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“I’m here. Room five-seven-eight.”
“Lobby,” was my only response.
I hung up. I’d reimburse her for the room as I always did, to avoid a paper trail.
By the time I entered the lobby after walking the remainder of the lot, Lola sat secreted in a corner next to the cool steel sculpture at the room’s center. She stood when she saw me, devastatingly beautiful as always. She inclined her head and I reciprocated. She eyed me with appreciation but as always, she did nothing for me. Uncommonly pretty but not much else. Also, never dip your pen in the company ink, gentlemen, even if the company isn’t necessarily aware she’s stocked.
We entered the hotel bar. I, casually with my jacket unbuttoned and a single hand in my front pocket and she, seductively as any femme fatale there ever was. I spotted my target, Peter Knight, waiting at the bar, studying a whiskey neat twirling in the glass before him. Damn, I cursed under my breath. He’d beaten me there. He didn’t notice Lola either, though, making my stomach clench a little in hesitation. I hoped he was distracted instead of the stand-up guy I suspected he was. I fought the nausea.
Lola and I sat together in the darkest corner of the bar, as out of sight as we could possibly get. Peter Knight kept glancing at his watch, waiting for the meeting with an executive that would never come. He ordered one more whiskey and that was my cue. I glanced at Lola, nodding once and she stood, making her way toward Peter, choosing a seat two down from him.
She ordered the same drink Peter had because we’d done our research and her hand covered the rim of the glass, the drug she’d held in her palm fell to the bottom. I could tell it had already begun to dissolve. Her hands moved to the sides of the glass to cover the effects.
I knew when it was fully mixed because her hands fell flat on the bar top. She leaned back into her stool and displayed her breasts, her arms moving to rest on her lap. Every man with a pulse, including Peter this time, took note of her. She was effortless. She smiled lasciviously at him.
“Hi,” I heard her breathe.
Peter only nodded once and turned back to his drink. Confirmed. He looked but he didn’t touch. My jaw pressed tightly. Damn, he didn’t take the bait. Plan B.
Lola quickly glanced my way and imperceptibly shook her head once. I stood, coolly removed a handkerchief from my front left pocket, patted my neck and forehead, replaced it, smoothed out my jacket, tugged at my cufflinks ensuring the cuffs were stiff and made my way to the bar top, sliding into the stool right next to Peter. He smiled at me then glanced at his watch once more. I was running out of time. The bartender approached me.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“What are you drinking?” I asked Peter.
He smiled. “Macallan, eighteen, neat.”
“The same,” I said with a grin, oozing charm. Open up room for conversation.
“Popular tonight,” the bartender said simply, making my adrenaline spike.
“It’s a great vintage,” I hedged.
We silently watched the bartender pour me a matching glass and walk away to attend another customer. I internally breathed a sigh of relief.
“Jonathan,” I lied, extending a hand.
I was always Jonathan. I don’t think “Lola” knew it as anything else during our little charades.
“Peter,” he answered, taking it.
I took a sip then set the glass down, nervously twisting it back and forth in the palms of my hands. I sat up slightly, checking my actions and angled myself toward him, making eye contact. Establish trust. I breathed deeply, taking yet another sip. Don’t waste time.
“Are you were from the area?” I asked.
“No, actually, I...” he started but before he could finish, I faked a clumsy movement, sweeping the pen he had sitting on the bar top next to him onto the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, as we both made a move to retrieve the pen.
I grabbed it first and awkwardly fumbled with it, distracting him further. Hope he buys this. I watched through my peripheral as Lola subtly switched her roofie laced whisky with his glass. When she righted herself, I handed it back to him. He sat back in his stool.
“Butter fingers,” I joshed.
He took a swig, a third of the glass’ contents gone.
“Nervous?” Peter asked, more astute than I previously gave him credit for.
I went with it. “Uh, yeah. I’m meeting a girl here. Blind date.” I noticed Lola smirk.
