“I’m struggling to find graphic design work.” Cam cut her off, his blue eyes burning with frustration. It suddenly occurred to me that his apparent bad mood might have nothing to do with me and everything to do with his situation. “Malcolm said there was a full-time position open at Club 39 and I have experience bartending. I need something to get me through until I can find another job. If you could get me an application form I’d appreciate it.”
Why I decided to be helpful considering I didn’t very much like him, or his attitude, remained a mystery as I replied, “I’ll do one better. I’ll speak to my manager and I’ll give her your number.”
He stared at me a moment and I couldn’t for the life of me work out what was going on behind his eyes. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Okay, thanks. My number is—”
At that moment my phone vibrated in my hands and I lifted it to stare at the screen.
I’m home from Jamie’s house. Stop panicking. Cole.
The tension melted from my body and I sighed, quickly texting him back.
“Jo?”
I glanced up and noted Malcolm’s raised eyebrows.
Damn. Cam’s number. I flushed, realizing I’d completely blanked on him when I got Cole’s message. I sent him a sheepish smile of apology, one that ricocheted off his steely countenance. “Sorry. Your number?”
Unamused, he rattled it off for me and I typed it into my phone.
“I’ll give this to her tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure,” he responded in a bored tone, suggesting he didn’t think I had the brain cells to remember to do that.
His attitude toward me pricked, but I decided not to let it bother me, snuggling more happily into Malcolm’s side now that I knew Cole was tucked in safe in our flat on London Road.
***
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For more information about Samantha Young and her novels, visit www.ondublinstreet.com
Until Fountain Bridge: (InterMix) Page 12