Page 5 of Just Like in the Movies

As Devlin walked out of Ryker’s office, Ruby was still processing the flicker of distaste that had shadowed his expression when she’d suggested he come to The Royale. He had exited stage left before she’d gotten enough of her wits back to realise she could not let him leave – not before getting a much firmer commitment from him than, “My assistant will be in touch”.

After spending most of her life getting fobbed off by pretty much everyone except Matty and her friends at The Royale, Ruby was getting much better at spotting a con job when she saw one. Like her mum, when she swore she would never hook up with another creep again while getting dolled up to head out to Pete’s Wine Bar so she could hook up with another creep; or the school careers’ counsellor who had been so enthusiastic about Ruby’s determination to become a film director, before sending her on a ton of interviews for minimum-wage jobs in retail; or the baby-faced decorator who had charmed her into paying him an upfront deposit last year with all of his convincing talk about how he could repaint The Royale’s foyer on a shoestring, only to disappear from the face of the earth as soon as he’d pocketed the fifty quid from petty cash.

A dizzying rush of purpose and determination – which had been conspicuous by its absence ever since Matty’s death – flooded her bloodstream.

‘Mr Ryker, I have to go, too,’ she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘If you could email me all the details of the Will that would be terrific.’

‘Certainly, Ms Graham,’ Ryker said, but his words were lost in the buzz of adrenaline as she shot out the door after Devlin – frantic to stop him and get some kind of actual commitment.

She clattered down the stairs and burst into the street. Devlin stood on the pavement fifteen feet away, about to step into a black cab. She almo

st missed him because he’d donned a green baseball cap, which totally clashed with his dark blue Tom Ford suit. How odd.

‘Mr Devlin?’ she shouted and waved. ‘Wait!’

His head snapped round and he paused. ‘Ms Graham, don’t shout out my name.’ Although his face was obscured by the baseball cap, she could hear the frown in his voice as she jogged towards him. She ignored it. She was on a mission here, a mission that suddenly seemed crucial to the survival of her home and her business.

Her business.

It took her a moment to recalibrate her breathing.

Well, half of her business, as the other half was Luke Devlin’s.

I own half of The Royale now.

I won’t let you down, Matty. I swear on the ruby slippers. I’ll keep our dream alive. Even if it means stealing Luke Devlin’s broomstick.

Okay, perhaps that was a bit much.

Luke Devlin was certainly a lot hotter than the Wicked Witch of the West. That said, he had a pinched look on his face by the time she reached him that would have rivalled Miss Gulch’s sour expression after being savaged by Toto.

‘Please, I need to talk to you, it really won’t take long,’ she said, a little breathless – either from her mad dash to catch him, or Devlin’s phenomenal bone structure. Because even with his face obscured, his resemblance to a movie star whose poster had been pinned on her bedroom door all through her teenage years was so striking it was breath-taking. Literally.

‘Here, mate, you getting in or not? I haven’t got all day,’ the cabbie said with typical London taxi driver savoir faire.

Devlin directed his frown at the driver. It was all the opportunity Ruby needed.

‘If you could just hear me out,’ she begged unashamedly. ‘You can get another cab in a minute. This really won’t take long and there’s not too much traffic this time of day, you’ll get to Canary Wharf in no time.’

Which was a massive whopper.

Traffic was always horrendous in London and Canary Wharf was the other side of the city, but even with a broomstick handy Luke Devlin would be unlikely to make his meeting in time now, anyway; plus, some things were more important than his punctuality – keeping Matty’s dream alive being right at the top of that very long list.

He swore under his breath, not impressed with the delay, and rude enough not to bother hiding it, but then shouted to the driver.

‘I’m out.’ He slammed the door.

The cab sped off, leaving them standing on the pavement alone together – give or take the usual flow of commuter traffic.

‘You’ve got five minutes,’ he said, glancing at his iWatch as she imagined him starting a mental countdown. ‘What is it you wanted to discuss?’

What had she wanted to discuss? Crap! She had absolutely nothing.

She’d had some vague notion he might agree to go for a coffee, so she could come up with a plan, but she didn’t even bother suggesting it, because she sensed that would just piss him off more.

Thoughts of broomsticks and ruby slippers and Miss Gulch on her bike and Matty and The Royale swirled around in her head, making her feel as frantic and confused as Dorothy inside the tornado – until the elements spun into a semblance of an idea, which ejected from her mouth.

‘You’re going to be back in town next Friday, right?’ she said.

---