Page 8 of Fake Rocks
Rosie rolled her eyes and sniffed. “Darling, I wouldn’t let you do that. In fact, it was one of the things we argued about. You wanted to bring him to the hotel.”
I bounced on the bed next to her, slipping under the covers. “Thank God. I’ve had Jonas on the phone.”
“I’m guessing it was about this.” Rosie turned her phone to face me and, sure enough, the shot of me kissing Troy was splashed overThe Goss’website.
“Ugh. Yes.” I groaned, pulling the sheets over my head and wishing I could hide out there for the rest of the day. “He wants me to go straight home.”
“Not without breakfast though,” said Rosie. “The condemned woman should at least have a decent meal.”
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and a call of, “Room service.”
Seriously, I could have hugged her. Rosie always knew how to make things better.
I pulled a t-shirt over my head and answered the door. Whoever was delivering my breakfast really didn’t need to see my mis-matched underwear. The guy who stood in front of me with a tray containing two covered plates and a large cafetière of coffee seemed familiar. I racked my brain trying to think where I’d seen him before. Perhaps he’d been in a club with us last night?
“Enjoy your breakfast,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
Instantly, I recognised his Irish accent and remembered he had served us at the bar at God-only-knew-what-time-we-rocked-into-the-hotel-at. I flashed him a grateful smile, took the tray from him and span around back into the room, kicking the door shut behind me. Placing the tray on the bed, I took off the covers with a flourish, revealing one plate of full English and one of pancakes, blueberries and syrup.
“Which one’s mine?” I frowned.
Rosie shook her head. “Saff, we haven’t been friends for all this time without you knowing we always share breakfast. Plus, you know I can’t eat eggs.” She patted her stomach. “Plays havoc with my digestion.” Instead, she reached for one of the rashers of bacon, picking it up with her fingers and taking a large bite. “So what are you going to say to Jonas?”
My mood, lifted somewhat by the prospect of grease and coffee, took a nosedive. I shrugged instead. “No idea. But I think I need to stay away from footballers for a while.”
After we’d demolished the two plates of breakfast, I had a quick shower, and headed home. With promises to catch up with Rosie again before our interview and photoshoot, I walked out into the street trying to get my bearings. A quick glance left and right confirmed I was on The Strand and we’d ended up at the Strand Palace Hotel. I winced. It wasn’t the first time we’d ended up there and I suspected it probably wouldn’t be the last. There was a slight chill in the air, and I pulled my denim jacket around me debating whether to get the Tube or push the boat out for a taxi. I was looking at around half an hour whichever mode I chose. At least if I got a cab, I’d have my own space. Making sure I had enough cash to cover the journey, I stepped towards the road and raised my hand to the next black cab that whooshed past.
“Callcott Street please,” I said to the driver as I got in.
“No worries, love.”
The driver eyed me in his rearview mirror as he drove off. Every so often he’d glance into it, as if he were trying to place me. It happened frequently. Either people thought they knew me from the music scene, or they recognised me from a gossip column or a social media splash. Catching sight of the tabloid balanced on the front seat which was turned to the sports pages, I guessed my driver was one of the latter. He probably supported Troy’s club. Trying to slouch down in the seat and make myself as small as possible, I pulled out my phone and aimed to distract myself. It was then I spotted the string of messages from Jonas, each getting progressively angrier. I screwed up my eyes. This conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant.
When we got to my house, I thrust some notes at the driver, more than was necessary. But if he was going to tell his mates who he’d had in the back of his cab, I’d rather he was complimentary about me.
Taking a deep breath, I put my key in the lock and turned it before pushing the door open. The cacophony of noise that met me was enough to make me turn around and head right back out again. Despite Jonas’ reminder, I’d already forgotten the builders were there and it sounded like they were knocking the walls down. I could already feel my hangover protesting against the noise.
I crept down the stairs towards the kitchen, to find Jonas’ office door closed. Just as I thought I’d got away with escaping his lecture, he opened it a little and I saw he was on the phone.
“I’m going to get changed,” I mouthed. Having any kind of conversation with Jonas dressed in the same clothes I’d worn yesterday wasn’t appealing. I told myself if I were (almost) fully clothed, it would make hearing what he had to say a little more palatable. I escaped upstairs and stripped off, picking out a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt.
When I went back downstairs, I caught sight of the builders working away in the kitchen. Or more specifically, Tris. Hovering slightly out of sight, I was able to ogle him as he fitted together our new kitchen units, under the instruction of his uncle. As he stretched and moved, I could see his muscles underneath the tight t-shirt he wore. I wondered if he worked out—not that I’d ever been in a gym in my life.
“Saff, good, you’re back.” Jonas swung open the door to his office. “Why don’t you come in here? Rather than us trying to shout at each other over the noise.”
Tearing my gaze away from Tris, I obliged and perched cross-legged on the sofa opposite his desk, steeling myself for the lecture to come.
Jonas sat in his chair and wheeled it around to face me. “We need to talk about your behaviour.”
“Christ, Jonas, I’m twenty-four, not thirteen. You don’t need to tell me off because I haven’t done my homework.” I was itching to light up a cigarette, but knew Jonas hated that habit too.Was there anything I did he actually approved of?
“It’s not just me though, Saff. The record company are starting to make noises too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I said the other day they weren’t exactly happy with what was going on with TheSB. Ending up with Troy Carson again isn’t going to do you any favours.”
I struggled to keep my temper in check. This wasn’t what I’d expected at all. Jonas knew I’d been talking to Darren and Barney. Well, he knew I’d seen them yesterday. Conveniently, I’d forgotten I hadn’t actually seen him since leaving the house yesterday morning, so he had no idea what we’d agreed to do.
