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Todd snatches the phone away from me, snarling as he looks down at the photograph. “Is that a nose-ring?”
“On Tia?” I shove my face in the screen of my phone, scanning every millimeter of my girl’s button nose.
“No, on The River.”
My eyes divert to The River, seeing a silver hoop through his left nostril. “Perfect.”
“I bet he has one in his nipple too. And his dick.”
I punch Todd’s bicep and knock back my Scotch.
He shrugs. “What does she mean, anyway?”
“What?”
“Here.” He points at the screen. “Her message. It says, I’m saying broaden your horizons.” Todd looks at me, cocking his head. “What does she mean?”
“No idea.” I take the phone back, hating the fact that my daughter, my fucking daughter, is giving me relationship advice. And, worse, she’s giving good advice. Broaden my horizons. Women not like Amanda. And as if the woman has heard me, my phone chimes again. And, again, I reject her call.
I look up and find Todd craning his neck to see my screen. I shove my mobile away and wave the barman over. “Two more, please.”
“Oh, shit. A nutter?” he asks, amused.
“Yep. I called it off. Whatever it was.” I look at him out the corner of my eye as I pay for the drinks. “Is your apartment still under siege?”
“Yep. You still seeing the married woman?”
“I’m not seeing a married woman.”
I knock back my drink again, spotting my assistant across the bar with a group of my staff. “I’m supposed to be over there celebrating a new deal.” I point my drink through the crowd. “Coming?”
Todd shakes his head at me, maybe in despair, maybe in disappointment. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m not sharing anything Lo related with him. Period. “I’ll catch up with you.” He looks past me, his expression morphing into a big, cheesy grin, and I look over my shoulder to see a pair of lookers sitting at the bar, one blonde, one brunette, and both definitely in their twenties. “Or you could join us?” Todd nudges me with his shoulder as he passes, giving me wide, excited eyes.
“Maybe in a bit.” I have the perfect excuse. “I need to go show my face to my staff.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll take them both.” His cheesy grin widens, and I roll my eyes, making to turn, but stopping when I clock a woman walking into the bar.
Oh, this is gonna be fun. I find Todd and smirk. “Someone’s here to see you.” I point my drink at the door, where Todd’s self-proclaimed girlfriend, Charity, is scanning the bar. Looking fucking murderous. Todd frowns, following the direction of my pointed drink. I lean on the bar, settling in for the show, and watch as Charity spots my best mate near the two hotties at the bar.
“Oh fuck,” I hear Todd mutter, placing his drink on the side and widening his stance, ready for what we all know is coming.
She stomps over on her heels, throwing a filthy look at the two women that Todd’s moved in on, locking and loading her arm on the way. I screw my face up, ready for the blow, and when it comes, it comes with force. The sound of her palm connecting with Todd’s cheek is piercing, everyone in the vicinity flinching. “You bastard,” she screams, collecting his drink off the bar and throwing the contents in his face. “At least have the fucking balls to tell me to my face.”
Todd remains where he is, quiet and accepting of her outburst. “You done?” he asks, cool as can be.
She huffs and puffs a few times, before pivoting, her nose in the air, and sashaying out of the bar. I snort through my nose, the laughter I’m suppressing building to a point that I can no longer keep it contained, and Todd starts to slowly and carefully wipe himself down, turning on the spot to face me. “Do you think that means she’ll get her shit out of my apartment now?” He reaches up to his cheek, which is glowing, and rubs on a painful face. “Motherfucker.” Slapping a smile back on his mush, he swings back toward the two women. “Ladies!”
I laugh and make my way over to the team, chinking glasses with every drink held out to me and accepting the congratulations, as well as giving my own. Pam gives my shoulder a good rub. “Nice work today.”
“Thanks.” I point to her glass of . . . Coke?
“I have six babies to pack off this weekend.”
“Huh?” Pam’s knocking on sixty. Babies?
“Polly, my beagle, had pups. They’re twelve weeks this weekend and their new owners are collecting them.”
I tilt my head, surprised. “So you breed on the side?”
Pam laughs, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses. “Not really. Polly got fruity with a friend in the park. On the plus side, the fellow she got fruity with is a descendent of a Crufts champion, so I have six thoroughbred beagles earning me a grand a pop.”
