Mandy stops walking down the aisle. “Oh. This is me,” she says halfway through the first-class cabin.
I glance down at my ticket. I’m in coach. I chuckle under my breath. Of course she wouldn’t lower her standards even though Capitol has yet to consider me worthy of a first-class upgrade.
“See ya in Denver,” I call out as I pass. I’m actually relieved to have a break from her.
A few drinks in and the exclusive mile-high club might become a little too accessible.
4 | Robyn
“YOU READY TO CALL IT A DAY?” MY ROOMMATE, ANOTHER MARKETING assistant at Midnight Bay named Katie O’Rourke and whom I call Katie-O for fun, laughs when she opens the door to the office we share and finds me sitting on the floor already half into a bottle of bourbon. It’s the single-barrel blue line and it’s my favorite, but despite my favorite coffee mug that proclaims “this is probably bourbon,” I don’t usually imbibe at work. “Damn, girl. It’s not even the weekend yet. Why you no invite me to the party?”
I start to answer but I gesture a little too wildly with my arm and knock over the bottle. Thankfully it’s mostly empty so not much spills before she sets it upright.
“Oh, it’s a party all right. A what-did-I-do-to-the-universe-to-make-it-hate-me-so-much party.”
“Okay,” Katie says, lowering herself onto the floor beside me. I’m far too honest to have a horde of female friends, but Katie is pretty fantastic. And she has a thick skin so she puts up with me just fine. “I give. What did you do?”
I shrug and glance listlessly down at the mock-up of the poster in front of me.
“I don’t know, Katie-O, but it must’ve been something bad. Like shove orphans in front of a speeding train for kicks bad.” I tip my empty highball glass back in hopes of a few merciful drops landing on my tongue. They don’t. Not even when I tap the bottom of the glass, causing it to clink against my teeth.
“Wade still flirting with you? Is that what’s got you all worked up?” Katie’s tone is empathetic and even in my stupor I appreciate that she isn’t being condescending about it. Some of the other girls we work with would jump at the chance to hook up with Wade. And most all of them wouldn’t pity me for being on the receiving end of his flirting.
“No. I mean, yeah, he kind of is. But that’s not why I’m swilling liquor like a sailor.”
“Do sailors drink a lot of bourbon? I feel like they’re more into rum.”
I huff out a laugh on a breath. “You know what I mean.”
She sighs and lifts the Kickin’ Up Crazy tour poster from the floor beside me. “You have to admit, he’s a good-looking son of a bitch.”
I nod. “He is.”
“So . . . sailor, you gonna fess up or what? Did you hook up with him? I promise I won’t tell Mr. Martin. You work your ass off for this company and Wade hasn’t exactly been discreet about his interest in you. I’d say you could probably—”
“It’s not Wade. And no, we didn’t hook up or anything. It’s, um, this guy.” I point to the name at the bottom of poster, the recently added one that I just googled.
“The Baker Street Boys?”
“The other one.”
“Who’s Dallas Walker?”
Now there’s a million-dollar question.
Who is Dallas Walker?
Taking a deep breath, I turn my laptop to face her. Katie scrolls down the page and whistles when she presses play on the YouTube video on his website.
“Well. Hello, handsome.”
Bile rises in my throat. I’d prayed it was a coincidence. It wasn’t. It was him.
“Robyn? You okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”