He was off gossip, so he shouldn’t care.
“If you have a locker, you would know where they are.” Diego’s smile didn’t falter, but the tone of his voice suggested a smidgen of threat.
Fletcher glanced back to him. “It’s not mine. A friend. A colleague.”
“Does your amico have a name?”
“He has this.” Fletcher fished out the key from his back pocket and handed it across. For a fleeting moment, he tensed, remembering Jackson’s pleading warning. But there was no way Diego would know that that key belonged to Jackson.
He ignored the prickles pinching his skin.
Diego gripped the key in his fist. “Wait there,” he said, then stalked away from the bar.
A quick glance over to the booth was enough for Fletcher to know that the exchange had been witnessed by Heston. But the man’s eyebrow arch was soon replaced with an impatient wave. With resignation, Fletcher took the drink over to the table.
“Who was that?” Heston asked, dragging his drink closer to him and stabbing the mint into the ice with the stirrer.
“Just someone who works here. I do a lot of interviews here.”
“I can see why.” Heston slid his arm along the booth, twisting his frame to watch the commotion in the reception area. “Pay by the hour, is it?”
“Pay by the discretion, I believe.”
“Your job is quite romantic.” Heston turned back, taking a sip from his drink.
“It’s a necessity. For now. Unless you want me as your kept man.” Fletcher fluttered his eyelashes. Sarcastically. But Heston’s deep hum suggested that might not be far from the truth. Because a kept man was an obedient one.
“I don’t really want you mixed up in all that. It’s only going to get worse,” he said, downing the drink and crunching through the ice.
“How so?”
“Reality stars. Fame for fame’s sake. It’s a slippery slope, this Internet business. Next we’ll be seeing people earning a fortune from doing nothing.”
“Feeling a little old, lover?”
“Me? Don’t be absurd. I’ve still got it. If a full standing ovation is anything to go by.”
Fletcher smiled. Heston could come across as pompous to those who didn’t know him. As conceited. As full of himself. He had the talent to boot. So he could pull it off. But there was a fine line between arrogance and confidence.
A large bag falling onto the table prevented him from saying any of that out loud. Which was a good thing for their ongoing partnership.
“Delivery.” Diego smiled at Fletcher, sliding the bag along the table with a spark behind those dark eyes that he couldn’t place. Except for the slight amusement. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He offered his hand to Heston. “Diego.”
Dragging the bag to dump by his side, Fletcher shifted in his seat. Diego had seen the bag. Had he looked in it? Was there anything in there to suggest who it belonged to? All those concerns fell to the wayside as Heston slipped his hand into the Italian’s, the twinkle in his eye all too familiar. That was one of the pitfalls of being an actor’s boyfriend—one who demanded attention.
“Heston. Pleasure’s all mine.” Heston’s gaze wandered, as it always did and Fletcher ground his teeth. “And what is it you do in this fine establishment? Fletcher has failed to mention the delights of the staff along with the decadent décor.”
“Security,” Diego said. “Of sorts. Mostly I’m here to ensure our clientele are serviced to the fullest.” He leaned in closer, whispering out of the side of his mouth. “No distractions.”
Their handshake faltered, but their gazes remained locked and Fletcher had a sudden urge to wave between the two of them, declaring he was still right here.
“I’ll bet it’s you doing the distracting,” Heston said and lifted his drink to his lips to sip from the straw all the while his gaze remained fixed on the Italian.
Fletcher cleared his throat.
“Mi dispiace, Fletcher. I didn’t mean to intrude on your date night. Per favore, have another drink on the house.”
“No—”
Fletcher didn’t get to finish his refusal as Heston held up his drained cocktail glass and said, “That’s very generous, thank you.”
Diego clicked his fingers, another cocktail appearing shortly after delivered by the bar girl.
“Heading anywhere else tonight?” he asked, handing over the drink to Heston.
“We’ll be going to Heaven after this.” Heston accepted the freebie and held the glass up in cheers.
“I bet you will.” Ripping his gaze from Heston, Diego smiled at Fletcher. “Lovely seeing you again, Fletcher. Don’t be a stranger. And, should your friend require anything else, he’s all too welcome to drop by. Ciao.” With that he stalked out of the bar area.
“Well,” Heston raised his eyebrows and Fletcher swallowed down the dread, racking his brain for what he could say in response to the man’s next, obvious, question. “That’s very kind of him.”
What? Oh… Heston thought the ‘friend’ reference had meant him. Fletcher gazed over Heston’s shoulder, watching Diego join the other suited men, whispering in one of their ears, then left the building. Had he meant Heston? Or did he know who that bag belonged to?
“And he is rather dashing,” Heston said, draining his second drink.
“You think?” Fletcher turned his attention back on his boyfriend. Where it should be.
“He certainly has a soft spot for you.”
“What? He didn’t take his eyes off you the whole time.”
“Oh, darling. So naive.” Heston knocked back the cocktail. “He was sizing me up.”
“For what?”
“My coffin, I’ll presume.”
Fletcher laughed and it was more of a pent-up release than for any actual amusement. “I’m taken,” he said, again. Drumming that line home again and again in the hope that Heston would use it himself once in a while.
“Come on.” Heston slipped out from the booth. “I need to dance.”
Back to playing the dutiful boyfriend, Fletcher followed Heston out into the rain and ran, through the downpour, towards Embankment station.
The queue outside Heaven was long, but Heston knew some people who knew some people and managed to cut the line and get into the club in record time. Realising he couldn’t very well dance with his satchel full of laptop and the bag full of whatever it was Jackson had kept in a secret hotel locker, Fletcher waved Heston off to join the others while he stood at the back of the long queue for the cloakroom.
After dropping the bags, he headed straight for the three-man deep bar. Whilst he knew Heston would have topped himself up with the vodka that Katy would have no doubt bought by the bucketload for them all, Fletcher stuck to beer. Spirits never agreed with him. He muscled through to the front but before he could place his order, a man cut in, hollering his drinks order then giving Fletcher the once over.
“You want a drink quicker around here, sweetheart, you’ll need to unbutton that shirt.”
“Aye, cheers for the advice.” Fletcher clenched his jaw, tapping his card on the counter.