Barbara Dunlop – The Twin Switch (страница 9)
“I certainly hope not.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You have something against Vegas?”
“No, nothing. It’s the first time I’ve been here.” I scanned for Brooklyn again. I spotted a blonde woman in the distance, but she turned and I saw her profile—not Brooklyn.
“Where are you from?” Max asked.
I turned my attention back to him. “Seattle. You?”
“I have a place in New York, but I travel quite a bit. What do you do in Seattle?”
I didn’t want to sound nerdy. Then again, I sure wasn’t about to lie.
“I’m a teacher.”
“What grade?”
“High school.”
“What subject.”
“Math.”
His smile said he’d discovered an embarrassing secret.
My pride kicked in. “You have something against mathematics?”
“You don’t look like any math teacher I ever had.”
“I’m fully qualified.”
“I’m not questioning that.”
“It sounded like you were.”
“No.” He cocked his head and his gaze grew warm. “I was thinking if my math teachers looked like you, I’d have enjoyed the subject a whole lot more.”
My heart fluttered. It seriously, embarrassingly, fluttered there for a second.
My cheeks grew warm, and I told myself to get a grip, covering the reaction with another sip of wine.
This was obviously a crush-at-first-sight, and I’d never felt anything like it.
I didn’t want to check into a 700-dollar-a-night hotel room when I had a perfectly wonderful prepaid room waiting for me back in San Francisco. But evening was falling, and there was still no sign of Brooklyn.
Max had said goodbye after lunch, and I’d left the table pretending I had somewhere to go. I didn’t, of course. But I’d found a comfortable seat at the opposite end of the lobby with a good view of the main entrances and exits.
The vibe of the lobby was beginning to change from daytime to evening. I knew if I wanted to continue blending with the crowd, I had to get out of my jeans.
There were shops dotted around the periphery of the lobby. The clothes were very high-end, but I managed to find a little black dress on a sales rack.
I wasn’t about to interrupt my surveillance by heading into the fitting room. Luckily, the dress had simple lines and enough stretch that I was confident it would fit. My black ankle boots weren’t exactly perfect for the occasion, but I was wearing a silver necklace and dangling earrings, and I could pull my hair up in a messy bun.
I’d do for the evening crowd.
I hated to interrupt my surveillance, but eventually, the need for a restroom break became urgent. In the ladies’ room, I changed in a flash and was back out in the lobby again with my jeans and blouse folded into the boutique shopping bag.
“I take it you don’t have a room?” It was Max’s voice beside me.
I was embarrassed, like I’d been caught freeloading.
I worked to erase my guilty expression before facing him. I wasn’t freeloading. I was genuinely waiting for a hotel guest. And, anyway, the lobby was a public space.
“My girlfriend has a—” I turned and my words dried up.
This afternoon Max had looked good in a dusty blue shirt under a steel-gray suit. Now he looked fantastic. His shirt was crisp white. His suit was black, and his tie was dark burgundy scattered with black flecks.
“A room?” he prompted.
“Are you going to a party?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a party.” He took in my dress. “What about you? Big plans?”
I didn’t have any plans at all beyond staking out the lobby until Brooklyn arrived. I refused to let myself think she and her faux soul mate were holed up in a hotel room together for the night, ordering room service and lounging in a whirlpool tub.
The image was too much for me to wrap my head around, so I shook it out of my mind.
“You haven’t found her,” Max stated. He didn’t give me time to answer. “What’s really going on, Layla?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you a private investigator?”
“No.”
As I denied it, I wondered if Max wanted me to be a private investigator. Private investigator sounded like an exciting job, better than math teacher. Maybe I should consider switching careers.
“A stalker?” he asked.
“I’m not a stalker.” I wasn’t—at least not usually. Today, well, I supposed it was debatable.
“Have you tried calling her?”
“What a
He didn’t seem to take offense. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“That’s a yes.”
He peered at my expression. “Did you have a fight?”
“No.”
“Is she with a guy?”
I was trying not to think about that. I wanted to deny it. But I didn’t feel like lying outright to Max. I didn’t even feel like omitting anymore.
Other patrons milled around us, dressed to the nines, talking and laughing, coming together in groups and lining up at the on-site restaurants.
“I think she might be,” I admitted.
“So she ditched you for a man.” Max’s words weren’t a question.
It wasn’t what he was thinking. But I couldn’t explain the situation without giving away private information, so I just stood there looking like a pathetic fifth wheel abandoned in the hotel lobby.
“Join me for dinner,” he said.
It was a mercy date if I’d ever heard of one. No thank you. “I have no intention of crashing your party.”
“There’s no party. There’s just me.”
I didn’t believe that for a second. “Then why are you dressed like the top of a wedding cake?”
“Because this is a nice hotel, and it’s after six.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. Just join me for dinner.”