9. RAFE
RAFE
“All I’m asking is that you go into the log and see who swiped their entrance card before us,” I say to Henry.
We’re at Whites on St James’, one of London’s oldest gentlemen’s clubs, ensconced in giant leather chesterfields by the window.
The drone of traffic outside is a dull rumble beyond glass windows so old they appear to run like liquid, distorting the view.
Ageing aristocrats in moth-eaten double-breasted pinstripe suits sit at nearby tables, all of them asset rich, cash poor, and striving to maintain the impression of wealth.
Henry, with his mustard coloured socks and old school tie, fits in perfectly, aside from the fact that he’s both asset and cash rich, and his tailored suit has never seen a moth.
It’s been a couple of weeks since my one night stand at Delirium, and my obsession with the woman I met there hasn’t lessened.
I’ve waited to speak to Henry about it, holding off on the hope that the beautiful stranger would find my number, which I scrawled on a card and bribed the cloakroom attendant to slip inside her cherry pink handbag, and call me.
She didn’t. I have no idea whether she found it and decided not to call, or hasn’t found it at all, but either way, the uncertainty is a headfuck I don’t like and don’t want. I’ve finally had enough.
Henry blows out a sigh. “I told you, I’m not going to do that.”
I rub my hands down my face and let out a low groan. “Where’s Julian? He’d back me up.”
“They don’t let vagabonds like Julian in places like this,” Henry says matter-of-factly.
“Since when? He was here last time.”
Henry snorts. “Got himself blackballed. Had a fight with some pompous arse about the broadsheets and got thrown out.”
I scrape a hand through my hair. Without Julian, I know I’m beating my head against a brick wall trying to get Henry to break the rules, but I try again anyway. “Come on. Just give me her name. That’s all I want.”
“I can’t give it to you. You know that.”
I tap my fist on the table between us, tilting towards him. “Yeah, but you know me. I’m not going to—”
“If she didn’t tell you her name, she doesn’t want to be found.
And if she didn’t give you her number, she doesn’t want you to call.
” He lets his forearms droop lazily on the armrests of his chair, gesticulating at me with one limp hand.
“I can’t believe you’re still thinking about this woman.
I know you’re used to getting what you want, but—”
“That’s not what this is. I’m not soothing a bruised ego.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffs. “Look, I’ll grant you a complimentary membership to the club.
Come back as many times as you want. Find someone else.
Hell, you might even find her. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.
But I absolutely will not breach the confidentiality of one of my members. Not even for you.”
I briefly close my eyes. “I could find her myself. I could—”
“Don’t do that. No healthy relationship starts with you hunting her down like prey in the jungle.
” Henry touches his fingertips to his forehead.
“This is what happens when you don’t get laid for far too long.
You think something that’s nothing is, in fact, something.
I hate to break it to you, but the other night was most likely nothing more than a good fuck.
You clearly haven’t had one of those in far too long.
I mean, what the hell have you been waiting for? ”
I stare at the ground. “Connection.”
Henry’s roar of laughter is deafening. “And you found it on a one night stand with a woman in a mask? Fucking hell, Rafe. You need to get out more. Start ‘connecting’”—he makes air-quotes with his fingers—“with more women.” His laughter fades into a gentle chuckle.
“Let me sort out the membership, and you can see for yourself.”
I fist a hand at my side, and the urge to smash my best friend in the face blindsides me. “I’m good. Thanks.” For nothing.
“Oh, come on. You sound like a stalker. I don’t know how much clearer I can make this. If she didn’t give you her name, she doesn't want to see you again.”
I grimace. Henry’s probably right, again. I’m losing my mind because a beautiful woman let me fuck her the first night we met. If I’m honest with myself, it’s pathetic.
Henry clasps my knee. “I am not going to let you humiliate yourself like this. Even if I found out who she was, what would you do? Admit you’d been thinking about her for weeks when she made it clear that it was a one night thing?
” He presses his lips into a thin line and releases my knee as he leans back.
“I think what you should do is take someone else out. Someone more in your comfort zone. Someone non-threatening.”
“Non-threatening? I didn’t find the woman at Delirium threatening, for fuck’s sake. I found her…”
“What?” Henry’s eyes widen, suddenly alert. “Found her what?”
I tip my head back on a sigh, letting my shoulders sink. I can’t put it into words, at least not ones I would share. I found her… exhilarating, enchanting, addicting.
Henry clicks his fingers and points at me. “What you need is someone who isn’t going to turn you into an obsessive stalker. Take Melanie Castow out on a date.”
The Castow deal has been the last thing on my mind, despite how infuriating Melanie’s intransigence has been.
We’ve made no progress in the last few weeks.
“Oh, fuck off. You yourself said she’s the type of woman I should stop going for.
Besides, it’s a conflict of interest. I can’t date the woman we’re dealing with. ”
He shrugs. “One night stands obviously aren’t for you. Take Melanie out. It might get the deal across the line, and I know how much you want that agency. She’s holding out for something, and I think it’s you.”
“No.” I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t want Melanie or any other woman. Except—”
Henry’s low chuckle cuts me off. “I’d really like to meet the woman who reduced you to this. She must have a magic cunt.”