Chapter Twelve #3
Imogen wasn’t going to forget their first ever booking, but she still wrote it down in the notebook beside the phone. Then she smiled at it because it was a big day for the notebook. Its first reservation.
“Twelve people?” Piper said, reading over Imogen’s shoulder.
“Yep. Said they’d heard about this place from friends at work.”
“Where do they work?” Niamh asked, returning in time to catch the tail end of the conversation.
“They didn’t say.”
“Bet they work on that film,” One Pint Willy said as he leaned on the bar.
“Why do you say that?” Imogen asked, trying to be casual about it. But really, any mention of Amy’s film piqued Imogen’s interest these days. She was such a sap.
“You know I hear things. A few of the folk who’ve been in here lately have been saying that they work on it. Someone’s been spreading the word that this is a good place to check out. Not sure I like it, mind.”
The three of them exchanged a knowing look. Had Agent Amy been on the case vouching for the Wishing Well? Imogen would have to think of a way to thank her later if she had—she already had one or two ideas in mind. “Why do you not like it, Willy?”
He grunted. “My usual seat has been taken the past couple of days. It’s the only seat I like. Been mine for years.”
Imogen attempted to look sympathetic. “You could always sit with Talk—Tim.” She’d almost blurted out Tim’s nickname. Though she was sure he would understand the moniker.
“Tim? He’d bore the hole off a golf course.”
Imogen had to roll her lips in to stop herself from laughing. It was a fair assessment. A little rude, but fair.
“Maybe you could join the film people, Willy. See if they’ll hire you as their leading man in their next production,” Piper said with an impish grin.
He puffed out his chest. “And they’d be lucky to have me. Move over, George Clooney, or whoever they’re fanning themselves over these days.”
Imogen laughed. “Do you want your usual, superstar?”
“Aye, go on then. I’ll sit in the corner and glare at people until they move on.” Which probably wouldn’t be one of their best-selling points if newbies were to venture in, but Imogen knew better than to try to stop him. Who was she to get between a man and his favourite seat?
“Have you tried one of our delicious food platters yet, Willy?” Niamh asked, proving she wasn’t known as the queen of sales for no reason. By them, obviously. They called her that.
“Do I look like I’d eat all that fancy muck?” He shook his finger in the air. “A good Irish stew. That’s what you need on the menu for us ol’-fashioned folk.”
Imogen pondered the idea. It was doable.
They probably had enough time to whip up a big pot in the mornings.
And it might make them appeal to a larger audience, like the Willys of the world.
“Consider it a possibility,” she said, much to the surprise of both Niamh and Piper. She’d be able to talk them into it.
One Pint Willy looked delighted as he strolled off toward his unwanted corner seat. Maybe the prospect of stew meant he wouldn’t glare at people after all. Customers liked to be listened to.
Speaking of customers, Imogen had to find out if Amy really was guilty of sending people their way. Though she used any excuse to talk to her these days. When she pulled her phone out, there was already a message waiting.
The studio is throwing a party this weekend at the hotel.
Low-key. Friends and family are invited.
I was wondering if you would want to come?
AS MY FRIEND to anyone who asks. Full disclosure, there will be press there, but they have a time slot.
So we can avoid all that and there’s no photos allowed after.
Think about it, I’d love you to be there.
“She can’t be serious.” Imogen frowned at the phone.
“What’s wrong?” Niamh asked.
“Amy’s just asked me to go to some work party this weekend at the Emerald Grand.” Did she not know Imogen at all?
“Are you taking the piss?” Piper almost dropped the glass she was holding but managed to catch it before it slipped. “You just found the golden ticket, Charlie.”
“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” Niamh explained.
“I wasn’t born in a field,” Imogen said—even she got that reference.
“And there’s no golden ticket. No way am I going to any party.
When I see Amy, I’m going to have to reiterate the rules of our arrangement.
” She winced at her own words and looked at Piper and Niamh who were also wincing.
“I know, I just heard myself. I take it back.” She didn’t really think of dating Amy as an arrangement.
But Amy had to realise that she was pushing the boundaries of what they’d agreed on by extending that invitation.
Was she not happy with how things were after all?
Amy had been the one to suggest it, but it was only natural that she would want more. Imogen suddenly felt sick.
“I’m sure she’s not trying to put you in an awkward position,” Niamh said softly.
“I know. She did say that we could pretend to be friends.” Amy wouldn’t have meant any bad intentions. Imogen knew that. “But no. It’s still too risky.”
“I think it’s nice that she wants you to be there, Immy.” Piper let out a low laugh and shook her head. “Seriously, if you fell out a window you’d go up.”
“What do you mean?”
“That you’re the luckiest person I know. Look at who you’re dating. Plus, I’d give up a kidney to go to that party and you’re brushing it off like it’s an inconvenience.”
“So, you’re saying that you think I should go?”
“I think you should at least think about it rather than dismissing it out of hand. You can’t stay cooped up in your apartment forever.”
Why not? It was working for them so far.