Page 91 of Love or Your Money Back

As Freddy presses the elevator button, he catches his reflection in the mirrored doors. He looks handsome. He always looks handsome. But this morning there is a lost, haunted look in his eyes. He remembers the look. He had it for months after his mother left.

The elevator descends, then stops on the 3rd floor.

Freddy makes a mental note never to book this hotel again. Having to share an elevator with other guests … it’s just not on when you book a Penthouse suite. Your elevator should be private.

The elevator doors open, revealing an old guy dressed in an absurd neon lycra running outfit. The old guy smiles at Freddy, struts into the elevator and starts doing calf stretches.

‘Du siehst aus wie ein verliebter Mann.’

Freddy gives him glazed eyes, too tired to translate the German.

When the elevator finally opens on the ground floor, the man gives Freddy a wave and jogs out. As Freddy walks out after him, he finally works out what the man said.

‘You look like a man in love.’

Oh Jesus, Freddy is in trouble.

CHAPTER66

I am woken by a knock, knock, knocking outside the suite. It’s daylight. Sort of. Autumn daylight: sun fighting with grey cloud.

‘Katerina?’

I struggle against bedclothes. Who on earth is outside? It sounds like Aunty Sylvia, but it can’t possibly –

‘KATERINA! Open this door immediately or I will pick the lock with my emergency lock-picking kit.’

It is Aunty Sylvia. What on earth is she doing here, outside my hotel room in Germany at this ridiculous hour of the morning? And come to think of it, what hour is it? And where and I? And why do I feel so … open?

Oh, dear god. I’mnaked. Why am I naked?

I push mountains of soft, white bedclothes aside and surface in a different hotel room than the one I went to sleep in on arrival. I feel surprisingly well-rested and unstressed. This is unusual for me. I normally wake up with my heart pounding and an urgent to-do list racing around my head.

I squint at the dully sun-lit curtains.

Oh wow.

It comes to me in a rush.

Freddy. Last night. Freddy, Freddy, Freddy.

We did the thing. The thing you should never do with a womanising co-worker. Having sex with someone who goes to the gym is a superior experience, but …

Oh God.

He said he loved me. I said I loved him.

I look around the bed. Freddy isn’t here. He’s gone.

OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

My eyes fall to Freddy’s side of the bed. There’s a soft indentation in the pillow where his head was. Other than that, there’s no evidence he was ever here.

Freddy’s suitcases aren’t by the wardrobe anymore and there are no clothes, shoes or any other manly attributions scattered around the place.

He’s done a runner. Of course he has. He’s a guy who lures women into bed with good marketing slogans. I shove my face right into the pillow and scream.

Katerina, you total fucking idiot.

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