Page 44 of Asking For a Friend

“Tell me what you want to do.”

So I do. Her eyes grow wider and her smile bigger. She seems to like my idea.

“That’s brilliant, Lando. How do you think you can do it? Or where, may be more important.”

Ellis looks a little shell-shocked. “It’s incredible, Lando. He’ll love it. And I have an idea how we can swing it.”

As I open the front door, Sophie grabs my hand and pulls me back for a hug. “I can’t believe you’re going to do this. You’re so brave. He’s going to pee himself.”

I giggle nervously. “I hope not.”

Finally. The work for this year is done. The office is closed until the third of January. I lean back in my chair and stretch my arms above my head. Ellis is frantically texting. As he’s been for the last four days, and he hasn’t told me what’s going on.

“For fuck’s sake, Ellis, put your damn phone away. It’s time to stop working. We’ve got places to be tonight.” We always go out the night we close for the holidays. Ellis and Sophie send the kids to their grandparents for a sleepover, and we dress up and hit the town. Sophie can always get us into the best restaurants and clubs. Even though she isn’t a supermodel anymore, she still has her connections.

He stands, shoves his phone into his pocket, and shrugs into his suit jacket. “Yes, I’m done now. Stop nagging.”

I copy him, then put my laptop in my bag. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a break as much as this time. I’m beat. I hope I make it past the meal tonight. My bed seems more inviting than the club.”

What’s that worried look on Ellis’s face for? “You’ll be fine once you’re out, and the club is essential. It’s a tradition.”

It is, but with all that’s gone on in the last three months, I’m tired. Lando has been living in my head for too long, taking up too much emotional space. The fact that no one else seems to be prepared to let him go has made forgetting him even harder. The one that got away.

“Hey, Tristan, are you ready for a night out?” Our PA is waiting for us. His smile tells me all I need to know. He’s ready for a blow-out night.

“I’m always ready, sugar. You know that.” He strikes a Vogue pose Madonna would be proud of. “I’m on the pull tonight.”

“God help all the Daddy bears out there.”

“Just call me Goldilocks.”

Ellis was right. It’s turning out to be a great night. Sophie’s choice of venue for the meal isn’t what she usually picks. The bar resembles a twenties speakeasy. Candle sconces on the walls cast low lighting on the black glass-and-chrome tables. A jazz band plays softly on a small stage, but the music doesn’t stop any conversation from flowing.

“This place is something else.” We’ve eaten exquisite fillet steaks and drank dark, sweet cocktails served by waiters in morning suits, with white waistcoats and gloves. “It feels like we’re about to be raided for prohibition alcohol.”

“I know! Some nights they have singers too. Think Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack. We’ll go to a club later, but I thought this would make a nice change.”

“It’s great.” I relax in the leather chair. Ellis is on his phone again. “What’s going on with him? He hasn’t left his phone alone for five minutes all week.”

Sophie shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s probably got a new game.” She turns to the stage. “Oh, look, someone’s going to sing.”

The lights dim on the stage. The band starts, and a spotlight shines on a beautiful woman who begins to sing ‘I Put a Spell on You’. Her smoky voice sends a shiver down my spine. She segues seamlessly into ‘Feeling Good’. She knocks it out of the ballpark. After a couple more songs, she thanks us and leaves the stage under thunderous applause. The spotlight is switched off, plunging the stage into darkness.

Shuffling and some quiet talking take place behind me, but I’m more interested in what’s happening on the stage. Someone else is coming up. I lean forward, eager to see what’s going on, but the area is too dark to make out anything. The band are still playing softly. “I wish they’d shut up,” I mutter as the talking behind us gets a little louder.

The music morphs into the first notes of ‘Like This’ by Shawn Mendes. I adore him and know all his songs. The opening lines hit me like they were written for me. You say it’s not supposed to be. Tell me not to waste my time.

The lights slowly rise, illuminating the slim body and the gorgeous auburn hair of the man I let go. Lando is standing still, one hand on the mike stand and his eyes closed. He looks as if he’s just walked off the street, in scruffy ripped-at-the-knee jeans, scuffed checkerboard Converse, and a faded 1975 T-shirt. Ellis finally puts his phone away, and Sophie squeezes my hand. Why is Lando here? I didn’t even know he could sing.

As he sings, I stare at the table, my eyes burning. He rips my heart out with words I should be saying to him. When the song ends, I look up again. Is he going to walk away? Is he going to say anything? I don’t want to give him the chance to do anything, but before I can stand, he starts another song. I don’t know this one, but the lyrics settle deep inside me. He sings about asking for a dance, for a second chance, about what it would take to erase his mistakes, that he’s just asking for a friend.

I spin on my chair and glare at Ellis. He’s smiling at me. The bastard has done this. Behind him, more people have gathered: Connor, Dylan, Scottie, even Kate and Simon from the coffee shop.

“What if he was standing here in front of you instead of me?

Is there any way you could love him again?”

I turn back to Lando, and this time I find my feet, move from my seat, and walk toward him. His eyes locked on mine, he sings to me as if there’s no one else in the room.

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