Page 25 of Love ad Lib
‘You fucking arsehole,’ he spat at James before turning to Elizabeth. ‘Look. Libby, Claire’s friend, is going to text me to let me know what happens. I can send you the messages when I get them. I’m not lying.’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I think you need to think up better stories in future. That, or phone a woman if you’re going to be late.’ She glanced at James. ‘Did you manage to get us a table?’
James smirked. ‘Yes, one just became free.’ He put his arm around Elizabeth and led her away, the hand on her back flipping Henry the bird.
5
Henry couldn’t sleep. The events of the previous evening circled in his head on endless repeat. He kept checking his phone for messages from Libby, but there was only one, sent just after they’d parted.
Libby: Don’t forget, I owe you one. Claire has a delivery room and is being looked after. I’ll message you as soon as I have news! I realised when I got in that you were late for your date. So sorry! Hope it went well! Big hand hugs, Libby x
Was a hand-hug when she squeezed his? She was good at them. She was good at everything. Henry pictured her on the tiny stage. Libby possessed the confidence and self-assurance he’d never managed to achieve authentically. She reminded him of his youngest sister, Summer, only way more mature. Twenty-one and at the end of her third freshman year at university, Summer was still trying to find a subject she liked and Henry was praying she would stick with this one. He’d been bankrolling her education for the last eight years and it was breaking him.
He turned over in bed, his sheets a tangled mess. Summer had been messaging him more than normal. It usually meant she was building up to ask him for more money. As soon as the deal he was working on was signed, he’d get a bonus big enough to pay for whatever she wanted and keep his head above water for the next few months. He was too proud to ask his parents for help. The subject would only open massive wounds that had been gouged nearly twenty years ago.
Around five a.m., when he was contemplating getting out of bed and walking to work, tiredness took him. He awoke at nine-thirty to the sound of his phone and answered it, confused and still half asleep.
‘Hello?’
‘Viscount Nobbury?’
He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’
A melodious laugh sounded on the other end. ‘Good morning, my Lord. My name is Catriona, and I am the owner of Bullington’s.’
Huh?Some kind of club?
‘Your Grandmother, the Dowager Duchess, has bought you a membership for a year or until we have fulfilled our end of the contract.’
‘What?’ He got out of bed. He was already three hours late for work and had no inclination to join a club and hang out with the kind of men he’d been at school with.
‘I assure you, my Lord, discretion is our by-word, and every client has been fully vetted.’
He rubbed his hand over his hair. ‘Ms Bullington—’
‘Catriona,please.’
He bit back a sigh. ‘Catriona, you must excuse me, but I have no idea what your club is, and I’m really not interested.’
‘Bullington’s is not a club, my Lord. It’s a matchmaking agency for the top tier of society.’
The sigh rushed out. ‘I don’t need that.’
‘In my experience, that is what most of our clients say.’
‘I have a girlfriend,’ he said through his clenched jaw, remembering the look on Elizabeth’s face as she walked away with James.
Catriona clearly didn’t believe him. ‘I’m going to email over some more details for you to peruse at your leisure, and we can chat again in a few days.’
‘Look—’
‘Have a wonderful day, Viscount Nobbury,’ she replied, ending the call.
‘Fuck!’
Henry threw on his clothes, infuriated with his meddling family and ready to murder James. His head was splitting, but there was no time for coffee.
Striding past Limehouse, the Thames on his left, he breathed in deeply, hoping the air coming off the water would clear his head. It stank. He thought of his grandmother, the scent of sweet peas in her house. He rang her.
