Page 130 of Smoke and Glitter

Then Tuesday.

I work. I sleep badly. I look at SMOKE more often than I need to.

By Wednesday afternoon, I've stopped pretending I don't know what I want to do.

Bex is in my office with next week's schedule spread across the desk, a pen between her teeth while she moves names around with one finger. She glances up when I close the door, but only long enough to make sure I'm not bringing her another problem before going back to the page.

"Can you take Friday?"

She pulls the pen from her mouth and circles something near the bottom of the schedule. "Probably. Tony can stay through close if I move Marisol up."

"And Saturday. Sunday too."

The pen stops against the paper. Bex lifts her head and looks at me properly now. "You want all three?"

"Yeah." I pull out the chair across from her and sit, resting my forearms against my thighs. There are a dozen respectable reasons I could give her. Work at Smoke. Meetings. Something personal that sounds important enough to justify disappearing for a weekend. None of them are the reason I'm asking. "I need the days."

Bex watches me for a moment, then looks back down and starts making changes. "Tony's going to bitch about Sunday."

"He'll survive."

"He always does." She draws a line through my name on Friday, shifts another one underneath it and reaches for her phone to check something against the schedule. "I can make it work."

The relief is immediate enough to irritate me. I lean back in the chair and rub my palms over my thighs while she sends a message, waits for the reply and adds another note beside Saturday.

"You're not going to ask why?"

Bex glances at me over the top of the phone. "You just managed to tell me you need something without disguising it as a staffing emergency. I'm trying not to spook you."

"Very considerate."

"I have my moments."

Her phone buzzes. She reads the message, types something back and puts it facedown beside the schedule.

"London," I tell her.

Her hand, halfway back to the pen, stops.

I watch recognition move across her face before she settles deeper into the chair. "You're going to London."

"Friday."

"Does Autumn know?"

"No."

Bex's mouth tightens, and I can see exactly where her mind goes.

"I'm not showing up at her hotel," I say. "I don't even know where she's staying."

She picks the pen up again but doesn't write. "So what are you planning to do?"

"I'll get there, ask if she'll see me and let her decide. Coffee, a park, wherever she's comfortable. Somewhere public."

Bex rolls the pen between her fingers. "Why wouldn't you ask her before you buy the ticket?"

Because that would make this easier.