I knocked on her door. “Who is it?”
“Housekeeping,” I said, straining my voice in much too high an octave.
“No, thank you. I’m all right,” she said.
I smirked to myself. “Housekeeping.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said more sternly.
“Housekeeping. You want head for pillow?”
It got quiet and I stifled my laugh.
“Come in, David Spade,” a weak voice commanded.
I swung the door open, expecting her to be crouched on the bed with one of her ridiculous books. Bridge could party with the best of us, much to my dismay, but she was a complete nerd at heart. But instead of her nose buried in the pages of the latest, I found her lying pathetically slumped over the edge of her bed, her silver bathroom trash can perched just below. My heart sank for her.
I sat next to her and shifted my baby sister’s hair away from her shoulder. “You okay, dude?”
She ignored my question and took me in instead. “Where do you think you’re going, Tom Hardy from Inception?”
“Funny. I’m meeting someone. You watch too many movies, by the way.”
She smiled at me but barely. “You look sharp. Lots of effort for whomever she is.”
I didn’t correct her misassumption. “Thanks. Can I get you anything before I jet?”
“A time machine?”
“No can do, kiddo. Whatever you ate has to take its turn. Don’t worry, though, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” She nodded, but looked unconvinced. “If you need anything, ring my cell.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your date would appreciate that,” she teased.
I smiled the best I could and stood. “Bye, Bridge.”
“Bye, Spence.”
I closed her door behind me, and reminded myself to check on her when I got back.
Chapter Two
I whipped my Aston Martin into Sofitel, but dodged the valet, choosing to park in the back of the lot. This is one place where I didn’t need to be remembered. I only wanted to blend in. I got out and locked my door, taking out my cell and ringing Lola as I made my way to the Sofitel entrance. She answered on the second ring.
“I’m here. Room five-seven-eight.”
“Lobby,” was my only response.
I hung up. I’d reimburse her for the room as I always did, to avoid a paper trail.
By the time I entered the lobby after walking the remainder of the lot, Lola sat secreted in a corner next to the cool steel sculpture at the room’s center. She stood when she saw me, devastatingly beautiful as always. She inclined her head and I reciprocated. She eyed me with appreciation but as always, she did nothing for me. Uncommonly pretty but not much else. Also, never dip your pen in the company ink, gentlemen, even if the company isn’t necessarily aware she’s stocked.
We entered the hotel bar. I, casually with my jacket unbuttoned and a single hand in my front pocket and she, seductively as any femme fatale there ever was. I spotted my target, Peter Knight, waiting at the bar, studying a whiskey neat twirling in the glass before him. Damn, I cursed under my breath. He’d beaten me there. He didn’t notice Lola either, though, making my stomach clench a little in hesitation. I hoped he was distracted instead of the stand-up guy I suspected he was. I fought the nausea.
Lola and I sat together in the darkest corner of the bar, as out of sight as we could possibly get. Peter Knight kept glancing at his watch, waiting for the meeting with an executive that would never come. He ordered one more whiskey and that was my cue. I glanced at Lola, nodding once and she stood, making her way toward Peter, choosing a seat two down from him.
She ordered the same drink Peter had because we’d done our research and her hand covered the rim of the glass, the drug she’d held in her palm fell to the bottom. I could tell it had already begun to dissolve. Her hands moved to the sides of the glass to cover the effects.
I knew when it was fully mixed because her hands fell flat on the bar top. She leaned back into her stool and displayed her br**sts, her arms moving to rest on her lap. Every man with a pulse, including Peter this time, took note of her. She was effortless. She smiled lasciviously at him.
“Hi,” I heard her breathe.
Peter only nodded once and turned back to his drink. Confirmed. He looked but he didn’t touch. My jaw pressed tightly. Damn, he didn’t take the bait. Plan B.
Lola quickly glanced my way and imperceptibly shook her head once. I stood, coolly removed a handkerchief from my front left pocket, patted my neck and forehead, replaced it, smoothed out my jacket, tugged at my cufflinks ensuring the cuffs were stiff and made my way to the bar top, sliding into the stool right next to Peter. He smiled at me then glanced at his watch once more. I was running out of time. The bartender approached me.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“What are you drinking?” I asked Peter.
He smiled. “Macallan, eighteen, neat.”
“The same,” I said with a grin, oozing charm. Open up room for conversation.
“Popular tonight,” the bartender said simply, making my adrenaline spike.
“It’s a great vintage,” I hedged.
We silently watched the bartender pour me a matching glass and walk away to attend another customer. I internally breathed a sigh of relief.
“Jonathan,” I lied, extending a hand.
I was always Jonathan. I don’t think “Lola” knew it as anything else during our little charades.