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I’VE BEEN A DISASTER ALL DAY.POURED COFFEE IN MY CEREAL ANDsqueezed hand lotion onto my toothbrush. I didn’t see Jack this morning, and I’m not sure if that made it better or worse. On my way to campus, I ran headlong into an angry Italian tourist because I was so distracted with replaying and reexamining the kiss that I didn’t see her until I had a mouthful of her scarf.
Even now as I sit in class, I stare at my notes and realize I’d written the date three times but not a word of what the professor has said for the last forty minutes.
Who does that? Sneaks up on a girl to lay a kiss on her with no context and then saunters off to bed?
It’s infuriating is what it is.
He’s got some nerve.
Stop acting like you hated it.
Fine. I didn’t hate the kiss. Not even a little bit.
But I had put the notion of Jack being an option out of my head. House rules and all. So what the hell do I do with these feelings he’s implanted in me? And thanks to him avoiding me this morning, I have no clue how he feels about it either. Then again, what else is new? I never know what Jack’s feeling.
Most likely, he’ll completely brush this incident off. Crack some joke to the boys about how I jumped him while he was weak andinebriated. Laugh the whole thing off as a drunken gag. Which is why I should stop obsessing over it. I’m meeting Benjamin Tulley for lunch this afternoon, and I can’t show up a hot mess. When class lets out, I pop into the restroom to fix my hair and makeup, then give myself a silent pep talk.
We will not embarrass ourselves in front of a lord.
We will not make Jamie look bad for getting us this meeting.
We absolutely will not show up with toilet paper stuck to our shoe.
Yeah. Good talk.
The restaurant where we’re supposed to meet is in a hotel about two miles away. It’s a trek, cutting through Hyde Park, but on a brisk October day, it’s a pleasant walk. The Lanesborough is a gorgeous Greek revival building near the Wellington Arch. I’m certain I’m underdressed when two doormen in formal attire greet me at the entrance. Inside, I’m astounded at the opulence of shiny marble floors, tall columns, and ornate carved ceilings. I’m tempted to snap a few photos until I catch a man at the front desk watching me and think better of it.
“Excuse me,” I say, approaching him. “Which way is the restaurant? I’m meeting someone.”
“Your name?”
“Oh, uh, Abbey Bly— ”
“Abbey,” a brisk female voice says from behind me.
I turn to find a familiar brunette in a high-necked black dress approaching. I scan my brain trying to place her, then realize it’s the woman from the Tulley sale. What was her name again? Sophia?
“Sophie Brown,” she says, extending a hand. “We met several weeks ago. I’m Lord Tulley’s assistant.”
“Right. Sophie.” I was close with the name. I lean in to shake her hand. “It’s good to see you again. Are you joining us today?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m off to the office to pick up some paperwork. But Benjamin is here and waiting for you.”
Sophie nods toward the front desk, and instantly there’s another man at my side, dressed in three-piece formal attire like the desk clerk. With an outstretched arm, he beckons me to follow him.
I bid Sophie goodbye, and the man escorts me through the lobby and down a corridor into a breathtaking restaurant like I’ve only seen in movies. The decor is a Regency motif in soft shades of powder blue and gold, with tufted velvet furniture, crystal chandeliers, hand-painted wallpaper, and intricate scenes carved along the walls at the ceiling.
I’m ushered to a table where Lord Tulley is already seated, reading on his phone. I recognize him from the tabloid pictures online. He’s slender and impeccably dressed in a navy suit and folded pocket square. Handsome too, in a specific British kind of way. I read that he’s twenty-seven years old, but he looks much younger, like the college boys I pass on campus every day.
“Ms. Bly,” the hotel employee says by way of introduction. Then he hastily departs.
“Abbey.” Lord Tulley stands and greets me with an enthusiastic smile I don’t anticipate. He’s taller in person. “Quite pleased to meet you.” He gestures to a chair for me to sit. “I’d be delighted if you called me Ben.”
“All right. Ben. Thank you again for agreeing to meet with me. I know this is an odd request.”
Immediately, waiters in white gloves arrive to put my napkin in my lap, fill my water glass, and apparently swap out most of the silverware. The entire choreography is a bit overwhelming and sets me off-balance. Ben watches me as if he notices none of it.
“My office receives two dozen interview requests a day. Never from a student, however. And an American at that. You certainly piqued my interest.”
