Page 47 of The Alpha Escort Agency
He raises an eyebrow. “Of course you do.”
She squeezes his hand and leans into him.
“Table for two, please,” Rory tells the maître d’.
The woman, dressed in a tight blouse and pencil skirt, runs her finger down the list, her head bent forward, trying to disguise the way her eyes do the same down Rory’s body. Alice glares at her, but the woman takes no notice, snatching up two menus and motioning them to follow her across the restaurant floor.
Rory leads the way, guiding Alice between the tables and chairs, and she begins to undo her coat, ready to hand it over before they take their seats. Despite the early hour, the place is already half full with what looks like a few tourists and several groups of people dressed in suits. The maître d’ is pulling out a chair for Alice, when Rory freezes, the blood draining from his face.
He shuffles forward, dropping Alice’s grip and plunging his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching forward. Then he stops again, tugging his fists free and stepping backwards.
“Actually, I’m sorry, we can’t.” He grabs Alice by the forearm and strides towards the entrance, his head bent forward and his long hair falling like a curtain around his face. She stumbles along behind him, his pace too quick.
“Rory, wait, slow down, what’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer, nor does he reduce his speed, not even when he slams open the door and yanks her along the pavement.
“Rory!” She wrenches on his arm, digging her heels into the pavement, apprehension seeping into her stomach, the lightness she felt earlier evaporating away. “Rory, stop, you’re hurting me!”
He halts. His eyes, wide with alarm, find hers, before flicking over her head in the direction of the restaurant. He releases her arm but continues walking along the road. “I changed my mind about that place. I think there’s somewhere better to go.” The words are muffled, like he doesn't believe them.
“What’s going on?” She has no choice but to follow him, although it’s hard to talk when he’s walking so fast, when he refuses to meet her eye. “Can we just stop?”
“In a minute, Alice.”
“In a minute, why?”
His scent wafts around him in a fierce cloud and tells her he’s annoyed with her questioning — annoyed and … frightened. Ice races along her limbs.
“Rory?” Her voice is almost a sob, and the change in her tone seems to pierce through to him.
He steps into an alley and beckons her to follow. She stops an arm’s length away from him and waits for an explanation. It doesn’t come at first. His hands are back in his pockets and his eyes fixed to the ground.
“One of my clients was in the restaurant.”
Her heart plummets through her stomach and lands by her feet, her head light from the rush of it. “Oh.”
The traffic on the street behind them roars, and the signal from a pedestrian-crossing squeals from somewhere in the distance. The alleyway reeks of bin bags and the November cold bites at her legs.
“It’s okay, I don’t think she saw us.”
She wrinkles up her nose. The pavement here is cracked; lines cutting the grey stone into splintered parts. She can’t look at his face. “Does it matter if she did?”
“You dressed like that, yes, it would matter.”
“Me dressed like this? You said—”
“It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to work out we’d spent the night together. That you’d slept over.”
“But you said I looked …” Her thoughts tumble around in her head, and she squints, trying to understand them. “Why would it matter if she thought I’d slept over?”
“You know it’s against the agency’s rules for us to see each other. You know we’re breaking those rules.”
“But not when I’m not ….” She can’t bring herself to say the words.
“Paying me.” There’s no bitterness in his tone. It’s matter of fact. “It’s still against the rules.”
“Even if I’m your ….” She inhales, lifting her gaze. Yes, that’s what she wants to be. “Your girlfriend.”
