Page 34 of About Last Night
Lula stood in a cobbled square in front of a row of golden-bricked townhouses with white stucco frontages and checked the text from Claire again to make sure she’d got the right place.
To the right of her was the blue door that Claire described and next to it a discreet plaque with the nameThe Zoltanengraved on it.
Yup, this was it.
Pushing the door open, she took a deep breath, readying herself to be sociable.
It was good for her to be here tonight. She hadn’t been out since the meal with Tristan – apart from a slobby night over at Emily’s place watching a film and drinking a questionable new cocktail her friend had concocted.
She’d somehow managed not to mention Tristan’s ongoing existence in her life to her friend, sure she’d be in for a thorough interrogation about him, which she wasn’t prepared to handle at the moment.
Quite honestly, she wasn’t even sure she’d have the energy to stay out for long tonight. Getting into the routine of regular early morning rising from Monday to Friday that the Breakfast Show required was taking longer than she’d anticipated, and having to go in each day and act all cool and indifferent around Tristan wasn’t doing much for the state of her nerves either.
The guy seriously knew how to rock her boat.
She seemed to spend most of her day in a state of sexual agitation and every time he came within ten feet of her, which was surprisingly often – in fact she suspected he was doing it deliberately to rattle her – she turned into a gibbering wreck.
But she was determined to put him out of her mind and have fun tonight. She deserved to raise a glass with her colleagues to her promotion as breakfast presenter – something she hadn’t managed to find the time to do before now.
It was comfortably dim inside, the dark red walls and long bookshelves groaning with leather-bound books adding an air of stately elegance to an eclectic mash-up of vintage furniture. It felt a bit like an eccentric, rich old uncle’s time capsule house.
There was already a large gathering of people lounging on purple velvet sofas, boxing in a long, low glass display case which was being used as a table. It had a random collection of old looking objects inside it: yellowing handwritten letters, brass compasses and a stuffed rabbit wearing a top hat.
The place was kooky as all heck.
Claire, as birthday girl, sat at the head of the table and Lula gave her a wave before going over to the bar to grab herself an orange and soda. If she even had a sniff of a cocktail tonight she’d be done for.
Lula located a bit of space on one of the sofas and slid into it. When she looked up from finding a place for her drink amongst the litter of cocktail glasses, she was shocked to see Tristan sitting opposite her, giving her one of his killer smiles.
Her insides turned to goo.
What the heck was he doing here? Had Claire really invited their boss to her birthday do? And had he accepted knowing she’d probably be there? Not that he shouldn’t be allowed to socialise with the staff, but these wereherfriends.
She experienced a rush of frustration with him for turning up and hijacking her night with his befuddling presence.
How was she meant to relax tonight and make intelligent conversation with Tristan sitting there looking like his sex god self in her peripheral vision?
She gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment and turned to talk to the man sitting next to her, doing her best to ignore him.
Tristan’s pulse had given an electrified stutter when Lula appeared and slid onto the sofa opposite him, but he’d been frustrated when she’d only given him a curt nod and turned away.
Well, he wasn’t going to let her get away with ignoring him all night here too.
After chatting for a while with a couple of the radio engineers from the station about who was the best live band at the moment, he disengaged himself from the conversation and covertly watched Lula over his tumbler as he sipped his Whiskey Sour. The guy sitting next to her seemed to be regaling her with a monologue that had her captivated and she didn’t once glance his way, which narked him. He didn’t believe she felt nothing for him any more. It wasn’t possible, not after the intense connection they’d shared.
She spent a lot of time listening to people, he realised, watching as she nodded and encouraged the guy to elucidate on his point. He suspected that’s what made her so good at her job.
He spent a moment sizing the guy up. He didn’t recognise him from the station so by deduction he must be a friend of Claire’s. Blood rushed to his head as he watched him put a hand on Lula’s knee. The guy clearly thought a lot of himself, judging by the way he kept smoothing a hand over his ridiculous on-trend hairstyle and lounging across the sofa as if he owned the place.
Tristan was unnerved by how protective he felt towards Lula and how frustrated he was that she was the only person he wanted to talk to tonight and she was sitting on the other side of table being openly pawed by some cocky youth who was totally beneath her.
As he watched with narrowed eyes, she stifled a yawn behind her hand and glanced round, catching his eye.
The connection between them seemed to sizzle the air as theystared at each other. She didn’t need to say anything for him to know she needed him to rescue her.
Standing up, he navigated his way out of the group and round to the back of the sofa where she was sitting.
Leaning down between her and the youth, he gave her a friendly smile.
