Page 85 of Hot Nights in Morocco
It’s all for nothing, though.
Why?
Because Jake won’t take my calls.
I’ve been wallowing in misery for five hours.Five hours.I’m exhausted from jet lag, but too depressed to sleep. I’ve been trying him all day, ever since we landed, but some hag of a receptionist refuses to put me through. Apparently he’s been in a meeting for eight hours straight.Lying cow.I’m just going to have to get creative, even if that means camping outside his mansion like some crazy autograph hunter until he deigns to speak to me.
I’m growing bored of my own company, and these walls are closing in on me. I dress quickly in gray skinny jeans and a lilac silk cami and make my way down to the lobby. I exit the hotel and immerse myself in the busy sidewalks of Hollywood Boulevard.
I wander along aimlessly for a while, gulping in the heat and the smell of hot dogs and dodging all the Batmans. Jake was right. This place comes alive at night. He was right about so many things, but I wouldn’t allow myself to see it.
I have to find him.
I have to make this okay.
Pausing at the intersection of Las Palmas, I spy a faded pink neon sign in the distance.Bingo.I make a beeline straight for it. No hesitation. A strong drink is exactly what I need.
Parking myself at the bar, I smile at the guy polishing glasses behind the counter.
“What can I get you, lady?”
“Your most calorific cocktail, please. Diet’s been suspended.”
He laughs and sets to work, as if lovesick twenty-something women wandering into his bar on a Wednesday night in need of a sugar fix is a regular event.
I watch him unearth a glass from the shelf beneath the bar and start packing it with crushed ice. Next, he pulls out a cocktail shaker and drowns it in vodka and some violent, green liquid. Giving it a good shake, he tips out the grim concoction and serves it with five cocktail umbrellas, half a pineapple, and an enormous sparkler that he lights in front of me with a twinkle in his eye.
“Enjoy your cocktail. ’Round here we like to call it theGhostbuster.”
“You mean if the spirits don’t keep me up all night, the sugar high will?” I take a sip and start coughing and spluttering. It tastes worse than it looks. I hand over a twenty and see him glance up as another customer enters the bar.
“What can I get you, buddy?”
The customer must have indicated to my glass because the barman sets to work with the same routine.
“Does it come with a joke?” says a weary voice.
I whip around so fast that I knock luminous green liquid all over the counter. Jake slides onto the bar stool next to me looking tired and guarded, but oh, so handsome. He’s wearing a black three-piece again, but he’s ditched the jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt have been pushed up to his elbows. His hair is shorter than before—much more businesslike. My heart starts to pound as the rich, heady smell of him wraps around my senses.
I’m not surprised I lost you, Jake. You were out of my league from the first.
“What are you doing here?” I mumble, chasing shards of ice around my drink with the straw.
He ignores the question and clasps his hands together. He’s gritting his teeth beneath his five o’clock shadow.
I try again. “How did you find me?”
“Does it matter? Why did you come here? We said all we needed to say in London.” He sounds angry and confused. He’s clearly not flattered in the slightest that I chased him halfway across the world.
“You didn’t let me finish, and you know how much I like to have the last word.”
He shakes his head and mutters something like “infuriating woman” under his breath as the barman places his drink down in front of him. He waves away the sparkler. There are more than enough fireworks flying between us at the moment.
I watch him take a sip and make a face. He pushes it to one side and snaps his fingers. The barman brings him a beer straightaway. “So, it’s just sheer obstinacy that brought you to this enchanting establishment, is it?” He lifts the beer bottle to his mouth and I’m transfixed. I need to feel those lips on my body again. I can’t live the rest of my life without him.
“That, and the canapés.” I unfurl the pineapple from my glass with a shaking hand and take a bite. He stills, and I know what he’s thinking. I’ve reminded him of that night in Marrakech. I blush and drop the pineapple. “Why didn’t you take my calls?”
“I’ve been tied up in meetings. It’s been a tough day.”
