I did my best not to scowl. OK, I looked a little out of place – but some of the richest people in the world wore tatty old clothes, didn’t they? Wasn’t that the point of old money, that it looked like they didn’t have any money at all?
‘I’m here to meet Patrick Tetlow,’ I said, pulling my raincoat around me a little tighter. ‘I’m Jessy Donovan.’
The moment I dropped Patrick’s name – or revealed mine – everything changed.
The receptionist rose to his feet and inclined his head as though he were bowing – actually bowing. What the –
‘Of course, I quite understand,’ he said, deference drippingfrom every syllable. ‘I hadn’t realized – but, of course. Upstairs, second room to the left. The Winter Suite.’
The staircase was one of those that swooped around, all marble handrails and red velvet carpet. The landing was opulent, there was no other word for it. Chandeliers and fancy paintings galore.
The Winter Suite.
Unsure of whether I was supposed to be waiting for Patrick outside the room or not, I opened the door slowly … and immediately wished the floor would swallow me up.
‘– and that was the inspiration for – ah. Jessy.’ Patrick’s smile was warm as he glanced over at me from where he was sitting on the sofa.
But he wasn’t alone.
Beside Patrick, sitting in an ornate armchair that looked as though Marie Antoinette might have used it to play whist, or whatever it was she did, was a woman. She looked roughly my age, was dressed impeccably and held a phone in her hand. It was recording.
Oh, shit.
‘Jessy,’ Patrick repeated, his smile making me a little weak in the knees. ‘Are we running late?’
‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t really noticed the time,’ the woman said, shooting daggers at me like I’d interrupted something important.
Which I probably had, from the looks of it.
‘Wait.’ The woman’s gaze sharpened as she took in my still-soggy raincoat and surely messy hair. ‘Jessy? Jessy Donovan?’
I looked instinctively to Patrick, unsure of what to do.
‘Our readers will love this,’ the woman continued, gushing.‘An intimate conversation with the lead singer of These Exiles … and his new girlfriend.’
My stomach was desperately attempting to leave my body, and the trouble was, I wanted to leave with it.
This was not part of the plan. This had never been part of the plan.
Fake dating, sure. Pretend to be into each other, not hard. Attend industry events, I was hardly going to say no. Not if it meant more time with Patrick.
But this?
No one had ever said anything about having to talk to journalists. Interviews, sound bites, all that shit – that was something Patrick had to do.
‘I-I –’ I swallowed. ‘I can come back later, I didn’t realize you – sorry.’
‘No! No.’ Patrick rose to his feet, and I took the chance to take him in. Dressed all smartly in dark trousers and a crisply ironed shirt, but with the sleeves rolled up to show those delicious forearms – he was a vision.
Patrick stepped closer, looking intently at me.
‘No, stay,’ the woman was saying behind him.
‘Come and sit by me.’ Patrick’s voice was low, and it ran through me, warming me up from the inside.
Hearing it there, in front of the journalist, did something strange to my legs.
Without thinking, I moved towards the sofa, Patrick’s hand resting on the small of my back.
