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"He's not here anymore," he says, snapping me back to reality.
"Not here as in not in the building?"
"No. Not here as in not in the city."
My shoulders slump. "You mean I flew all the way out here only for him to be back in Scuttlebutt?"
"He didn't go back to Scuttlebutt." Dunlop's eyes widen, like he wasn't supposed to let that slip.
But now that he has messed up, I plan on using that to my advantage. I take half a step toward him, trying not to feel good about the fact I'm an inch taller than him. It's not a competition…butit isa competition.
"Where did Wilby go?"
"I, um… Can you give me a sec?"
I nod, slightly confused, as he pulls out his phone and starts tapping away. "I'm not being rude even though it looks like I am," he says without looking up. "But Robbie, my husband, will kill me if I make the wrong call here without consulting him."
I frown. "Wrong call about what?"
Dunlop lifts his head and grins. "On whether or not I should accidentally tell you where Wilby is, duh."
"Um, I'm sorry, but why do you have to run this by your husband?"
His phone dings, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds likeenemies to lovers, which makes no sense.
"Airlie Beach," Dunlop announces, looking up. "Wilby flew to visit a friend who lives up there, Travis King." He slaps the side of his face. "Oops. But you didn't hear that from me, and I'm definitely not meddling…" He reads the next part off his phone. "And I'm definitely not planting seeds by alerting you to the fact that the noise you're hearing is definitely not wedding bells."
What noise? What wedding bells?
I take half a step back. I may have limited experience with men, and even more limited experience with Australian men, but…are they all like this?
I wade back through his long-winded explanation until I arrive at the lone thing he said that's actually useful.
"Where's Airlie Beach?" I ask, pulling my phone out of my pocket.
"Up north."
"How far up north?"
I tap Airlie Beach into Google as Dunlop says, "Not that far."
I scan the search results, blood draining from my face. "Fuck."
"What's wrong?"
I show him my screen. "It's a one-and-a-half-hour flight."
"Exactly, you'll be there in no time."
I plaster on a smile. "Great. Thanks for helping. I didn't mean to interrupt you."
I gesture toward the front entrance he was heading for before I spotted him.
"Hey, if you're worried about not being able to get on a flight, I have a private plane I could?—"
"No. Thank you."
Jesus, does everyone fly themselves in this country?
