Chapter 5 #3
“There she is,” Joy said as Lauren smiled to herself. “Just wait until you have a drink. Or two. You’ll be positively beaming.”
She held up a finger at the bartender, who glided over to her like he was on roller skates and immediately kissed the back
of her hand. “Babe, can we get two gin gimlets, please? With Hendrick’s. Don’t treat me wrong.”
The bartender winked and gave a knowing smile in response, and Lauren gaped at Joy as he floated away. “Do you know him?” she asked.
“It’s possible,” Joy said with a smile as she pulled her card out of her purse. “First round is on me. You spent all that
money on those sad decorations.”
Lauren did not want to think about her Thanksgiving trinkets at this moment. “Wait, have you and the bartender hooked up?”
“It’s possible,” Joy replied, then burst out laughing when she saw Lauren’s face. “Hugo and I went to law school together,
had some fun times together . . .” Joy trailed off with a knowing smile. “But then I met the man who became my husband, and
Hugo chucked it all for acting classes instead. He’s one of the good ones.”
Hugo winked at Joy as he started to pull out clean cocktail glasses. “What about you, Joy? The Palace treating you all right,
yeah? DEI and all?”
Joy rolled her eyes a bit. “Oh, you know, only took them centuries to hire someone. But it’s going.”
“Well, if you ever want to bartend . . .” he said, gesturing at the club, his smile clearly indicating that he was joking.
“Oh, this place cannot afford me!” Joy laughed. “Plus I’d miss this one here.” Joy looked Lauren up and down. “Where’d you
dig this number up, hmm? I love it. You should wear this at the next press briefing.”
“My neighbor, Una,” Lauren said. “I still don’t quite know what she does for a living, and I think maybe I don’t want to know,
but she has the most amazing wardrobe. She really came through.”
“She did indeed,” Joy said. “Definitely keep her in your back pocket for future use. Oh, thaaaaaank you,” she said as Hugo expertly slid two perfect gimlets toward them.
“I was just telling Lauren what a gem you are. Hugo, listen.” Joy leaned toward the bar to make her point.
“Do you have any single friends? Because this one”—Joy jerked a thumb in Lauren’s direction—“is most definitely looking.”
Normally, Lauren would have wanted to die, but this time, she found herself leaning in as well, eyeing up Hugo’s square jaw
and perfectly groomed facial hair.
“Let me think on it,” he said with a grin. “I’m sure I could rustle up one or two.”
“You do that,” Joy said. “And don’t worry, we’ll be back, so if you think of anyone . . .” She made a little “write it down”
gesture and then pointed toward Lauren.
“Nice meeting you!” Lauren said as Joy started to drag her away. “Are you going to introduce me to every potentially single
man in this bar?” she asked.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
Lauren thought for three seconds. “No, I do not.”
Joy raised her gimlet in a toast. “Let’s start with the A’s!”
Joy later swore up and down that it was only a coincidence that she introduced Lauren to both Aiden and Albert first, but
by then the Hendrick’s was starting to settle in her stomach and Lauren found herself laughing along with both of them, leaning
against Joy as she talked about her time at the White House and making the leap across the ocean. “I don’t know, I was just
ready for something new,” she said, omitting all the ugly parts. “I think we should do another round,” she said to Joy, who
was only too quick to agree.
Hugo set them up with possibly the best Negroni Lauren had ever had, so pretty that it looked like the sun sinking into the ocean, and Joy led her down to the basement level while Lauren carefully balanced her drink.
“You should definitely stay in touch with Hugo,” Lauren said.
“Just in case he ends up not shacked up anymore. Because these drinks are—”
She stopped talking then, though, because standing next to an intricately patterned sofa that resembled peacock feathers was
the last person she expected to see—Oscar.
“So I think we’ve made our way to the O’s,” Joy said quietly.
“Did you know he was here?” Lauren whisper-hissed, and wished she was both more sober and more drunk.
“No!” Joy protested. “I mean, not at first. I just saw him when I was talking over there and now he’s over . . . here.” She turned Lauren to face her. “You do realize
he’s a reporter, yes?”
“Is that a serious question?”
“I know, I know, I just need to know that you know what you’re getting into.”
“I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting into,” Lauren said, glancing over Joy’s shoulder at Oscar again.
“Well, I do,” Joy said, gently poking her in the arm. “And you need to be careful, all right? If you’re going to flirt or
hook up or do anything with that man over there, you need to be careful. Also, we cannot discuss this at work. After-hours only. I like to keep my professional and personal lines very well-defined.”
“’Kay,” Lauren said. “I thought journalists weren’t allowed in here anyway.”
“Well, there’s your opening line,” Joy said. “Now. Shoulders back, stand up straight, and I’m going to pretend I didn’t see
anything.”
Maybe it was the gin, Campari, and vermouth meeting up and deciding to become immediate best friends, but Lauren felt a renewed burst of warmth, of possibility.
The club was buzzing and full of energy, and for the first time in what felt like months, she was having fun.
Oscar was standing there, the top two buttons of his knitted polo undone, one hand in his pocket at he sipped something dark on the rocks, talking to a male friend.
When he glanced up and saw Lauren, she remembered that she was good at a lot of things, and not all of them had to do with work.
Especially not this.
“Well, hello, stranger,” Oscar said as Lauren sidled up to him, and the friend, bless him, got the message and slipped away
with a “Dude, I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
“I didn’t know they allowed reporters in here,” Lauren said, taking Joy’s advice.
“I have my ways.” Oscar smiled. “So how did you wind up here? Keeping tabs on a rogue royal?”
“No, I’m off the clock tonight,” she replied, sipping at her drink without taking her eyes off him. “Happy Thanksgiving and
all that.”
“Ah, that’s right, the day of gratitude,” Oscar said. “Where you celebrate your narrow escape from our country and also eat
sweet potatoes with marshmallows. Because that makes obvious sense.”
“Naturally,” Lauren said. “Except I hate marshmallows. We’re a savory family.”
“So you’re celebrating in a British supper club?” Oscar took a sip of his own drink, and Lauren didn’t miss the fact that
his eyes didn’t leave hers, either.
Damn, these were strong drinks.
“Well, my mom was actually supposed to visit for a long weekend, but she had to work at the last minute, so Joy suggested
that we go out instead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Oscar said, then held up his glass. “To your mum’s next trip, then.”
She clinked her glass delicately against his. “So why are you here? Are you the one tracking a rogue royal? Should I be worried?”
He laughed, and his smile had somehow gotten even better since the last time she had seen him at their press conference last
week. “Not quite,” he replied. “I was covering an event earlier, and well, it led me here afterward. And luckily the doorman
is a fan of some of my pieces, so he didn’t turn me away when he probably should have.”
Lauren held up her glass again. “To the doorman,” she said, and they clinked again. There was a moment of silence, and the
air felt like it was pulsating between them.
“Do you want to go—?” Oscar started to say over the pounding music, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Lauren said.
She followed him up the stairs as they pushed through what felt like an endless wall of perfectly dressed people, but all
she could really focus on was the way Oscar’s hand reached back for hers, keeping her close so they didn’t get separated in
the crowd. His fingers weren’t too soft, weren’t too rough, and it was definitely the Negroni talking at this point, but Lauren
thought that her hand seemed to fit perfectly in his.
They stopped at the club’s opulent Southeast Asian–inspired Elephant Room, which was still busy with patrons but much quieter
without the presence of a DJ. They made their way to a velvet sofa with soft cushions and sat down, their thighs touching.
“So,” he said. “We’re both off the clock. What a coincidence.”
Lauren smiled despite herself and tried not to think about what James or Eugene would say if they saw her at Annabel’s, drinking
with a journalist. “It is indeed, but everything is off the record,” she quickly added. “Just friends tonight?”
“Just friends,” Oscar agreed, and Lauren hoped she wasn’t imagining the way he sounded just a bit disappointed. “So. Bearnas Lauren Morgan.”
“Oh, not this bullshit again,” Lauren said, leaning into the cushions and tossing back the rest of her drink.
“What?” Oscar said with a grin. “That’s your name! I’m just saying it, that’s all.”
“You’re baiting me,” she said, “and goddamnit, it worked.”
“Okay, sorry, sorry. Lauren. Is that better?”
It was.
“Maybe,” she replied. “So, Oscar. Are you still writing a feature about me?”
He shrugged, regarding her. “Sometimes.”
“Anything interesting I should know?”
“Hmm.” Oscar pretended to think. “Your mother lives in Atlanta, Georgia.”
Lauren pretended to gasp. “Well, that’s news to me.”
“You left Washington, DC, and nobody really seems to know why.”
“I feel like you need a magnifying glass and a deerstalker cap when you talk like this.”
“Those are for detectives, not journalists.” Oscar grinned. “So you don’t want to talk about your time at the White House?
Off the record?”
“If you want me to talk about that, I’m going to need a few more of these.” Lauren tapped her empty glass.