Aubrey #2
"Orange and under two. He'll be adopted before the clip stops trending. The internet did him a favor."
He studies me. "And you had him because—"
I weigh how much of this is his business.
None of it.
But I tell him anyway. "I do pickup shifts for a rescue we partner with.
They needed someone to move him out of the clinic before close, and our isolation room at the rescue house was already full, and the clinic cut two foster slots last month because we couldn't pay the invoice on time.
So he came home with me. Which is not technically allowed, but my boss pretends not to see things sometimes. "
"The rescue house..."
I meet his eyes. "The foster pickups are a side thing. They pay irregularly and badly, which is the only reason I'm qualified."
"He's really going to a home?" he asks.
"There's a list. There's always a list for the orange ones. He'll get three applications by tomorrow morning and somebody's kid will name him something humiliating."
That seems to satisfy him. "Good."
I can't help but laugh. "You don't really like him, do you."
He shrugs, doesn't answer.
"You cleaned up," I say, nodding at his hands.
"I was encouraged."
I purse my lips. "By a doctor?"
"By a man who told me I looked like a liability."
I laugh. "That's almost medical."
He grins. "It's how men with earpieces show affection."
Earpieces.
I glance toward the lobby. Spot a man in a dark jacket idling near a column. He's pretending not to look at Linden, but it's obvious he is. He looks familiar. Wait... I know his name.
Hollis, that's it. At least, that's what Linden called him after we got out of that elevator.
"Do you have a lot of men with earpieces?" I ask.
"Tonight?" Linden says. "Less than usual."
I hug myself involuntarily. "That's actually a horrifying answer."
He tilts an eyebrow. "It's an honest one."
"Those are often the most horrifying," I counter.
His attention stays on me. Up close, the top of one ear is flattened... an old injury I guess. I look at that longer than the suit.
Then guiltily glance at my drink.
Great. Ear feelings.
I should leave then. I know it. I should be pushing back from the bar and heading home to drink water and pretend this man is just an Instagram clip with nice hands.
Unfortunately, the vodka is still in my hand.
I say, "I need to be clear about one thing."
He turns on the stool to face me.
"Be clear," he says.
"I don't do pity hookups," I blurt out.
Way to be subtle about it Aubrey.
He cocks his head and his eyes flash hungrily.
"I don't do scandal souvenirs," I continue. "I'm not interested in being the woman from the elevator you take upstairs because the internet made us weird for twelve hours. And I'm definitely not interested in being a story you tell later with the cat part left in for color."
His face goes still.
I wish he would look offended.
I brace for charm. For denial with polish. For some smooth line about how he'd never.
He says, "Good."
"Good?" I stare at him. "That's it? That's your response?"
"That's my response," he says calmly.
"Little underwritten," I retort.
"I don't want pity from you," he says. "I don't want a souvenir. I don't want to tell anyone a story."
He stops there.
"What do you want then?" I ask.
"One night sounds good," he says.
My hand stills on the glass.
"No cameras," he continues. "No staff at the door asking if I need the car brought around. No family calling to find out whether I've embarrassed them or helped them. No one saying my name like it belongs on a balance sheet. No questions."
He looks down at his scratched hand, then back at me.
"First names only," he says. "If you want to walk away, walk away. If you want a drink and nothing else, we'll have a drink. If you want to come upstairs, you come upstairs because you want to. Not because I'm lonely enough to be useful to you."
My chest goes tight.
There's no good reason for that to work.
But it does.
He's asking to be nobody for a few hours.
A nobody like me.
"Linden," I say.
His name feels too intimate because it's all I have.
He waits.
I look toward the lobby again. The man 'Hollis' has moved closer to the far wall.
"No surveillance is a big ask in a hotel," I say.
Linden's mouth curves without much humor. "It's aspirational."
I cross my arms. "Fine. No questions is also 'aspirational.' What counts?"
"No surnames," he explains. "No jobs. No family. No Googling in the bathroom."
"I was absolutely going to Google you in the bathroom," I quip.
"I assumed."
"Though without a last name that's kind of hard," I add.
He shrugs. "Exactly."
I point at him with my straw. "No Googling me either."
"Like you said, without a last name, that's kind of hard."
"Right," I tell him. "Question."
His smile returns for a second. "No questions."
I take another sip, mostly to buy time. In the mirror, I'm flushed and tired, my bun coming loose. I look like a woman who should go home.
I do not move.
"One night," I say, ignoring his comment. "First names only. Right?"
"Yes."
"No pity," I press.
He blinks. "No."
"No souvenir."
He nods. "No."
"If you have a secret wife, cult, camera crew, or murder basement, this is the moment to disclose," I tell him.
"No wife. No cult. No camera crew."
I study him. "Murder basement?"
"We live in New York," he says. "Basement space is complicated."
A laugh comes out of me, too loud for the Mercer, and I clap a hand over my mouth. Linden's eyes stay on me long enough that I lose the next joke.
I reach for the straw.
My fingers miss it once.
He stands and leaves cash on the bar. I don't see the amount because I'm busy telling my knees they're not involved in decision-making. This close, he takes up more space than I remember from the elevator.
"You can still say no," he says.
"I know," I reply.
"I'll put you in a cab if that's what you want," he tells me.
The stubborn part of me won't stand for that. "I can put myself in a cab too you know."
He nods. "I know."
I finish the drink badly, with too much ice hitting my teeth, and set the glass down.
"No surnames," I repeat.
He nods.
"No outside lives," I press.
He nods.
"No cat impressions unless requested," I joke.
His face changes. "That's unfortunate. I've been practicing."
I laugh. "Oh my god."
He steps back, giving me room to stand. He doesn't touch my elbow or steer me. He just waits.
Across the lobby, the man in the dark jacket looks up and then away again.
I ignore him.
Linden turns toward the elevator bank.
I follow him across the lobby. "Oh. You're staying... here?"
"In a sense," he says cryptically. "No questions, remember?"
I nod. "Sure thing."
I'm going to regret this. I know I am.
But I don't stop.