It’s your reputation, Lewis. That’s how his agent had put it after telling him he’d lost the BBC commentator job. People are afraid you’re going to pull one of your antics again. No one wants to risk waking up to see their studio analyst double-fisting bottles of Cristal on the front page.
In other words, he needed to prove to the world he had shed his Champagne Lewis persona for good. He’d been trying to deliver that message for the past nine months, but karma kept tripping him up. Like last night. He was surprised that the drink-tossing incident hadn’t made it onto Lorianne’s blog. The woman had spies everywhere.
Reading today’s item, however, made him realize a few things. First, that he was damn lucky, and second, that if he wanted the world to know he was a changed man, he needed to do more than simply give up drinking and stay home. He needed to give the public proof, something splashy, that would convey the message for him.
The idea as to how had hit him like a jolt this morning. It was crazy, but it was worth a shot.
Now he needed his proposed partner in crime to appear.
He was about to turn his awareness back to the window when a flash of blue caught his attention. Finally. Susan Collier cut through the dining room, her peacock blue jacket popping amid the room’s gold-and-green garlands. She wore a pair of oversize sunglasses covering her face and moved like a person who didn’t have a moment to spare. Quite a different appearance from the soft, hazy woman who’d tripped her way up her front stairs the night before.
“Sorry I’m late. We got stuck in traffic.”
Lewis saw it for the excuse it was. He also always seemed to have problems with the traffic on days he was hungover. “No problem. I’ve been sitting hear enjoying the view. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”
“It should. They started decorating the day after Halloween.”
She looked down at the bench he sat on. Although the alcove table could accommodate up to six people, it had been set for intimacy. This meant the only seating was the velvet bench that curved along the wall. She had no choice but to slide to the middle so they could sit side by side. “Interesting choice of table,” she remarked.
“I like sitting by the window.” He moved over to make room. Not too much room though. He wanted to sit next to her. That was the point.
“Don’t suppose you read Lorianne’s site,” he said when she’d settled in—her sunglasses remaining in place.
“You mean ‘Blind Item’ number five? How could I resist? You had me intrigued.” Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was a printout of Lorianne’s blog.
This A-plus bad-boy former athlete with the fancy name was seen playing the gentleman for a member of one of London’s most established families last night. He walked the lady to the door and didn’t stay the night. Fluke? Or has he washed his hands of his wild ways?
She folded the paper in half again. “Those are some of the lamest clues I’ve ever seen. ‘Fancy name’ for Champagne Lewis? ‘Washed his hands’ for Collier’s Soap? Was this your doing?”
“I wish. Our driver must have given her the tip. Lorianne’s known for her network. He must have texted her after he dropped us off and Lorianne shoved it in her column.” That was the beauty of the internet. In the old days, the public would have had to wait another twenty-four hours for the news item to go public.
“Interesting, don’t you think?” he asked.
“How so?” Susan replied.
“Good afternoon. Glad you could join us.” It was their waiter, returning with Lewis’s sparkling water. “Can I get you anything? A cocktail perhaps?”
“The lady will have a Bloody Mary.” Lewis ignored the way Susan’s head spun around to stare at him.
“A glass of water will be fine,” she told the waiter, in a no-nonsense tone.
“And the Bloody Mary.”
The poor young man looked from Lewis to Susan and back, clearly unsure who he should listen to. “She’ll have water and a Bloody Mary,” Lewis told him. He leaned in so he could lower his voice. “Hair of the dog, Trust me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’ll be nursing that headache of yours all day.” A drink wouldn’t ease the pain of her throbbing head necessarily, but in his experience, it helped more often than not. “I’m the expert, remember?”
“Fine.” She told the waiter to bring her both. “If alcohol is such a cure-all, why aren’t you having any?” she asked once the waiter had gone.
“Simple. I’m not hungover. Plus, I don’t drink. Anymore,” he added when she opened her mouth.
“You don’t? Since when?”
Since he’d woken up with one too many hangovers and realized what a mess he’d made of his career, that’s when. “Been nearly nine months now.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.”
“Few people do.” And those who did, didn’t believe it would stick. “I decided last spring it was time to get my act together. Turn over a new leaf, as it were.”
“How’s the new leaf working out for you?”
“There’s been a few bumps.” Like last night. “Turns out being sober is only half the battle. Dealing with the mess you left behind…”
“I’m guessing last night was a bump.”
“For both of us, wouldn’t you say?” He took a sip of water. “Are you going to wear those glasses throughout lunch?” It was impossible to gauge her expression when it was hidden by those big black lenses. “Feel like I’m having lunch with a Russian spy.” Or a woman embarrassed to be with him.
Although her lips pulled into a smirk, she removed the glasses. “Satisfied?” she asked.
Her excess from the night before revealed itself in a pair of dark circles that washed the color from her face. Her eyes’ warm copper center was still visible though. Lewis had wondered if he’d imagined the unusual color. He hadn’t. He hadn’t imagined the intelligence in her eyes either.
“So…” She dropped her gaze, blocking his view once more. “You said you had a business proposition for me.”
“Yes.” Apparently they were going to get right down to business. Lewis could deal with that. “Now that I’ve retired, I’m hoping to get into broadcasting but no one wants to give me so much as a meeting. They’re all afraid to take a risk.”
“No offense, but can you blame them?”
“Maybe once upon a time, but I’m not the same guy I was nine months ago. I’ve grown up, and if they gave me a shot, they would see that I know my stuff. I’d be damned good.”
He shifted in his seat so he could look her straight on. “It’s maddening. They won’t even meet with me. It’s as though the world has slotted me into a role and now I’m stuck in it for life. Whether it fits or not.”
“Everyone thinks they know you,” she said in soft voice. She was folding and unfolding her glasses with great thoughtfulness.
“Precisely.” The rush of someone understanding made Lewis want to grab her hands and squeeze them. “Telling them isn’t enough. They need tangible evidence that I am not the same person. That’s where you come in.” Taking a chance, he reached over and laid his hand on her forearm.
In a flash, her hands stilled.