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‘I have had enough of Vegas for a lifetime.’ She cuts her eyes over my shoulder to the reception happening behind me while I wonder if she’s including our night together in her assessment of Sin City. ‘And there aren’t anymore bridesmaid duties...’
She pulls her lip back under her teeth after trailing off and I fail to control my lower half’s reaction.
I turn my back on her, pretending to assess the party. ‘If you want to come then go pack.’ My words snap military orders. Once more I’m frustrated, angry – with myself.
Because no matter how much distance I put between myself and this godforsaken place I know I won’t have complete control again unless I also distance myself from Alice Truman. And still, I want her to say yes. Spend five more hours with me even if it is thirty thousand feet in the sky, breathing recoiled air and eating painfully reheated food.
Putting personal desires before responsibilities like this is something my father would do. As is sleeping with and having less than professional thoughts about an employee.
And yet.
‘Plane leaves in three hours. Red-eye.’
‘Oh.’ A rustle of silk and she quick steps past me. ‘I better hurry then.’ She continues toward the doors – the ones on the left, nearest the dance floor, not the ones by the exit.
‘Don’t.’
She freezes, pivoting on one slim-strapped heeled sandal, facing me with a frown.
I know she wants to say goodbye to Bell and Chase and everyone else. Apologize for leaving, make excuses. I know that because she’s a good person. A polite person.
I’m neither.
‘If you tell them you’re leaving they’ll want to know why, and/or try and convince you to stay. And knowing them, they won’t stop until you do and I’m not waiting around for that.’
She sucks her lip back in and I wonder if this new tic developed because her hands, the ones that usually twist and fidget when she’s unsure or thinking, are busy clutching her purse. ‘I—’
Whatever she was going to say gets cut off when the newly enlarged wedding party erupts in loud cheers as an R & B mashed-up Elvis song starts blasting from the speakers.
I wonder if the King would be pleased his music is still relevant or disgusted at the gross liberties taken in reproducing his song for modern listeners.
I’m not sure if it’s my logical explanation, or the chaos she’d have to fight in order to be a good person and say goodbye, but Alice’s shoulders slump. ‘You’re right.’
‘Of course.’
Her eyebrows jump and for some reason she looks like she’s trying to hold back laughter.
I smooth a hand down my dress shirt, concerned it might be overly creased from the tight-fitting jacket and today’s shit-show of a wedding. ‘Meet me in the lobby in thirty minutes.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She salutes me with a smile before fast-walking through the doors on the right, my jacket billowing out behind her like a cape as she sneaks along the edge of the reception area and out the door to the elevators.
I stand there, against my own advice to get moving, until I have control of my body once more.
It takes much longer than I’d like.
I make a mental note to have HR send Alice a memo instructing her to never call me ‘sir’ again.
12
ALICE
Most of the past hour is a blur. All that really sticks out is that despite my hangover and the Saturday night Vegas traffic, I’ve managed not to be sick while Thomas’s driver got us to the airport in less than thirty minutes after our record-breaking packing.
Despite George’s earlier disgust at my essentials-only packing, my minimalism paid off when I had just minutes to get everything together and get out the hotel room door. And any worry or regret from leaving Vegas early evaporated into relief once I sank into the oversized leather seat holding my first-class bag of slippers, blanket and pillow to help me sleep through the red-eye flight.
Well, relief and one more less helpful feeling.
I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable, wondering how I’m going to make it through the next five hours with my new, immediate and physically distressing situation.
