17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
After I left Alden’s this morning, I headed straight to my shift. I didn’t even bother checking my phone. I was avoiding Harriet’s calls because I didn’t want to explain myself. I needed some space, especially since now she’s inhabited mine. And besides, she’s a grown woman. She can fend for herself for a night.
8:32 HARRIET:
Where are you? I’m getting hungry.
8:55 HARRIET:
Monroe? Hello?
9:26 HARRIET:
Are you ignoring me? Answer me now.
10:01 HARRIET:
I grabbed something from down the street. In case you were wondering. I didn’t get you anything since I don’t know where you are.
10:15 HARRIET:
This is my last message. I know you’re seeing these, and it’s incredibly rude to leave me like that without a word. You have to come back eventually.
The messages make my stomach churn as I read through them all. Harriet’s never shown this much interest in my whereabouts, only when it concerns her directly. Being downtown, my apartment is surrounded by places to eat. It’s not like I left her in the middle of the woods, with no food, to survive on her own. My shift is almost over, and I’m not looking forward to that fun chat afterwards.
This night has been dragging on, and maybe by the time I’m done, Harriet will be asleep, or she’ll have gone out. I can only hope. It’s surprisingly quiet tonight for a Saturday. I normally love being here and thrive off the busy atmosphere most nights, but right now, I hate it. There’s been a steady lull, and I’m bored out of my mind.
And where boredom is, reflecting and worrying about things I can’t change usually follows. That’s where I’m at now; I’m stuck on what Harriet and I talked about last week, overthinking it to the point of madness.
Someone taps my shoulder. “What time is it?” Kevin asks. “My phone is in the car, and I don’t feel like going all the way out there to get it.”
“It’s the same as the last time you asked me. Three seconds ago.”
He sighs. “Just make something up. Tell me it’s eight-thirty already.”
“I made an oath to never lie to you, sorry,” I chuckle.
Kevin leans against the bar on his elbows, and we both watch our only customer sip his scotch gingerly.
He grows quiet, letting a minute pass before he speaks. “I heard your mom was back.” I tense, only nodding to confirm. “How’re you dealing?”
How do I answer that? I wish everyone would just stop asking how I am, even if it is out of concern.
“Fine, I think.” I run a hand over the bar to stop myself from fidgeting. “I never know what I’m going to get with Hurricane Harriet, so I’m just waiting it out.”
“Laryssa mentioned you had coffee with her. That’s good, right?”
Good. Right.
I hum. My nonverbal confirmation is more than enough to get my thoughts across. I need a break from all things Harriet, so I not so subtly switch topics.
“So, where is everyone? I thought these rich people’s favourite pastime was getting shit-faced.”
He bumps into my shoulder playfully. “Didn’t you hear?” I shake my head. “There’s some big film festival happening tonight, star-studded actors and all. Everyone is trying to get an invite to the after-party.”
I roll my eyes. That’s the most stereotypical one-percent activity I’ve heard about in a while.
“What a life they must lead if their only concern is if they’re able to get into a party or not.”
“You’re telling me. But at least we don’t have to stand here and pretend to care when another billionaire gives us his pitch for a new social media app. I swear if I hear one more, I’ll gouge my eyes out with this ice pick.”
Kevin holds the icepick up for emphasis.
My hand covers his as I laugh. “You’re far too pretty for such violence, Kev. It would be a tragedy.”
He snorts. “You’re right about that.”
Kevin ducks into the back room, leaving me alone. To make it seem like I’m doing something, I pick up a rag and give the bar top another wipe. He reappears after some time, a tray of olives in his hand.
“Have an olive. It’ll do wonders for your skin.”
“These are for paying customers, Kev, not bored staff.” But I grab one and pop it into my mouth anyway.
He throws his hands up in surrender. But then his face twitches when he looks past me. “Speaking of.” Kevin nods to someone behind us and mutters under his breath, “Good luck.”
I frown when he runs off to the back room. What does that mean? When I turn around, I see who spooked him. It’s Charlotte. Just what I need right now. She strolls into the bar, heading right for me. In her all-white outfit and red-bottomed shoes, she is the picture of a prim and proper aristocrat. She hesitates, then slowly pulls out a barstool, like she’s not sure she actually wants to. Eventually, she sits.
Charlotte folds her hands under her chin as she looks at me. She clears her throat once to get my attention. God help me. I settle in front of her, not wanting to drag this out anymore.
“What can I get for you?” I ask, the words come out stiff.
“Vodka soda on the rocks.”
I can easily make the drink myself. So I grab some vodka—top-shelf since she can afford it—and some club soda.
When I finish, I push it toward her. I watch as she takes a sip and then another and then she throws her manners out the window completely and inhales it. She dabs the corners of her mouth with the cocktail napkin and slides the glass back to me.
“Another one, please.”
In a matter of minutes, we go through the same motions. I make her drink, she quickly finishes it, and I make her another. It isn’t until her third vodka soda that she eases up, preferring to sip it rather than chug it like it’s water. I’m almost out of her line of sight when Charlotte’s honey voice stops me.
“I used to detest drinking, you know?” She looks up from her glass, her finger mindlessly picking at the chip on the rim. She’s studying my reaction, but I don’t let anything show. “It’s true. I only ever started drinking because of him.”
Charlotte’s smile is tense, and if I were to look a little closer, I would see hostility behind her eyes. I’m not stupid enough to be baited by her, already having an inkling about who she’s talking about. But a part of me, the part that feels bad for her, wants to ask what she means.
“Who?” I sigh heavily.
Her face lights up with delight when I take the bait.
Even though she’s been nothing but a dick to me since she arrived, I can tell that she’s upset by something, so just this once, I’ll be the bigger person.
“Alden,” Charlotte says without missing a beat, pausing as she looks away from me. “But now he wants nothing to do with me.”
“I wonder why.” I let slip, and Charlotte’s cheeks and neck turn bright pink.
“I know I must seem like a total bitch to you—” I raise a brow. At least she’s self-aware. “But I’m not that bad. I’m not that bad,” she repeats, muttering to herself.
She downs the rest of her drink like she needs the alcohol to keep going. I think she could be upset about Alden, but she really needs to work on how she conveys disappointment because I’m not getting that at all. Maybe it’s the Botox.
“Okay, I think I should cut you off now.” I grab the glass from in front of her.
Before I can fully get my hand away from her, she clamps down, squeezing the life out of it.
“Let me give you some unsolicited advice,” she hiccups. The flush on her cheeks deepens, and I know she’s feeling the effects of chugging three vodka sodas. “From girl to girl.”
She looks me up and down as if to confirm that I am, in fact, a girl. The vein in my forehead drums, but I bite my cheek to stop myself from telling her off. She’s drunk; I can play along.
“I don’t need advice, but thanks anyway.”
For someone as petite as Charlotte is, she has a damn powerful grip. “Yes, you do. Yes, you do.”
“Fine. But only if you let go of my hand first,” I say, looking down. She follows my gaze, removing her hand from mine.
“Take it or don’t. I don’t care. But I see the way he looks at you—how you look at each other. It’s the same way we used to until we didn’t. It will fade, believe me.”
Oh, here we go. I really don’t need a lecture from a drunk millionaire right now.
“I don’t—We aren’t—”
She holds up a perfectly manicured finger. “Don’t bother trying to tell me nothing is going on. I saw you that night at the club. You were practically dry-humping each other, rushing out of that bathroom.”
My throat feels like it’s closing, and my heart slams against my chest. This can’t be happening. We should’ve been more careful. I should’ve been more careful. Fooling around with a guest is one thing, but having a witness makes this a lot more complicated. I wonder if I could convince Charlotte not to tell anyone. I was so dumb for hooking up with Alden at work. I should’ve known I’d get caught.
“I can explain that, Charlotte. I can explain it all. Just—I’m not seeing Alden if that’s what you’re getting at. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation right now. You’re drunk and upset.”
She sniffles, crocodile tears dabbing at her waterline. “Deny it all you want, but I won’t say a word.” I give her a sideways glance, surprised. “Nobody would even care if I told them.”
She just has to get that comment in.
“Well, thank you for the advice, even if it’s way off base.” I snatch her glass, tossing it under the counter to the dirty dishes bin. “Do you want to pay now, or should I just charge it to your room?”
“No, no, I’m not done.” She whines, switching up when I stop moving. “I’ve been where you are…” She leans forward, squinting to read my name tag. “Monbo.” So, so close. “He won’t change, and you can’t make him.”
Her drunken words hit me harder than I expected them to. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear what Charlotte has to say. I knew what I was getting into with Alden. We agreed that we both didn’t want more than a hookup. But something about how he’s been acting lately nips at me.
Charlotte goes on because, apparently, one drunken rant isn’t enough for her. “I’ve tried. But the more time I spent with him, the more I became like him, letting his darkness infect me like a disease.” She rubs her eyes. “It’ll happen to you, too. One day, you’ll wake up and wonder what happened, and he will be the only answer.”
Charlotte might be a few drinks deep and not completely making sense, but I’m listening, actually wondering if there is some truth in what she’s saying.
“Is there a point to this?” I ask, a little more than fed up.
Charlotte shrugs. “No point, I guess. But Alden ruins the people around him. So be careful.”
“Unlike you, I don’t care about him,” I lash out, feeling frustrated that she’s still talking about this. I guess I’m admitting out loud that Alden and I have been sleeping together. Even if it’s to someone not likely to remember in the morning.
She inspects me, her gaze all-knowing. “That’s what I once thought, too.”
This conversation is my nightmare. I feel hives forming this very second from talking about Alden for longer than a few seconds. Charlotte has been unusually quiet, and when I look back over, I notice she’s dozing off. She snorts awake when I nudge her elbow.
“I think you should head back, sleep it off.”
Charlotte leans back from the bar and nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lucy.”
I don’t have time to correct her, and I don’t think I should even bother. She’s in no condition to listen to me, and she won’t even remember this. But I will, and that somehow makes it worse. Against my better judgment, I haven’t been entirely truthful with myself, because I found that I actually wanted to listen to her rant about Alden. So, how sick does that make me?