Page 35 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“That was close,” says a familiar voice behind me. And it’s accompanied by clapping.

I spin to face him with wide eyes. “Ali. Hi.”

Alistair’s arms fall back to his sides, and we stare warily at one another. He’s wearing a black suit and a white shirt with the top two buttons open. Which should be illegal. On the right man, tailoring is such a turn-on. The way the suit jacket frames the breadth of his shoulders. The general air of formality, capability, and control. I have a boss kink now, apparently.

I don’t think I realized how much I wanted to see him again. Not until this moment. He makes my heart do a weird fluttery thing. It can’t be healthy.

“Wasn’t easy to find you,” he says. “A journalist friend helped me out.”

I sit down on a nearby chair and start unlacing my bowling shoes. “You’re friends with one of them?”

“They’re not all bad.”

“If they know where I am, where are they?” I ask. “Or am I no longer of interest?”

“You chose a good hotel. Security has been sending any press or lurkers on their way.”

“Hmm.” I give him a long look. The butterflies in my stomach need to get better taste. It’s a pity you can’t turn off your libido. Have some downtime now and then from any feelings in the heart and/or pants. “I thought you said you were busy. Why are you here, Ali?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

I keep on gazing up at him. Dark stubble lines his jaw, and there are lines beside his eyes and bracketing his mouth. He seems tired. Like he should probably be napping, not standing here with me. “You could have texted.”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

“Right. I turned off my phone,” I say. “Didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“No,” he agrees, giving me a shifty glance. “My, ah, friend the journalist. She said you were offered a lot of money for an interview. Are you going to do it?”

I stuff my feet back into my sneakers and stand. “Go away, Alistair.”

“I have to know. Yes or no, Lilah?”

I hand over the shoes and nod good-night to the bartender. She gives my companion a curious look but says nothing. All I have to do is make it to the elevator and return to hiding in my room. I hit the button and wait with my shoulders up around my ears. As if I am in need of protection. A woman farther down the hallway is waiting on something, but she doesn’t pay us any mind.

“Lilah?” he asks, standing behind me.

“The answer is no.”

“You’re not going to do the interview? It’s a lot of money.”

“So you said. The answer is still no.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” He gives the closed elevator doors a scowl. It seems the whole world is annoying him tonight. “They need to know.”

“They? Who isthey? Is that your father or...?”

His lips slam shut, and he says no more. Which says more than enough.

“Might be best to make everyone you meet sign an NDA. Less stress. Just make it a part of your everyday life. Get a coffee—ask the barista to sign away their rights. Say hi to someone at a bar—see if they’ll give you a quick signature. I know it sounds awkward at first, but I have every faith in you making it work. And then you’ll never need to have a shitty conversation like this one ever again.” The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I step inside and press the button for my floor. “I’ve answered your question. You can go away now.”

He just stands there watching me with his inscrutable blue eyes.

My shoulders sink as the doors start to slide closed. The truth is, the sight of him hurts my heart. That and the fact that he actually thinks I’m the sort of asshole who would sell him out. Though I’m sure his past played a part in making him believe I’d do this. Trust seems so hard for him.

But before the doors can close, he thrusts his hand between them. With an irritated noise, they pause, before sliding back open. A muscle jumps in his jawline as he steps into the elevator and glares down at me. Like this is all my fault somehow.

“What are you doing?”

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