Sure Thing

by Jana Aston

  “I’m not saying a word,” Rhys mumbles before tipping his own glass to his lips. He tossed his keys to the bartender an hour ago and settled onto the stool for the long haul of watching me get drunk and listening to my rambles.

  “I think she misled me.”

  “With her magic pussy?”

  “Yeah, exactly.” I glance around. “Do they have any food in this bar? I think we should eat.”

  “Nah. We’ll have the car swing through In-N-Out Burger on the way back.”

  “We don’t have the keys, Rhys. And you can’t drive a Tesla drunk. I know the damn thing drives itself, but that can’t be allowed. If that’s allowed, next thing you know people will be strapping their kids in and sending them to nursery in a car with no driver! Society has gone to hell.” I shake my head and think about waving a fist in the air like an old man. Because I’m fucking old.

  “Car service will pick us up,” he replies, holding up his mobile. “When we’re ready.”

  “Fuck,” I groan. “I don’t even have a phone. Lost it during the accident. My dick is dry and I’ve got no mobile.” I glance back at the bar and knock back the remainder of my drink in one gulp and stand, albeit shakily.

  “Okay, I guess you’re ready now.” Rhys taps a contact on his mobile with one hand and signals the bartender with the other.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Violet

  I drop Daisy’s suitcase in her entryway with a sigh of relief. Home, sweet home. Or home, sweet Daisy’s couch in my case. Traveling sucks. Traveling while feeling sorry for yourself sucks even more.

  So that’s over.

  The trip.

  And Jennings.

  I want to hate him, but I don’t. I want to be angry at him for showing me something wonderful and then taking it away.

  Fine. I’m a little angry. I kick off my shoes and grab a diet soda from the fridge before slumping onto the couch.

  It was all a big fat lie anyway.

  Because I’m a liar and I got what I deserved, didn’t I? Still, I did my best to tell him the truth. As much as I could.

  My feelings were real.

  Daisy’s apartment is so quiet I can hear her wall clock ticking. Tick, tick, tick.

  He left without so much as a goodbye. I’m sorta numb about that. Like how in the hell does that happen to a girl twice? At least with Mark I was able to call him an asshole to his face. I had to leave Jennings a note, since I couldn’t find him. I asked at the front desk if he’d checked out. They don’t normally share information like that but they knew me as the tour guide. I played it off like I was worried about him getting to the airport and wondered if he’d checked out yet.

  Nope. He extended his stay. His and his nan’s.

  So on my way to the airport I left a note for him at the front desk. Who even knows if he got it, but I felt good writing it.

  Yet as I sit here I’m conflicted. I so badly want to make excuses for him. Understand what happened. Maybe something came up? An emergency? Maybe I misunderstood and I was supposed to meet him somewhere and I’m the one who didn’t show up?

  These crazy thoughts are swiftly followed by rational ones. The ones that point out none of that is likely. That he knew which room I was staying in. That he didn’t leave a note for me at the desk. That he never picked up his phone. That he owed me nothing.

  I’ve got no right to be upset.

  I asked for a one-night stand and I got it. I cringe, remembering that I told him I was counting him as my one-night stand. I’m such an asshole.

  I pop open the soda and wiggle the can tab back and forth until it pops off. I’m not sure why I do this. I don’t like drinking out of the can if the tab is missing. It feels weird against my lips, unfamiliar. It shouldn’t make the soda taste any different but it ruins the experience.

  That’s me. I’m an experience-ruiner.

  Maybe he was lying too? Maybe he doesn’t have a job either and lives on his nan’s couch? He said he had his own place but hell, I said I was a tour guide. Maybe he’s wanted by the law or has a terminal disease and didn’t want to put me through the pain of losing him slowly.

  Okay, fine. That’s unlikely.

  He wouldn’t have made it through customs if he was a wanted felon and no one with a terminal disease has that kind of stamina.

  Was it just an escape for him this week? From the real world? That’s what he was supposed to be for me, when it started. One night where I pretended to be someone I’m not. Someone more like my sister. Outgoing and spontaneous and, well, easy.

  Perhaps I was merely a convenient booty call, like Daisy was for George, and I’m an idiot for thinking it was something it’s not.

  Except… whatever it was we had became real for me, real fast. I thought it did for him too. I know it did. So he’s either one hell of an actor or a coward.

  Gah! That’s probably it. He’s a commitment-phobe. A thirty-six-year-old man with a job and his own place who looks like he does would not be alone if there wasn’t something wrong with him.

  I bet he’s not even thirty-six. I bet he’s almost thirty-seven. Ha.

  Wow. I’m not good at throwing shade. Also, I’m not sure it counts as shade if I’m not saying it out loud. I suck.

  As an added slap in the face to all of this, I have a job interview.

  Next week.

  In London.

  We were in the middle of the walking tour in Philadelphia when the call came. I slipped outside to take it while the group toured Independence Hall, standing outside with the phone pressed to my ear and a huge grin on my face. It’s a dream job for me. A dream bigger than I’d have ever dared dream if Jennings hadn’t suggested it. Pushed me, even.

  It’s with Sutton International—the parent company of the tour company Daisy works for—in their London offices. I applied for it earlier in the week when Jennings suggested moving up in the company. Of course I applied as an external applicant since I don’t actually work for the company. But he’d gotten me thinking with the suggestion and I figured why not? There was no reason I couldn’t apply as myself, as Violet. So I did. And I got the call.

  When I answered and realized the call was from Sutton International asking for Violet I almost thought I was caught. As if they would call me on my cell phone to ask if I was impersonating Daisy. Silly.

  The position is with their design and development department. I’d be working with the team that refurbishes and redesigns the hotels they acquire—for the European market. Historic properties in some cases. Visions of charm and period details danced in my head. I almost clicked my heels together as I spoke with the human resources representative.

  I spent the rest of the day feeling like I had the best secret in the world. One I couldn’t wait to share with Jennings, but there were too many people around. After dinner, I thought. I’d tell him after dinner. He’d be excited. I’d be in London—next week! I could see him again—next week! And if I get the job, I’d be able to see him all the time!

  But I never got the chance to tell him any of that.

  It’s funny how feelings can go from solid to cracked in the matter of an instant. I was in. All in. Totally in on the idea of picking up and moving to London. For Jennings, but for me too. It’s something I’ve always dreamed about, living overseas.

  The interview is scheduled for Monday. If I even bother to go, that is. I should go. They’re paying for my flight and two nights in a hotel. It’d be my first trip to London. Not much time to do more than interview, try fish and chips and purchase a souvenir magnet at the airport. But the idea of it is sort of tainted now. Not quite how I’d imagined it. Would going be wasting their time? I’m not a time-waster. And I’m not a hundred percent certain I could take the job if it was offered.

  Also, I have another option. I have an interview on Friday with a local company. It’s a good fit for me. A great commute. Well, since I don’t have a home at the moment I suppose the comm
ute is irrelevant. But the job is about a half hour from Daisy’s place. The pay is great—about ten percent more than I was making before, plus a bonus structure. I could be back on my feet pretty quickly with this job—and back in my own place.

  Two weeks ago I’d have been jumping for joy about the possibility of this job. It’s a good fit. Everything I was looking for. A good move, career-wise. A safe choice.

  But now? Now I want more. I want an adventure. I want to push myself, take a chance. Spread my wings further than a thirty-mile radius of where I was born. But can I? Without love as an added incentive?

  Do I have the guts to move overseas by myself? It’s insane. A totally insane idea. It’s a Daisy kind of idea, I think with a smile. I pick up my phone to call her, but as I’m thumbing through my contacts to dial, the phone rings. It’s her.

  “I was just about to call you,” I say by way of hello.

  “Twin win!” she replies. “Beat you to it.”

  “You did. By about three seconds.”

  “Are you home yet?”

  “Yup. Sitting on your couch and drinking your soda.”

  “Good. Rest of the tour go okay? You survived? You don’t hate me for making you go?”

  “I survived. It was possibly even good for me.”

  “Was that hard for you to admit?”

  “A little bit. What about you? What’s going on with your frenemy?”

  “Why, what did you hear?”

  “What would I have heard?” I make a face even though she’s not there to see it. “Was Mom supposed to update me on your sex life?”

  “Haha. No, I guess not. What about your British lover? Did you elope? I won’t be mad if you did. Just throwing that out there. Random FYI.”

  “Err, no. We definitely did not elope.” I try to sound breezy when I say it, but I fail. Miserably.

  “That sounds foreboding. What happened?”

  I take a deep breath and bring her up to speed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Jennings

  “Is your asshole cousin still here?”

  I look up from the laptop before me at the sound of Canon’s voice. “Still here,” I call out, though he’s speaking to Rhys. “Still your boss as well,” I add.

  “Is he done sulking?” Canon asks Rhys, ignoring me, though I know damn well he heard me. “I can’t watch the game with that kind of energy.” He’s so full of shit. He rounds the corner of Rhys’ hall carrying a couple of pizza boxes and grins, pretending surprise at seeing me. “Oh, my bad. You are here.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “You look well.” The pizza boxes hit the coffee table with a thud before he grabs himself a beer from the fridge. I can’t possibly look well, so I’m certain that comment is an attempt at being clever. “Did I miss kickoff?” he asks as he tosses the beer cap in the direction of Rhys’s kitchen counter, where it bounces until it hits the tiled backsplash and comes to a stop.

  This setup they’ve got is like some goddamned American-style frat house. But with room service, valet parking, and a five-minute commute to work. I’d seriously doubt their ability to run this hotel if I didn’t know better. If I hadn’t seen them at work with my own eyes.

  Still.

  My eyes narrow as Canon drops onto the sofa and flips the lid on one of the boxes. It’s hard to believe these idiots are capable of anything when I see them like this, much less that they’re integral executive staff. Hence the onsite living accommodations-turned-frat party.

  “Did you ask the bar to send up another bottle of bourbon?” Rhys says. See what I mean? They’ve got access to a bar with delivery. A bar with an unlimited tab, the fact that the bourbon is for me notwithstanding.

  I should break it to Aunt Poppy that Rhys is never moving back to Connecticut, because as far as I can tell these assholes are going to live in this hotel until their dicks fall off. I’m positive I passed a stripper in the hallway yesterday entering someone’s suite. Or possibly a hooker, but I’m choosing to believe she was the former.

  I asked Rhys and Canon if I should be worried about the going-ons here, which they assured me was unnecessary. And now I’m the arsehole.

  Fucking Americans.

  I pour myself a drink as the two of them sprawl on the sofa and turn the volume up on the game.

  I tune them out and go back to reading Daisy’s employment file on my laptop. Again. It just doesn’t add up. I’ve already read her performance reviews. I can’t find any obvious inconsistencies. Her degree from Arizona State is legitimate. So she lied about going to Penn. The guide positions are contract, but she’s consistently worked for the last four years. So she lied about working in design. I can’t see how it’s possible she’d have had the time to do both.

  But why?

  Why tell me she was recently hired as a guide? That lie doesn’t make any sense. None of them do, but this one sticks out as especially unnecessary. Unless it was to set up the lie about losing the job. About dating her boss and getting let go. A person would have to be borderline psychotic to lie that deeply.

  There’s something here I’m not seeing.

  The note she left me said I was an arsehole. “You’re a special kind of arsehole,” she’d written. I’m not sure if she thought I wouldn’t get it if she’d written ‘asshole’ or if it got her off to use the British spelling, but either way I’m unsure how I’m the one at fault.

  She’s certifiably crazy.

  I groan and toss my laptop aside.

  “You’re bringing down my chi, bro.” This from Canon. He holds the pizza box open in front of me and I take a slice because combining top-shelf bourbon and shitty pizza is the least of my issues at present.

  “You wouldn’t know chi if it was sucking your dick,” I tell him. He really wouldn’t. Canon is not a zen motherfucker.

  “Finally!” He tosses the box back onto the table and raises his hands in victory. He’s still holding a beer in one of them and I expect a mess, but he’s apparently well-trained in gesturing with drink, as he doesn’t lose a drop. “I knew you had a sense of humor in there somewhere. No.” He shakes his head. “No, that’s a lie. I didn’t believe it. But Rhys said you did and I believed him.”

  “Thanks,” I say drily. I couldn’t give a fuck if I’m pissing him off with my foul mood.

  “What are you working on?” Rhys asks, removing his eyes from the game long enough to side-eye the open laptop. He knows damn well what I’m working on.

  “Still looking at that employment file you sent. Trying to make sense of it.”

  “Make sense of what?” Canon asks. He’s a nosey bastard on the best of days, which suits his position as head of surveillance, but makes him annoying to deal with.

  “My guide last week. Nothing she told me matches with her employment file. I thought perhaps her employment history was falsified, but everything seems in order.”

  “That’s a security issue,” Canon replies as he swipes my laptop off the couch and starts scanning through the open document. “Daisy Hayden,” he reads aloud. “For starters, she sounds hot.”

  “Be respectful, Canon. He’s still in love with her,” Rhys tells him. I shoot him a dirty look, which he misses as his attention is on the telly.

  “All I’m saying is a woman named Daisy is bound to be a good time.”

  I rub my temple with my index finger. I think I feel a headache coming on.

  “Okay, let’s see what we have to work with.” Canon taps on the touchpad as he scrolls through the documents. I should have asked him to look at this two days ago, come to think of it. His fingers begin flying across the keyboard as he opens programs I’m not sure I have access to. Hell, I’m not sure he’s even using the company database right now.

  “How are you accessing that?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  I don’t. Instead I fill him in on what I do know.

  “Her background checks out. No arrest records. No tax is
sues. Good credit rating.” More rapid typing, then a pause as he turns the computer in my direction. Her employee ID is on the screen. “This is her?”

  “Yeah.”

  He flips the computer back around and types something else. “Her address checks out. The lease is in her name. One-bedroom apartment in Naperville, Illinois. Looks like a nice place.” He shrugs.

  “Yeah, she said she lived there. That part is true, I think.”

  “Excellent performance reviews.”

  “That part I have an issue with. She was an average guide at best. Nervous. Forgot a few things.”

  “Maybe she’s sleeping with her boss,” Canon offers.

  “Too soon,” Rhys pipes in from across the couch.

  Canon nods and keeps reading. I down the rest of my drink and watch the team on the telly score, though to be honest I’m not paying enough attention to even know who’s playing.

  “Who is Violet Hayden?”

  “Who?”

  “The emergency contact on her employment records is listed as Violet Hayden.”

  “Fuck if I know. She never mentioned a Violet. Her sister? Mother maybe?” Who gives a shit?

  More typing, then Canon is grinning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so amused. “Certificate of live birth. State of Illinois,” he announces.

  “Jesus Christ, did she lie about her age?” An overwhelming sense of dread consumes me. “She’s not underage, is she? I asked. She looked young but not that young. Bloody hell.”

  “She’s twenty-six,” Canon confirms, giving me a look like I’m some kind of creep.

  “Yeah, she said she was twenty-six. What’s your point?”

  “It was a twin birth.” He says this slowly, as if it has meaning.

  “Okay.” I stare at him a moment, letting that sink in. So she has a sister. She mentioned a sister. Canon seems to find this more fascinating than I do though, so I feel as though I’m missing something. And perhaps I didn’t need that last drink.

  Canon’s typing again. “Penn, degree in urban planning,” he tells me and makes a waving gesture with his hand as if I’m supposed to reply.