Hot Mess

Chapter 2

Wren

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I opened the front door to my family home for strangers again for the sixth time in a week. I was inundated with calls from potential tenants within hours of advertising my house for lease. And while I knew I needed to do it because my job search was providing no results, the idea of people I didn't know living in the house my parents cherished hurt my heart, and no one who had shown any interest so far was good enough. Maybe because deep down, I didn't want to open my home to others. It was my private sanctuary and sharing it didn't appeal in the slightest. But, a week of not being able to afford food, and the debt collectors blowing up my phone—at least until the phone company cut it off—made me swallow my pride.

Plastering a fake, bright and cheery smile on my face, I greeted the couple standing on my front step.

"Hi, I'm Wren." I reached my hand out for the man to shake and just about wet myself.

Tate Montgomery.

The Tate Montgomery.

Model. Bad boy. Hot as, well... a hot potato.

"Hi, I'm Tate," he introduced himself, though he didn't need to. His grip was strong and warm and... He was holding my hand.

Tate Montgomery was holding my hand. My breath caught in my throat.

I opened my mouth to speak but words failed me. So, instead I stood there with a starry-eyed expression on my face and nodded.

Yes, he was Tate.

The man I enthusiastically admired in the tabloids, and every social media site under the sun. The only man who warranted post notifications switched on. The man who I may have dreamed about once or twice sweeping me off my feet and confessing his undying love for me.

I think I squeaked. And judging by the way he smiled, he heard it too. His lips pulled wide, flashing his oh so perfect white teeth and the dimple in his cheek, just barely visible under that short, scruffy beard I so desperately wanted to rub my cheek against. His eyes crinkled in the corners with silent laughter.

Tate Montgomery thought I was funny. I didn't even care he was laughing at me acting like a complete fool. He thought I was funny. Taking a breath, I pulled myself together and gave him a real, genuine, albeit slightly star-struck smile before running one hand over my hair, trying to smooth the flyways in my messy bun.

"And this is Rachel, my girlfriend," he said releasing my hand and gesturing to the woman I had forgotten was standing right beside him.

My smile fell and my nose crinkled as I took in Rachel Eastman's appearance. Oversized designer sunglasses, obnoxious fedora hat and off-the-shoulder black maxi dress, stretched tight across the plastic watermelons she called breasts. Her long, fake blonde extensions hung down her back in loose waves.

She was the It Girl. The woman every guy wanted to date, and every girl wanted to be. Every girl except me. She looked hungry and over-inflated. Pretty sure I could safely use her chest as a life raft should we ever get hit with a Tsunami up here.

She tilted her nose up and took a step closer to Tate, wrapping one hand tight over his bicep as though trying to show me he belonged to her. I would not roll my eyes. I needed to be friendly and courteous.

I needed Tate to want to rent my house out, because I lacked the funds to survive, and he had it in spades, and also because I'd be foolish to turn Tate Montgomery down for anything.

"It's lovely to meet you," I said, getting lost in Tate's twinkling eyes, before letting my gaze drift over to Rachel briefly and adding, "both."

I stood to the side and waved them in. "Please have a look around, and if you have any questions, I'll be in the kitchen." I closed the front door behind them and left them to it. It had been my experience in the past week that showing a house to people was awkward. I didn't like standing there and watching strangers go through my house and inspecting every little detail. And they didn't like when I hovered watching them like a hawk, so it was best to leave them to it. That way they could discuss things privately and I wouldn't get offended when they didn't like the artwork on the walls, or the sculptures in the recesses of the hallway.