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I know Mum shouldn’t have done what she did, but if Jack hadn’t come along and put us out of business, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe I’d still have a job in the family business. Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t be thinking like this. It’s not exactly going to help, is it?
“Come on,” says Jett, who’s been watching this little stream of mixed emotions wash over my face. “You look like you could do with one.”
“Just one, then,” I say, giving in to temptation. “And I’ll have wine, please, not whiskey. Oh, no: wait!” ??I pat the pocket in my apron, which I am, humiliatingly, still wearing.
“I don’t have any money,” I admit, shamefacedly. “Well, I have 56p, but that’s it. Asher took the rest.”
And he didn’t give me it back, even though Jett told him to. Although, to be fair, I did go running out of the bar like my ass was on fire before he had the chance.
“It’s fine,” says Jett tightly. “I think I can afford to buy you a glass of wine. Go and sit down; I’ll bring it over.”
I’m not sure if the brusque tone he’s using is a sign that he’s annoyed withme, or that he’s annoyed with Asher. I don’t know how to read him any more. But I’m suddenly so worn out with all the emotions I’ve had to cycle through in the last 48 hours that instead of trying to figure it out, I just do as he says, and sit down in one of the two leather armchairs that are positioned on each side of the log fire, while Jett goes to the bar.
“This place is pretty nice,” he says, coming back a few minutes later with a bottle of wine, and one of whiskey, plus glasses. “Private, too. The guy at the bar didn’t even recognize me, thank God.”
“That’s probably because he’s about 102,” I say, glancing at the barman, who looks like he’s enjoying a short nap now that he’s served his only customer of the evening. “And it’s private because we’re the only people in it.”
“Exactly,” says Jett, pleased. “I love it. Here, have some wine. You still like Sauvignon, don’t you?”
He pours it for me, then hands me the glass. Our fingers don’t touch as I take it. I’m absurdly disappointed.??
“I said I was only going to have one,” I tell him, taking a sip of what turns out to be a much nicer wine than the vinegary stuff we sell at The Crown. “I’ll have to be up early tomorrow, so I can try to find Mum before I start work.”
“I’ve only given you one,” says Jett, looking innocent. “You didn’t specify whether it was one bottle or one glass.”
We smile at each other shyly.
This is my opportunity to apologize for what I did to Violet yesterday; and for everything that happened in L.A. before I left. It’s probably the only opportunity I’ll ever get to do it; a fact which instantly robs me of every single thought in my stupid head, because where do I even start? Do I lead with “Sorry for soaking your girlfriend in chip fat” or with “Whoops, probably shouldn’t have referred to your dad as a ‘bawbag’?” Or do I just keep drinking and hope the words somehow come to me?
I go for the latter option, obviously; which means it’s up to Jett to break the silence that descends.
“So, this long-lost father of yours,” he says, holding his glass of whiskey up to the fire and admiring the way the light dances against the amber liquid. “You’re thinking he’s a fake? Or is there a chance he could be the real thing?”
I hesitate before answering, trying to work out what I actually feel in my gut about this.
“I don’t know how hecanbe real,” I say. “Like, how would he recognize me when he’s never met me? And if he was going to recognize me from TV, it’s not like that’s the only opportunity he’d have to do it. I’ve … well, I’ve been on the news a few times now.”
Like when Jett and I got together, for instance.
And when we broke up.
“Hmm.”
I’m not sure if Jett’s thinking of those particular occasions, or just about the one that involved Violet. Beautiful, talented Violet.
I bet he’s thinking about Violet. Why wouldn’t he be?
“The timing is definitely suss,” he says, fixing those mesmerizing eyes of his on me. I am suddenly very, very aware of my pimple. “But Ialwaysfind stuff like this suss, so I’m might not be the best judge.”
“Stuff like this?”
“Well, yeah.” He takes a swig of his whiskey, then refills his glass, before reaching for mine, too. That wine went down much quicker than I meant it to; probably because I’ve just this second realized that I haven’t eaten anything today.
“When you’re famous, people are always coming out of the woodwork, Lexie,” he tells me seriously. “For one reason or another. Sometimes it’s money—”
“It definitely can’t be that,” I interrupt, thinking of my 56p. “He’s going to bereallydisappointed if he’s just after my money, because I don’t have any.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that, does he?” Jett points out. “He just knows you were with me for a while. And I don’t think I’ve ever been with anyone who hasn’t turned out to be using me on some level, whether for money, or for fame, or for both. Sometimes they don’t even know they’re doing it.”
