Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Becca chuckles. “I expect we’ll be in for a lot of emergency phone calls. Speaking of which, my work phone is ringing. I’m sorry, babe. I need to—”
“Yeah, no problem. Love you, miss you.”
“Love you, too.” She blows a kiss before ending the call, and I blow one back, despite the fact she’s already gone.
Turning around, I look up at the hotel while I gather the courage to go back inside. One of the bulbs in the signage letters is flickering, which I find surprising for a hotel of such a high standard. My mind wanders. Is it just the bulb? Could be a loose connection. Maybe there’s a seal erosion, water damage. I’d rather be up there investigating than back inside that bar with the movie star and overly cheery Andrew Cobbe.
But I’m not.
And I can’t.
Let’s get this over with…
Back inside, I pass Andrew in the lobby. Too busy talking on his phone, he doesn’t see me, so I’m forced to make my way back to the bar alone. I walk slowly, hoping Andrew will finish his call and catch up with me.
He doesn’t.
Before I know it, I’m back at our table and the movie star is smiling at me. “She okay?”
I look around. “Who?”
“Your wife,” Laurence says.
“Oh.” Idiot, I mentally scold myself. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“So, where do you want to eat?”
I offer a small shrug, hope my smile looks convincing. “Wherever you and Andrew like is good with me.”
“Hmm,” he mumbles, staring at me. Watching me. Laurence bloody Cole is watching me, almost…studying. His eyes are narrow. His lips are tight, curled slightly to one side. I have every reason to feel creeped out, offended, awkward at the very least, and I don’t understand why I haven’t looked away yet. “You don’t strike me as the type who likes too much fuss,” he says after the most intense minute of my life. “Let’s stay here.”
Our gazes remain locked. He’s right, of course…but it’s nothing more than a lucky guess. Or a glance at my cheap clothes. Whatever the reason, it’s not because he knows me.
Laurence breaks our eye contact first, and the shift is almost physical. I force a cough, clear my throat, attempt to disguise the tiny shiver that just rippled through my spine.
“Trouble?” he says, and I realise he’s talking to Andrew who’s just come up behind me.
“Nothing I can’t handle, kid, but I can’t handle it from here, unfortunately. You two will be all right without me, won’t you?”
Absolutely not.
“It’ll be tough, Andy, I won’t lie to you…but we might just survive,” Laurence says, chuckling as he brings a tumbler of whisky to his lips.
Andrew holds out his hand, which I shake. “I’m sorry, William,” he says. “We’ll rearrange, but Laurie here will help you settle in.”
Again, I can only pray my smile is believable. “No problem,” I lie. “Thanks, Andrew.”
And then Andrew’s gone, and I’m all alone with a film star. Sure, there are two-dozen other guests dotted around the bar, hotel staff, and visitors coming in and out from the street…but I can’t see those. I can only see him. The famous guy who won’t stop looking at me like I’m worth looking at. Me. The ordinary bloke in the ten-quid polo shirt with a life story that could fill a stamp.
“Let’s get you a drink,” Laurence says as soon as Andrew disappears. “What are you having?”
“Uh, just a lager’s fine. Thanks.”
He nods, grinning like he expected that answer. I don’t know how to feel about that. Comforted…or judged. For now, I push it aside as I watch him call a nearby waiter over with the click of his fingers.
“Can we get a pint of whatever lager’s on tap,” Laurence asks before holding his own glass up. “And I’ll take another, please…” He pauses briefly, reading the waiter’s nametag. “Paul. Thanks.”
His politeness surprises me, which proves I’m capable of judgement myself. “So, kid?” I say while we wait for our drinks. I feel bold enough to ask, and I’m genuinely curious as to why Andrew refers to him as such. Am I yet to see some immature side of the man opposite? Is that the joke?
“Och, fucking Andy,” Laurence groans. “I’m thirty-bastard-four. Does it to piss me off, I’m sure.”
Thirty-four. He looks good on it, though I’m not bold enough to say that.
“He speaks highly of you,” he adds as an afterthought.
Still, I don’t understand why. “I’m very grateful to him,” is all I can say.
“You must be good at your job. He wouldnae stick his neck out for someone who he simply considered a nice bloke.” He stares at me again, head slightly tilted as if he’s trying to get a deeper look, as if he can read my mind.
I just nod, flash a slight smile, then sigh in relief when our drinks arrive and break the tension that I’m sure only I can feel. Laurence asks our waiter for a couple of menus, which we have in our hands mere seconds later, and I’m grateful to have something else to focus on for a few minutes. I decide immediately that I’m going to have the cheeseburger and sweet potato wedges, but I keep my face buried in the options for a while longer until I compose myself.