This was all Andrew Blake’s fault.
Tony reappeared behind the bar, the drinks dropped off at one of the tables behind me. “So, he sends you to Coventry. Let him.”
I glanced up at Tony to check he was talking to me. “He’s not sending me anywhere. I barely move from behind my desk. I said he doesn’t speak to me.”
Tony chuckled like I was being cute. He was clearly missing a beat. Or I was. I glanced down just to check my blouse was done up. I was going to have to start making hourly trips to the restroom to make sure I was dressed properly.
“And when he does speak to me, he’s monosyllabic or rude or both.” I pushed my empty glass toward him. “Next one on the list,” I said, realizing a second later that Tony had moved off to serve someone the other side of the pillar to my right.
“Cocktail number three coming up.” He flipped the shaker around on his arm a couple of times and I pulled my mouth into a smile. Why did men think juggling was cute? “You know what I’ve always done when I’ve been unhappy with my job?” he asked.
“What?” I said, moving closer so I didn’t miss what he was about to say.
“Found another job.”
It was the obvious answer but not so easy when I had to make rent and bills. Plus, if my father didn’t stump up all the cash for my mom’s entire operation, I’d need to squirrel away all I could to pay for it myself. “Yeah, but I can’t find another job and I don’t have anything to fall back on. Believe me, if there was anything else that paid just as well, where my boss wouldn’t be a total asshole freak, I’d be—”
I stopped midsentence as I heard a familiar voice beside me say, “When you’ve got a minute, Tony?”
It couldn’t be.
This couldn’t possibly be happening.
Could it?
Andrew Blake was standing right beside me, facing the bar. Holy mother of God, had I just called my boss an asshole to his face? Or at least . . . the side of his face?
“Ready to settle up, James?” Tony asked Andrew.
Wait. Who was James? My head was entirely too fuzzy for this to be happening. I must be hallucinating.
In my alcohol-induced haze, I turned to face Andrew, leaning on the bar next to me, just to make sure I was definitely looking at who I was looking at.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge me. It was like I didn’t exist. Of course, because why would he have had a complete personality change in the last hour and a half? “Yes, please,” Andrew said, pulling out his wallet.
Tony set down one of those coaster-sized silver trays and the check. It said one hundred and eighty pounds.
A hundred eighty pounds? How was that possible? Things started slotting into place. He must have been here for some time. Sitting at one of the tables. Had he heard everything I’d said? Every complaint I’d lodged about him?
Andrew slid a bunch of notes onto the tray. “Keep the change.”
Tony’s eyes lit up. That was one of the cute things about the UK that Natalie had told me about. Bar staff didn’t expect tips. I was surprised Andrew was being so generous. I thought he’d be the type to ask for a refund on everything that wasn’t entirely perfect. “Thanks, James. I really appreciate it. See you again.”
Andrew nodded and slid his wallet back in his pocket, then turned and started toward the door. Just as he came level with my seat, he paused and leaned toward me.
“You know, your boss sounds like a real arsehole.”
All the blood in my body sank to my feet. I gripped the barstool to stop myself from toppling over. Before I could think of what to say in return, he left.
I slumped back on my stool like I’d been shot. I should remember not to ever tempt fate by saying that my day couldn’t get any worse. Tonight was proof that however bad it was, there was always a path down further into the gutter.
“A Kate Winslet,” Tony said, sliding a drink toward me. I tried not to gag. What had just happened?
“That guy,” I said, nodding toward the door that Andrew had just gone through. “His name is James?”
“Yeah,” he said. “A regular. Why? Did he say something to you?”
I shook my head, entirely confused. “You’re sure he’s James?”
Tony laughed. “I’m sure. You just heard me call him James. Twice.”
Why on earth would Andrew be going around calling himself James?
“You think he heard me complaining about my boss?”
Tony shrugged. “I guess. I mean, he was at the table directly behind you.”
I turned on my stool to see exactly how close Andrew had been when I was describing him as a prison camp guard. My heart hitched itself up into my mouth. There was a two-foot gap between my stool and his table. There was no way he couldn’t have heard.
“And he was there for how long?” I didn’t know why I was asking. He’d managed to run up a hundred-eighty-dollar check. He must have been there a while. I just wanted to understand exactly how much he’d heard.
“He was there before you, wasn’t he?” Tony asked. “Or maybe he came in just after you. I can’t remember. But don’t worry about it. Plenty of people have sat on that stool and complained about their boss. It’s not like he’d care.”
I pushed my fingers through my hair. This was horrendous. I needed to get home and crawl into bed and hopefully wake up and realize this entire day had been the worst dream in the history of dreams.
“I need my check, please,” I said. More alcohol wasn’t going to help. Nothing would. Not only was my boss an asshole of epic proportions—he also knew that I thought so. Was it even worth going into the office on Monday? He was bound to fire me. I wasn’t sure why he’d waited. Why hadn’t he fired me on his way out? Probably so he could torture me a little more by making me come in and face the music.
Today had been a disaster. I might hate Andrew Blake, but I really needed this job. Maybe if I apologized, this time without throwing my beverage down my front. I could explain that I was just disappointed about Natalie leaving and feeling a little sorry for myself.
Nope. That wouldn’t work. Not on a man with an ego like Andrew Blake’s. I was going to have to come up with a miraculous idea between now and Monday morning or face the prospect of unemployment again.
Nine
Sofia
If waking up and realizing that I had bitched and complained about my boss for at least an hour with him two feet away wasn’t enough, my cocktail-mixing hangover was in full swing.
And if the threat of unemployment and a hangover wasn’t bad enough, I was about to meet my father for the first time. Kill. Me. Now.
All I wanted to do was take a sleeping pill, crawl back into bed, and wake up sometime next June. Instead, I was wandering around, Google Maps open on my phone, trying to find my father’s house, where I was going for lunch.
I checked my phone to make sure that the address he’d sent said number seventy-one. Yup, this was definitely the house. Most houses in London had an intercom and eleventy million buttons, one for each apartment cramped in behind the door. But this one had just one button. Of course it did, because my father was rich as sin. And that’s exactly why I was here.