Chapter 5
Luca
Watch out!
Some opponents may be in disguise and will only show you their true face when they get careless.
“We’re all here; there’s no one else coming.” Elsa tilts her head. “Why do you ask?”
“All here,” I echo. “So Sophia Richards isn’t here?”
“Oh, no. She’s indisposed, I’m afraid,” Elsa replies.
With some difficulty, I suppress a wide smile and take a quick sip of Coke so Elsa doesn’t notice.
“Is there anyone else here you’d like me to introduce you to?”
“No, no, that’s all right.” I mentally punch the air.
Sophia Richards isn’t here. PixelPulse isn’t here.
Our biggest rival, or at least as far as Hank is concerned, won’t be on stage tomorrow.
Now I suddenly wish I had a beer after all—to drink to that.
“Thank you!” I tell her, and I feel like throwing my arms around Elsa’s neck, but that might not go down too well, since she’s already looking at me in confusion.
“Well, I’ll be off then. I need to catch some sleep; the last few days have been rough. ”
“Of course, enjoy your rest. We’ll be meeting in the foyer at nine and walking over to the conference room together. Or you can go there directly; it’s in the west wing.”
I nod. I’ve already gone over the schedule and the floor plan several times so I won’t miss anything. “Looking forward to it,” I say, and I’m not even lying. Maybe Maleek is right and we have a genuine chance. And besides, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing Lara again. “See you tomorrow.”
Elsa gives me another wave and then turns back to the conversation I’ve just distracted her from. I take my glass back to the bar and walk toward reception, where I can hear the sound of a familiar voice. Seems like I’ll be seeing Lara again sooner than expected.
“And there’s really no other option?”
Lara’s standing by the reception desk with a desperate expression on her face, which is only outdone by Louise’s. She’s frantically hammering away at her keyboard.
“I’m so sorry, but all of our rooms are booked out. People come here for the event from all over the UK.” Louise grimaces.
“Bollocks!” Lara exclaims, and her voice shoots an octave higher.
“Everything all right here?” I ask stupidly.
“My room’s flooded. It’s a burst pipe, or maybe a leak somewhere.
” She worries at her lower lip, which draws my gaze.
The sight of that alone is enough to stir up something hot inside me.
I look away quickly, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lara pushing back her long hair.
“OK, OK,” she mutters. “Are there any hotels nearby?”
“I’m so incredibly sorry about all of this! We prepared your room ahead of time; everything was fine before.”
“It’s not your fault.” Lara dismisses her worries with a wave of her hand that’s at odds with the tension in her voice. “I’ll just find something else. There’s got to be some hotel out there with an available room for me.”
“You’re leaving now?” I interject. “It’s dark out, everyone’s here, and you’d have to bother Andrew again.”
Lara bites her lip, seemingly not that keen on the prospect either. There’s uncertainty in her eyes, very different from the glow that was there when she was telling me stories in the car. I’m not surprised; if she was nervous before, I’m sure none of this is helping.
Louise types something and frowns. “The closest hotel to here is in Cambridge; I could book something for you there. It would work. Our driver can take you there and pick you up on time tomorrow, but you’d miss everything that’s going on here. If Mr. Crow hears about this . . .”
“You can stay with me tonight.” The words have left my mouth before my brain has even had a chance to turn on, and Lara seems as surprised as I am. She looks at me, stunned.
“With you?”
What the hell has gotten into you? I ask myself, but out loud, I say, “Considering how impressive this place is, I’m sure there will be a sofa.
” I’m trying to sound casual, though inside me, it’s another story.
Where on earth did that come from? I should be happy that my competition’s rattled—I’m here to win, after all.
But for some reason, I feel very uncomfortable at the thought of Lara having to check into a hotel alone in another city.
“Our rooms are equipped with top-of-the-line sofas,” Louise chimes in. “And of course king-size beds with enough room for two p—” She stops herself at the sight of Lara’s panicked expression. “The sofa is very comfortable,” she continues instead.
Lara shakes her head. “This is a disaster.”
“Ouch,” I say dryly.
“No, not you, that’s very kind of you, but . . .” She groans. “Nataly and Aria would just love this.”
“Nataly? Aria?”
“My best friends. I can hear them laughing already.”
“Well?” Louise looks back and forth between us, blushing slightly, probably because she’s uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Should I book you both into the room?”
“Yes, please,” I say, and Lara takes a step closer to me.
“I can’t stay with you,” she whispers so quietly that I can hardly hear her over the sound of Louise’s typing.
“Why not?”
“You heard that man earlier. What do you think everyone’s going to say?”
“No one needs to know,” I tell her and shrug, although I didn’t think of that in my haste. “And what’s the alternative? Commuting from Cambridge?”
I can practically see the cogs turning in Lara’s head, but instead of suggesting a different solution, she sighs. “All right. It’s just for two nights. You’ll hardly notice I’m there. I don’t snore. I’ll go down to breakfast early tomorrow and . . .”
“Lara,” I say. She stops and looks at me with those big hazel eyes. There’s a feeling in my stomach that definitely shouldn’t be there. “It’s fine, honestly. I used to have to share my room with noisy theater kids. You’re no competition for them.”
“Right.” Louise smiles at us, and her relief is palpable.
“Thank you for being so flexible, Mr. Brown. I’ve made a note; we’ll have a small gift sent to your studio as an apology.
And we will, of course, be sending something to PixelPulse as well, Ms. Anderson.
If you’d like to order room service tonight, that would be on the house, of course. ”
Louise stands, ready to show us to our room, but everything inside me has frozen up. I feel rooted to the spot. I look over at Lara and pray that I misheard. But the unsettling feeling that’s sending my pulse into overdrive speaks for itself.
“You’re with PixelPulse?” My words leave my mouth much louder than intended.
“Yeah,” Lara responds, clearly confused by my outburst.
“But the plan said something about Sophia Richards.”
She nods, frowning. “She’s my boss. She’s ill, which is why I’m presenting for her.”
Fuck. I don’t say it out loud, but I don’t have to, because obviously it’s written all over my face.
“Everything . . . all right?” She eyes me with trepidation.
Oh yeah, sure. Apart from the fact that I just offered to share my room with my number one competition at this goddamn event. Apart from the fact that I was nearly looking forward to it and want to take it all back now.
“Smashing.” I force myself to move, one foot and then the other, while my thoughts start racing.
Louise doesn’t seem to have noticed anything; she’s cheerfully walking upstairs in front of us. No idea how she’s able to move so fast in those high heels. “Breakfast is from six to ten, and you’ll find the Wi-Fi code on your key card . . .”
Her words blur together into so much white noise as I watch Lara climb the stairs next to me.
Hank must never know I’ve taken her in. Will there be a bill with her name on it for him to see?
Probably not; the rooms are paid for by the sponsors.
I’ll have to safely lock up my laptop. If my boss is to be believed, that Sophia has got to be a sly fox .
. . Who knows whether her employees are anything like her.
On the other hand, I can scarcely imagine it, considering how open and funny Lara was during our car ride.
Nothing about her seems fake. On the contrary.
I shove my musings aside. They won’t do me any good now that Lara’s already dragging her suitcase across the red carpet beside me.
We stop in front of a brown wooden door along with Louise, and I step up to the door.
Muffled sounds of laughter drift up from downstairs.
If I’d only stayed in the lounge ten minutes longer, all this would never have happened, and Lara would be on her way to a hotel now.
“Er, excuse me.” I’ve only just realized that I’m standing in front of the key card panel, and in the way. I take a step back, and Louise holds the card up to the scanner.
She pushes the door open, turns on the light, and peeks inside.
She lets out a sigh of relief. “Everything’s dry here, thank God,” she mutters.
“In that case, I bid you good night. There will be someone at reception until ten tonight, and again after five tomorrow morning, should you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I say blankly, and Lara smiles at Louise, who is already scurrying away.
We’re both standing in the doorway, close enough for me to smell Lara’s subtle scent.
It reminds me of early spring, of trips to London parks with my parents before everything became too much and before I preferred getting lost in a computer screen.
It reminds me of days long gone, a piece of paradise, and I shake my head to rid myself of the images that pop up.
What the hell was I thinking, offering to share my room with her?
I gesture for her to go in first. But Lara isn’t moving, fiddling around with the zipper of her leather jacket instead and biting her lip.
“Thank you for doing this. I know you can probably think of more pleasant things to do than an impromptu room-share. But I’ll just hang out on the sofa and watch my presentation for the hundredth time, so . . .”