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The Carter group are the only customers in the tiny restaurant, which has been reserved just for them, and none of the group looks up as I enter.
Okay. Cool. I can do this. All I need to do is figure out how to get Jett’s attentionwithoutgetting Violet’s or Alex’s — or Charles or Gabriella’s — and we’re good.
Yeah, I should really have thought this through a bit more, shouldn’t I?
Jett and Violet are sitting together on one side of the table, with the rest of the party on the other. Crossing the room slowly, I position myself behind Charles Carter, who’s opposite Jett. This puts me directly in Jett’s line of sight; but it also puts me in Violet’s, who’s right next to him, one hand placed possessively on his leg.
God, I hate her.
For a split-second, I almost lose sight of my mission. Because I’m standing here with this handy bottle of wine in my hand, and Violet’sright thereopposite me…
I imagine the red wine running down her lovely face, like blood. Then I get a grip of myself, and re-focus on the task at hand.
Oh, come on, I’m notthatbad. Well, notallthe time…
I manage to get the cork out of the bottle without incident, and lean over Charles’ shoulder to top up his glass. He doesn’t look up.
But Jett does.
His sea-green eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes me, then flick quickly over to Violet, who’s talking to Gabriella about sheet masks. I’m expecting anger, but his mouth curves slowly upward in a smile, and I realize he’s just amused to see me here.
I’m glad one of us is.
Straightening up, I point at Alex Russell, who’s sitting next to Charles, also with his back to me.
“JOURNALIST,” I mouth silently, hoping Jett will understand this. “BAD.”
Jett’s eyebrows rise in confusion. I think quickly, then pantomime the act of someone writing a check, as if we’re playing a game of charades. I scribble with my finger on an imaginary piece of paper, then pretend to hand it to myself, looking shocked.
Jett raises his napkin to his mouth to stifle a laugh.
He has absolutely no idea what I’m trying to tell him. (He does look amused by it, though, so I guess that’s something.)
Trying again, I point at the back of Alex Russell’s head, grateful for whatever it is he’s talking to Jett’s dad about that’s proving so absorbing to them both. Then I point at myself, before rubbing my fingers together in the universally understood gesture for “money”.
“He tried to pay me to talk about you,” I mouth frantically. “Lots of money. LOTS. OF. MONEY.”
I rub my fingers together again, in what I hope is a clear demonstration of someone with, as I said,lots of money,which they have undoubtedly made by selling their story to an unscrupulous reporter.
“Charles, darling,” says Gabriella suddenly. “I think that girl is asking for a tip. Have you paid already?”
The silence is actually painful as all conversation stops, and every eye in the room fixes on me. Jett is no longer finding it difficult to stop himself from laughing. He looks like he might never laugh again, actually.
I know the feeling.
“Oh!” says Gabriella, who generally tends to exist in a reality of her own. “It’s Lexie again! Why don’t you join us, Lexie? It’s been such a long time since we saw you, hasn’t it Charles?”
“It hasn’t been nearly long enough,” drawls her husband, looking at me with undisguised disgust. “What’s she doing here?” he demands, turning to Jett as if he might be personally responsible for my presence. “This is totally inappropriate. Youknow that, don’t you? It’s bad enough that she was here when we checked in earlier. What kind of Mickey Mouse operation are these people running here, anyway? I thought this was supposed to be the best place to stay in the Highlands?”
“Whatisshe doing here, Jett?” asks Violet tremulously. Her large eyes are filled with tears, which I’m absolutely certain are fake. I’d put money on it. If I had any, that is.
Next to Charles, Alex Russell twitches in his seat, as if he’s very much enjoying this.
“I’m not sure,” says Jett evenly, getting up from the table. “I’m going to find out, though. If you’ll all just excuse me for a moment. Lexie, come with me. Now, please.”
He says the last words in a tone that’s totally at odds with the laughing-eyes Jett he was a few minutes ago. Now, though, his eyes are like flint. He’s no longer even remotely amused to find his ex-girlfriend waitressing for him and his family. He just wants to get me out of here. And that hurts — of course it does — but I can’t allow myself to think about it now. I just have to get him on his own so I can warn him about Alex Russell and his exposé.
That’s the most important thing.
