by Linda Verji
“That was different.” She reached forward, grabbed his half-full glass of bourbon then sipped. She grimaced when it burnt a fiery path down her throat and shuddered. “Lethal.”
He eyed her and his former-drink for a long moment before asking, “How was it different?”
She racked her mind for how it was different and came up with no logical answer so she went with, “Because I’m a woman.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying that because you’re a woman you’re allowed to hold grudges, and because I’m a man I can’t?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
His already narrowed glance narrowed even further. “Because is not an answer.”
“It is to me,” she dismissed. She sipped on his drink again before setting it on the coffee table and turning to eye him impatiently. “Did you bring me here to interrogate me or do I finally get to know if Rita survived?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you read the book but-” He turned his wrist to glance at his watch. “Isn’t it a bit late to start reading right now? It’s almost midnight and you have several chapters to get through.” She opened her mouth to ask him to let her take the book home, but he beat her to the punch. “No, it’s not leaving this house.”
She bit her lip and considered begging, then changed her mind. The determined glint in Zeke’s eyes said that it would be a waste of time. But she also didn’t want to postpone reading ,so she suggested, “My shift on 1-800-Jezebel starts in a few minutes. Why don’t I stay here and read while I’m taking the calls? I can take a cab back to my apartment at three a.m. when my shift ends. Tomorrow is Saturday so I don’t have to go to the salon until much later.”
His eyes widened beneath his glasses. “You want to answer your sex calls here?”
“Why not?” she asked. On second thought, she added, “Unless it makes you uncomfortable?”
There were very few things that could make London feel embarrassed. Being a phone-sex operator was not one of them. After all, sex was a natural part of life. But she also understood that not everyone was as comfortable with such things as she was. And Zeke was as straight-laced as they came. Normally she wouldn’t have cared about discomfiting him, but she really wanted to read that book.
She rushed on to suggest. “I can do it in your spare room or the kitchen so you won’t hear me-”
“No, it’s okay,” he cut her off. “You can do it here. I have to sleep anyway. And my bedroom walls are soundproof. But you don’t have to leave when you’re done reading. I have a guest room you can use, and I’ll get someone to drive you home in the morning.” He glanced at her as he added, “If that works for you.”
She nodded. “It does.”
“Good.” His lips kicked up in a smile as he stood up. “Let me get you the book.”
He crossed the room and strode into his writing alcove. When he reemerged, he was carrying the book. As he handed it to her, she commented, “I wish I’d known that you write.”
“Why?” He wandered off to the bar to pour another drink.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged as she ran her index finger against the spine of the book. “It’s always nice to learn that there’s more to someone than you originally thought.”
“Is it?” He rounded the couch to take his place beside her. “So what did you think of me originally?”
“Hmm.” She scrunched her face as she searched her mind for the right words. “I thought you were serious, thoughtful and nice.”
He snorted. “In other words boring.”
“No. No. No,” she refuted. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” He gave her a cool smile. “I know what people think of me.”
“I’m London, not People. And I don’t think you’re boring.” She tilted her glass to her lips for a sip. After a brief pause to allow the after-burn to subside, she said, “Boring is the last word I’d apply to you. You’re interesting… in a different way from me. And your being such a great writer makes you more interesting.”
“Great, huh?” He watched her keenly. “You really liked the book that much.”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Zekey?” she teased, as she stared at him over the glass.
“No- No- I’m not,” he stumbled on his words which drew a chuckle from her.
“Yes, I liked it,” she said softly as she looked downwards at the book. “Even more because it felt like you enjoyed writing it.”
Zeke was quiet for a long time before he finally said, “Yes, I enjoyed writing it.” He glanced at her curiously. “But how did you know?”
“I don’t know.” She furrowed her brow as she sought to explain herself. “I guess it’s just in the way you craft your words. It’s the way you took the time to write it by hand when you could’ve used a computer - I don’t know. An artist just knows another artist.”
His gaze narrowed skeptically, “You think I’m an artist?”
“What do you call someone who can write this?” She waved the book.
“Artist.” He paused as if testing the words on his tongue. “I like it.”
“Now, Mr. Artist, if you don’t mind I’d like to finish reading.” She waved the book at him.
“Of course.” He chuckled as he stood. “The guest room is the second door down the hallway. I’ll set it up for you so when you’re done reading you can just head off to bed.”
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him.
He started to walk away but then stopped. “Have you had dinner? I can ask Charlie to bring something up.”
“Don’t bother yourself.” She shook her head. “I had something before we got on stage.”
“But that was over six hours ago.”
“I know,” she retorted. For some people eating was a delight. For her it was a boring task that she had to accomplish every day to keep from keeling over in a dead faint. The moment someone invented a gadget to allow people to live without food, she’d be first in line to buy it.
To Zeke, she said, “If I feel hungry, I’ll just take a bottle of water from the fridge.”
He studied her for a long moment then nodded. “Okay. But if you feel hungrier just the lobby.” He pointed to the phone on the side-table. “Dial one. There’s always someone there and they’ll make sure you get something.”
“Will do,” London agreed, already flicking through the pages to where she’d left off. She stopped and mumbled to herself, “No, I should start from the beginning.”
Zeke’s chuckle drew her gaze back to him. With a soft smile, he said, “Good night, London.”
“Good night.” She smiled at him. Once he was gone, she plumped up the throw pillow behind her, folded her feet onto the sofa and settled back to begin reading.
“Rita, stay with me,” Gil begged as he applied pressure to her wound to keep her from bleeding out. “Don’t die. Don’t die…”
CHAPTER 9
It was hard to sleep knowing that London was in the other room. But somehow Zeke managed it. However, his dreams were plagued with visions of London tossing his book aside with a sarcastic cackle and telling him it was all a load of crap. He was no writer – he was just a hack! A no-talent hack. He jolted awake to find himself trapped in a tangle of sheets.
“Damn!” He swiped a hand over his face to clear the last remnants of the troubling dream before reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. Slipping them on, he checked the time and found that it was four thirty a.m. - thirty minutes to his usual wake-up time.
He slumped backwards onto the bed and closed his eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. His brain kept taunting him to go and check if London was awake and confirm that she thought his writing was crap. Finally, he gave up the pretense of trying to sleep and slid off the bed.
After entering his en-suite for his morning ablutions, he came back into the bedroom to dress up in a wife-beater, running shorts and sneakers. Zipping up a jacket over his wife-beater, he exi
ted his bedroom. The moment he emerged in the archway that separated the hallway from the living-room, he saw her on the couch.
She looked so peaceful asleep, less animated than she always was but no less beautiful. Long lashes rested on her cheeks as her shoulder rose and fell with her breathing while his book lay tucked tightly to the side of her body. An involuntary pang of tenderness ran through him as he watched her. Thoughts of his book disappeared replaced by a strange happiness. London was here. In his house. What more could a guy want?
He strode to the guestroom to pick up a comforter then came back to the living-room. London was such a heavy sleeper that she didn’t stir when he shook the comforter over her or even when the elevator doors slid open and he left.
“No one’s to go up,” Zeke told Charlie when he arrived at the lobby. “London is still asleep.”
“Of course, sir.” Charlie nodded.
Though Zeke didn’t want anyone to know of London’s presence in his apartment or playing guessing games about what she was doing there, he wasn’t really worried about it happening. The only one who knew London was up there was Charlie, and the man was as discreet as they came.
While Landa-Heron had a gym, Zeke preferred to go to the boxing gym a few streets over. First, because it was far enough that the chances of any hotel guests being there and interrupting his workout were minimal. Second, because it had more grueling workouts and more serious exercisers. A fifteen minute jog later, he entered the boxing gym. Despite the earliness of the hour, the gym was already packed. Once he found a spurring partner, Zeke entered the ring. His workout lasted about an hour, and by the time he jogged back to the hotel it was closing in on six a.m.
“Mr. Hollis.” Charlie stopped him at the lobby. “Would you like me to send up the breakfast menu up for your guest?”
Zeke’s breakfast was regimented enough that the concierge didn’t even have to ask - steel-cut oats with a shot of milk and berries. He paused for a second to think then said, “Why don’t you give me the menu, I’ll take it to her then call you with her order.” He started to walk away then turned back. “Charlie, ask Anders to get a car ready. My guest will use it when she’s ready to leave.”
“Of course, sir.” Charlie waved him off.
The moment the elevator doors opened on his floor, Zeke noticed that London was not on the couch. The blanket was on the floor along with her coat while his book and her phone were on the coffee table, but there was no sign of London. Hopefully, that meant that she was awake and he could ask her about his book. Thinking that she was in the guest room, he started towards the hallway but a clanging sound in the kitchen brought his steps to a halt.
“London,” he called out as he strode towards the kitchen. There was no response. “London.”
No response. Again.
He even began to doubt his hearing. That doubt was quickly dispelled when he entered the kitchen to find her walking - or rather stumbling around flipping open cupboard after cupboard. With her red hair sticking everywhere, droopy eyes, and feet dragging on the linoleum floor, she looked like the unfortunate victim of a zombie apocalypse. Yet the first thought that came to his mind was that she looked adorable.
Amusement tingeing his tone, he greeted, “Good morning?”
She paused in her rifling to shoot him a bleary eyed glare. Her voice was a rusty scratch as she muttered, “Coffee.”
“You won’t find it here.” He leaned against the counter. “I don’t drink coffee.”
She blinked once. Twice. “You don’t - there’s some - something-wrong-” She shook her head. “I can’t even find the energy to cuss you out. I need my coffee.”
Chuckling, he offered, “I can ask Charlie to bring you a cup.”
“Well, don’t just stand there.” She pointed toward the door. “Go.”
He stayed put. “Ask nicely.”
“Boy, you do not want to mess with me before I’ve had my morning coffee,” she threatened. “I’ve made people disappear over less.”
He wanted to ask what she meant by ‘made people disappear’ but the menacing look in her eyes was enough to get him moving to the living-room. Once there, he called Charlie. London wandered out of the kitchen while he was on the phone. By the time he was done with the call, she was curled up on the couch again this time with the blanket over her head.
He stopped behind the couch. “London?”
“Mm.”
“Charlie’s on his way up with your coffee. I’m going to shower then I’ll be back.”
“Mm.”
His shower didn’t take long. Thirty minutes later he strode back to the living-room to find London seated on the couch watching TV. She turned on his entrance, giving him one of her brilliant smiles. “Good morning, Zeke.”
“Good morning.” He chuckled as he eyed the mug of coffee she was holding. “I see you’ve gotten your morning shot.”
“Yes, sir. God bless Alfred Peet.” She raised the mug to toast the legendary coffee roaster. Her face creased as she noted, “It’s Saturday but you look like you’re dressed for work.”
“I am.” He straightened his tie. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to work later in the day too?”
“Yeah, but mine’s different because my weekend extends into Monday.” Watching him, she sipped on her coffee. “I bet you even work on Sundays.”
“No, I don’t.” He really didn’t. Carrying his laptop home to complete reports didn’t count as work, did it?
“Mm. Mm. Mm.” London shook her head as she shot him a look of disbelief. Drawing his attention to the covered tray on the coffee table, she said, “Charlie brought you breakfast.”
Zeke’s brow furrowed when he noticed that there was only one bowl on the tray and one glass. “Didn’t he bring something for you?”
“Yuck!” London gagged. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
Zeke couldn’t imagine going without three full meals each day. Where in the world did she get all that energy from? “You should eat more.”
Her eyes immediately narrowed. “Are you saying that I’m too skinny?”
He’d lived long enough, been with enough women to know that unless he wanted his head on a stake there was only one answer to that question. “Of course not.” Then he quickly changed the topic. “So did you finish reading the book?”
Her eyes immediately lit up. “Yes. And it was so good. But Rita’s dad-” She shuddered. “Jesus. That guy is a psycho.”
Uncovering the bowl to reveal the blueberry-topped oats inside, he said, “And you haven’t even seen what he’s going to do when he catches up with Gil.”
“Whaaat?” Her eyes widened as she stared at him over the rim of her mug. “He’s going to catch up to him?”
He laughed. “I’ve said too much already.”
“You are a cruel, cruel man, Zekey.” She set her mug on the coffee table. “When are you writing the next chapter?”
“I’m not really sure.” He settled down on the couch beside her. “When I get the time.”
“Well make the time, man.” She tapped on her wrist. “London’s waiting.”
“London will just have to keep waiting,” he said before spooning some oats into his mouth.
London was quiet for a long moment then she said, “Why aren’t you a professional writer? You’re good enough.”
His chest swelled at the compliment. But he shook his head and said, “I already have a job.”
She studied him. “That you like?”
He stared at her for a moment, a bit startled by how close to home she’d hit with that question. It reminded him of his current dissatisfaction with his lot in life. But he shrugged. “I like it enough.”
“That isn’t enough,” she rushed to say. “You should do something that you are passionate about.”
“Some of us have obligations and don’t have the luxury of following our passions,” he replied more sharply than he intended.
“You don’t have to be testy with me,” she shot
back. “I’m just saying that you’re good enough at writing that if you wanted to make it a career you could.”
“I don’t want to,” he bit off. “Besides, I have an excellent career. One that’s made me millions.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“You’d say that!” he retorted. Then realizing how judgmental it sounded, rushed on with, “I’m sorry.”
“No. No. No. Don’t backtrack,” she dismissed. “Take your little potshots at how broke I am because I chose to be a singer instead of some big-time lawyer or a doctor. I don’t care.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He scowled, not sure how they’d moved from discussing his book to fighting over her choice in career.
“I’m happy not being America’s next billionaire if it means I can do what I love.” She stood up, smoothing down her dress in an awkward defensive gesture. “It’s late. I-”
“London, sit down. Don’t leave.” He reached for her fingers. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
She stared down at him for the longest moment, before sitting down, her expression still drawn in a sulk.
“I’m sorry I bit your head off.” He ran his fingers over the top of her hand as his gaze remained glued to hers. “I know you were just trying to be encouraging. And I’m grateful for that. Even though I don’t sound like it.”
She was quiet for a long moment then her eyes softened. “That was mean.”
“It was. I’m sorry.” He wove his fingers with hers. “Apology accepted?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it?”
“Yes.” She nodded. Her eyes twinkling with sudden excitement, she said, “But do you know what would make me think faster?”
“What?”
“If you allowed me to take you somewhere,” she said. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Somewhere where?” he countered.
“Answer my question first,” she insisted. “What are you doing tonight?”
He studied her for a moment before saying, “Nothing official.”
“Good.” She beamed at him. “Be ready at nine p.m. - okay ten p.m. - and wear something that doesn’t make you look so-” She gestured at his suit. “- rich.”
