknown Number – No problem. I do have a question, though.

  Curiosity got the better of me. This Nathan guy didn’t seem so bad. Maybe there wasn’t any harm in throwing him a few more messag
es before bedtime.

  Dianna – Shoot.

  Unknown Number – What’s a cute girl like you doing reading a drones magazine?

  My face immediately flushed with heat. Cute? On one hand, it was nice to be complimented. But on the other hand, who the hell was this guy? I seriously couldn’t tell if he was a creep or if he was genuinely being friendly.

  I took a moment before typing up my response. Nathan seemed to know a lot about me. Maybe it was about time that I got to know a little about him.

  Dianna – I’m a professional photographer. I’m looking to buy a drone to experiment with aerial shots. What do you do?

  Unknown Number – I’m a freelance web developer.

  Dianna – Really? That’s actually so cool! But I have a question, too.

  Unknown Number – Shoot.

  Dianna – What’s a freelance web developer doing at a fancy shindig like the Hexion Literary Association Charity Dinner?

  Everybody in Los Angeles knew that the Hexion Literary Association Annual Charity Dinner was a big freaking deal. It’s guest list featured A-list celebrities ranging from famous singers, actors, directors, and basically the who’s who of Hollywood. That was why I found it so strange that Nathan received my business card there. What was he doing there in the first place? Who exactly gave him my contact info instead of theirs?

  This was turning out to be quite the mystery, and it left me feeling too intrigued to sleep.

  Unknown Number – My friend dragged me along.

  Dianna – Rubbing elbows with the rich and famous? Sounds terrible.

  Unknown Number – I know, right? That’s what I said.

  Dianna – What was it like?

  Unknown Number – The charity dinner or rubbing elbows?

  A giggle bubbled past my lips.

  Dianna – Both!

  A few minutes passed. I briefly wondered if I bored the guy to death. I was just about to call it quits and tuck in for the night when my phone buzzed again.