“I don’t partake myself,” he says smoothly. “But in our circles, even the most discreet details tend to surface.”
“Okay, well, thanks for looking out for me.”
“Of course. I was concerned when you said Liam had brought you here. It’s awfully convenient.”
I blink at him, my brain struggling to process his words. Liam has brought me here twice. He said he loves this restaurant. The first night, we went back to his place. And it was hot and heavy and amazing.
The second night . . . My stomach dips. He got me a separate car home because he had “work” to finish.
Which he did. I know he did.
Another couple walks past us to the next booth. The man looks old enough to be Skipper Magee’s father, this time with a womanthat can’t be older than twenty-five. He’s staring at her tits like they’ve got the answers to life’s big questions.
“It’s owned by the same company as the Athenæum,” Alastair explains, following my gaze. “Hence the need for privacy.”
It’s where the men take the women before they screw them, is what his gaze says. In a posher way, of course.
Which obviously annoys me that Liam would take me here, but I’ll be damned if I let Alastair see that.
“This wine is just delicious, isn’t it?” I say, injecting my voice with false cheer.
Alastair cocks an eyebrow, seeing right through my act. But then he just nods, proceeding to spout some pretentious crap about the fruity notes and the terroir, like we’re at a wine tasting and not in the middle of a conversation where he’s trying to rip out my heart.
I smile and nod mechanically, my mind a million miles away.
The waiter comes to ask about dessert. Hell no. I’d rather eat Winnie’s special treats.
“What would you like for pudding,” Alastair asks, his posh accent making even the wordpuddingsound like something out of the Regency era. “The spotted dick here is absolutely divine.”
I stare at the way his lips twitch, my eyes narrowing. Spotted dick, really? “I’m okay,” I say through gritted teeth. “I think I’ll pass on the spotted dick, thanks.” And any other dick-related items, for that matter.
I just want to get out of here.
My prayers are answered because Alastair’s phone buzzes, a smile creeping across his face as he reads the message. “I do apologize, but I must dash. Let’s skip the dessert course, shall we?”
He snaps his fingers at the waiter, suddenly in a great hurry. The poor sod nearly trips over himself bringing the bill.
I can’t deny I’m relieved. I’ve hated every moment of this farce.
Alastair practically leaps out of his chair, tossing a wad of cash on the table like it’sMonopolymoney. He doesn’t even wait for the change, just strides toward the exit, expecting me to race after him.
He hurries the coat check guy as well, his true colors shining through the cracks of his charming facade. He really is a piece of work.
As we step out into the street, I turn to say goodbye, ready to make my escape.
“Well, it’s been an absolute pleasure.” Alastair gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Pop over to the office next week.”
I grunt because it’s all I’m capable of.
He glances across the street, his eyes widening with theatrical surprise. “Oh dear.” He says it innocently, but slow dread creeps into my stomach.
“Gemma, I’m so terribly sorry, perhaps you oughtn’t look . . .”
No. He’s lying.
He has to be fucking lying.
I turn slowly, my heart pounding.
