‘If I wait, guessing the alcohol to blood ratio, you’re probably going to fall asleep.’
He made a frustrated noise, pulled at his hair and sat back in the chair. ‘Why is it so bright in here?’
‘That’s the disco-ball side of my brother. He likes glitter and sparkles; the brighter the better.’
‘Yay.’
‘Ooh, attitude. A minor recovery.’ She reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a mug full. Then she sat back and nursed it in her hands. ‘So, let me be clear. I did not contact any journalist or talk to anyone about you. Either another woman did – there must be hundreds of candidates in line – or your office or apartment is bugged.’ She took a sip of the coffee. ‘This is New York after all.’
He felt his lips work into a smile then. Her Englishness was coming out now. He still had no idea what she was wearing but shelooked cute, even through his blurred vision. Her dark hair framed her heart-shaped face and those clear intense eyes did something to him. He drank a little more of the water. She hadn’t sold him out. He should have known that. If she was going to tell a story, it would have had far more embellishment and a mention of Superman.
‘Is that what you think about New York? That it’s all espionage and underhand dealings?’ he asked.
‘After the day I’ve had, I’m thinking it’s a cross between that and theGilmore Girls.’ She let out a sigh. ‘ButIdidn’t drown my sorrows in the nearest glass.’
‘No?’ Oliver said, indicating the wine glass still sat on the breakfast bar behind them.
‘That wasn’t because I had a bad day. That was just because I like wine.’ She put her lips to the mug. ‘And anytime you want to apologise for accusing me of being a grass, I’m ready to take it.’
‘A grass?’ he asked, looking blankly at her.
‘Spilling my guts. Being a snitch, an informant, you know, telling, ratting you out.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he told her, his voice soft.
‘Yes, you should be.’
‘And I am.’
‘Quite rightly.’
‘Do you ever let anyone else have the last word?’
‘Only my daughter, and we really fight like hell for it.’
He laughed then, unable to help himself, despite how terrible he felt. He pulled himself forward and put his water back on the table.
‘So what made you ditch work for beer?’ Hayley asked.
‘Bad meeting.’
‘Not the Globe?’
He shook his head. ‘No, not the Globe. It was more of a personal thing.’
Should he tell her? About his mother and Andrew Regis? It wouldn’t mean anything unless he explained. His head was pounding now. He opened his mouth to speak.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Hayley interrupted. ‘It’s none of my business.’
He nodded. ‘I deserve that.’
‘What?’ she asked, looking confused.
‘I came here drunk, yelling like some immature jerk off. I shouldn’t expect you to be my counsellor.’
‘Is that what you need?’
‘Probably,’ he admitted.
