Page 13 of The Wrong Promise

“No, but Penny did, and I need to report back that you’re home safe after I found you in a bar, intoxicated, with no one we trust.”

“Back off, Jobe. I’m not a kid.” I push past him. “See you next time, Big O.”

Out on the cobbled street, I tighten my jacket around mychest. The nights are not as warm as back home this time of year. I inhale a deep breath to clear my head as I walk toward the main street.

“I’m doing what she asked,” Jobe says, now keeping in step. “Don’t kill the messenger.”

“Your message has been received. Now you’re free to leave.” I turn, ignoring him, and scan the streets for a taxi. When I don’t see any, I retrieve my cell to order an Uber. Jobe covers my screen with his hand.

“Please, Zara. I have a driver waiting. He’ll take you back to your hotel.”

“Fine. Then will you leave me alone?”

“If that’s what you want, then yes.”

“Finally,” I murmur.

I’m still mad that I never heard from him again after that night. Guess I’m really not his type. I’m too embarrassed to mention it, and since he has never said anything, it’s easier to pretend it never happened.

Jobe calls his driver, and a few minutes later, a black Mercedes pulls up beside us. Jobe opens the door, and I slide in. The driver doesn’t turn around even when I say, “Hi.”

“Where are we going?” Jobe asks.

I tell the driver my address. This time he acknowledges me in the rearview mirror with a simple nod.

We drive in silence for the few minutes it takes to arrive at my hotel, where Jobe slides out and holds the door open for me. “Thank you.” I offer him a slight smile.

“Do you want me to see you to your room?”

One thing I have learned is not to make the same mistake twice.

“Zara,” he prompts when I turn to walk away from him. “Penny is not the only reason I’m here.”

“Whyareyou here?” I question sharply, looking back at him.

“Because I feel some responsibility for you being here alone.”

“Don’t. It’s what I wanted. I’m making friends, and it’s the adventure I craved.”

He runs his fingers through tousled, dark locks. “You left LA before I got a chance to say?—”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

Because you had a chance to before I left, yet you chose not to take it.

Jobe frowns, and I sense he wants to say more.

“Night, Jobe. Enjoy your time in London.”

The following day,I meet my friends at a bar in Notting Hill, and they order a round of beer. I’m in struggle town, shuddering after swallowing every mouthful. If I persevere, I’m going to puke. Admitting defeat, I order a gin and tonic.

The bartender hands it to me, and I almost jump over the bar when men shout behind me. “They’re just cheering, love,” the bartender explains. “You Americans love footy, right?”

“Yeah. We do.” But this is not football. It’s soccer. I head back to my friends, now standing in front of the screen. Scrap that. George is yelling at the screen.

“What happened?” I ask Piper. She’s probably my closest work friend, despite our obvious age difference. Our desks are next to each other in the office, and she’s forever offering me homemade muffins that she baked herself. It’s a simple kindness but so genuine it warms me.

“Umpire’s decision was questionable in George’s eyes,” she answers.

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