“It was nothing.”
The night of the fight, neither Helen nor Liz had been charged with being drunk and disorderly. The incident must have gone against her in court today, but still it had been worth it. Kicking Raz’s abusive arse had put Liz on a mission to turn her life around. She’d dumped Raz, moved back in with her mum and got the job at the hotel. A job she loved, despite Pencil Neck and his power trips.
Helen eyed the wine. “Are you sure you won’t get into trouble?”
“I’m sure. No one will even know you’re here.” Liz pushed the cool glass toward her. “So how did it go today?”
“Shit.” Though Helen suspected Liz already knew that, hence the wine. Helen took a sip, and then another one, and when the alcohol had warmed a path down to her toes, she told Liz the outcome of her court hearing.
“Fifty hours will fly by,” Liz said, topping up Helen’s glass. “Why don’t we take your mind off it and plan another night out? The last one wasn’t exactly the fun I had in mind.”
“I don’t know about that.” Helen sipped more wine. The night in question had been Helen’sonlynight out in three years, an attempt by Liz to cheer her up after Ada’s funeral. “It was pretty amusing watching Raz hit the ground like a stone.”
Liz giggled. “If you hadn’t been there, it would’ve been me hitting the ground like a stone. You got skills, lady.”
“Ha! What I’ve got is a sentence and a caution to stay out of trouble.”
“In that case, dancing would be harmless. We should go to the Lizard Lounge.” Liz grinned. “We could meet some men. That would cheer you up.”
“I don’t think so.” Helen snorted.
“Did anything ever happen with that guy you told me about?”
Heat flushed Helen’s cheeks. “No, it was just a stupid crush.”
Helen knocked back more wine.Oh, bloody hell. She’d forgotten she told Liz she was in lust with Jaxon! Drunk, disorderlyandout of her mind—but thank god, she hadn’t mentioned his name.
She felt foolish enough about the daydreams of her and Jaxon living a bright, rosy future together at her cottage. He’d been just her type, lean, wiry and disheveled—and when their late-night emails had turned borderline flirty, she’d been convinced of a mutual attraction.
Until he did a runner and left her in the shit, proving just how wrong she could be about men.
“So how about it?” Liz was saying, refilling her wine. “It’ll do you good to let your hair down.”
“I dunno, Liz.” Helen chewed her thumbnail. Even if she did feel like it, nightclubs were way down on her list of priorities. “I need to find a job first.”
Jaxon had been her only source of income these past couple of years, and in the three months since he’d disappeared, Helen had reverted to her old bread-and-butter job of designing websites—or ratherwebsite, singular. She only had one client, Alexa, and although the small amount Helen earned from her each week helped to cover the rent, maintaining Licks and Laces—Alexa’s online lingerie and sex toy business—wasn’t going to produce the large deposit required to actually buy the cottage.
“They might have some jobs going here. I can put a good word in for you.” Liz refilled Helen’s glass. The door to an adjacent room opened, startling Liz to attention. “Pencil Neck will be back soon.”
Light-headed from the wine, Helen pointed a teasing finger at her friend who was now busying herself with wiping down the counter. “I think you secretly fancy Pencil Neck. You talk about himallthe time.”
“Shut up.” Liz waggled the almost empty wine bottle. “Now I know you’re pissed.”
As the room was indeed spinning, Helen had to agree. She propped her head on her elbows, slouching across the counter until Liz shoved her out of the way to wipe the area and make it shine. Helen had never seen her friend so eager to please. “You really like working here, don’t you?”
“It’s been six weeks and I’m already up for a promotion to assistant manager. Maybe that’s why Pencil Neck has it in for me? He’s scared I might take his job.” Liz shifted a box filled with name badges and cleaned underneath. “Can you imagine me as a manager of anything?”
Helen gazed at her friend. “Yeah, I can.” Liz was moving on. Going forward. “You’re not as useless as you think you are.”
“Thanks.” Liz snorted.
“Anytime.” Helen glanced in the box on the counter and read the blue-and-red logo printed on each of the white badges. “Get Living? As in the Michael Adams fitness campaign?”
“Yes, and guess what? Michael Adams is actually here, in the hotel! I saw him head upstairs, and he’s just as big and broad in real life as he is on TV—his wife and kids are also here.”
There’d been mentions of Get Living on the news this week, something about the athlete who was supposed to lead this summer’s fitness campaign being involved in a freak horse-riding accident. “Is it still going ahead then?”
“Yeah, they’ve just announced who’ll be replacing Daniel Jones.” Liz pulled a face. “That’s why Pencil Neck had his knickers in a twist this morning and called me in early. We’ve had the press here all day. They’ve just finished their lunch which means he’ll be back out here soon pestering me.” Liz nodded toward the function room next to the bar area. Through the open door, hotel staff cleared away dirty plates. “The new sports ambassador is another Canadian Olympic swimmer, like Michael Adams. He’s called Sebastian Clarke.”
