“Where’s Indie, anyway?” Lucas’ voice was different from the rest. He sounded annoyed rather than amused.
“Bathroom, last I checked.”
“How come?” Blake grumbled.
“She’s suffering from massive diarrhea. This may or may not have to do with that beef fried rice we had before takeoff.”
“I knew it! My stomach’s been feeling funny, too.” Alfie slapped his thigh by the sound of it.
I. Was. Going. To. Kill. Alex.
My hands balled into fists, and I used every ounce of my self-control not to waltz out and tear my vocal cords yelling at him.
Then he continued. “I think it’s gonna get loud in there, so I suggested she use the blow dryer.”
I tried to tell myself he was protecting my dignity.
In his own twisted, backward, exceptionally uncultured way.
“Brutal,” Blake mumbled.
“Bullshit,” Lucas spat out.
I pressed my forehead to the door and squeezed my eyes shut. My cheeks hurt from the huge smile on my face. My heart squeezed for an entirely different reason. I turned the blow dryer on and heard them laughing.
Damn you, Winslow.
I was lying facedown on my bed in Moscow, listening to my heartbeat through the silence of the pillow, when Blake walked into the room. It was the first time in weeks he left me unattended for more than two minutes. I’d fault him for being so distrusting, but I did think about that champagne in my bag more than I wanted to admit. My own, bloody security blanket at this point.
“There’s something you should know.”
I stayed silent, allowing him to finish his grand announcement. If Fallon were here, she’d call his behavior “extra.” Which, in itself, was extra. Hollywood just made people really insufferable.
“Lucas was saying he felt bad about Blue catching a stomach bug earlier. He’s going to the drug store to get her some crackers and Advil.”
I elevated my head, ignoring the dull pain it sent to my neck. “Is he fucking deaf?”
Blake kicked his smart shoes against a dresser, unbuttoning his smart shirt.
“I’m serious,” I grunted. “Is Stardust’s pussy worth his job?”
“Is Fallon’s worth yours?” Blake retorted. Spastic. I was engaged to Fallon. Lucas barely knew Indigo.
“At any rate, he might already be on his way to her room,” Blake said, now standing by the bathroom door. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on between you and her, but I know you were in the bathroom together, and not for a short time, either.”
I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling, marveling at his words.
Hanging out with Indie was the opposite of what I was trying to do. Singapore had been a one-off. I’d wanted to show her we were compatible, and I had. Now it was time to take our relationship to the strictly sexual zone. On the other hand, the idea of Lucas spending time with her was even less appealing than doing it myself. And she was going to say yes to Lucas, not giving much damn about the restrictions I put her under.
She wanted to see the world.
She was going to see the world.
Whether I liked it or not.
I had two choices—be the one who’d show it to her, or watch my backstabbing frenemy do it.
“Cheers for the heads-up.” I jumped up, padding to the walk-in closet. Whoever Blake had hired had already hung up all my crap and ironed my stupid jeggings—forever a great liar, I moved the champagne from my suitcase to my duffel bag before they got their hands on it. The concept of having it, in itself, kept me saner. Or at least less crazy. Like a suicide pill.
I slipped into a dark gray coat. Blake watched me silently from the threshold of the bathroom as I walked into my shoes on my way to the door, stuffing my wallet into my back pocket.
“Let me accompany you,” he said politely.
“Fuck off,” I answered, also politely.
I slammed the door just to be a dick and sauntered down the hallway. My first stop was not, in fact, Stardust’s room. It was Lucas’ door. I took a step back toward the opposite wall and crashed my foot into it, leaving a foot-sized dent. I’d told him, time and time again, not to mess with my babysitter. This was a warning to let him know that next time, he was going to hitchhike back to England, because I was going to fire his arse and empty his bank account. Also, Britain was an island, so I hoped to fuck he was a good swimmer, because the odds of him completing the tour weren’t in his favor. I made my way back to Indie’s room—it was in front of mine, as per usual—and drummed on the door with open palms dramatically. She opened after a minute, looking fresh, her hair dried, a silky beige dress hugging her tiny figure. She had a matching wool scarf a shade darker wrapped around her delicate neck.