That One Moment (Lost in London #2) (4 page)

EASY FAVOUR

“V
ilma, I need you!” Leslie’s voice peels loudly through the phone line.

“What? What is it?” My voice rises at the end and I shoot up out of my wheelie office chair, clutching the phone tightly to my ear. “Is something wrong with the baby?”

“Oh no, no. Marisa is fine. I mean, colicky as always and killing me with the no sleep thing, but healthy as a fussy baby horse.”

My face scrunches in confusion. “A what?”

“Healthy as a horse? Do the Brits not have that reference? Never mind. I have something serious to ask you, Vilma.”

I sigh, “Leslie, why do you insist on calling me by my full name? You’re seriously the only one. You haven’t been in the office for a couple of months and I rather got used to being called just Vi again.”

“I love Vilma…It reminds me of Scooby Doo,” she giggles and I realise how much I’ve missed that sound around here.

I drop back down on my chair and begin spinning around in slow circles. “I still have no idea what you’re going on about,” I reply. I never watched telly much growing up and Leslie can’t seem to wrap her brain around that.

“Scooby Doo and the gang! You seriously need to catch up on your American cartoons. I know they play them in England…Hey! Did you get my happy birthday text yesterday? You never replied.”

“Oh shite, yes. I did. Sorry…My brothers showed up, so I got distracted.”

“Sexy soccer brothers?” she asks with a provocative purr to her speech.

Groaning in disgust, I answer, “It’s football over here, mate. You’ve been in London long enough now to use the proper term. Now, did you call for a reason, or just to distract me from my very serious work to educate me on animated American telly and tell me I have hot brothers?”

“Uptight British—” Leslie grumbles, but I cut her off.

“Oi darling, don’t you have a go at me! You’ve left me stranded here at the office because you had to go and have a cute, perfect baby with that sinfully sexy fiancé of yours. I’m not to be trifled with right now. I’ve had to deal with Benji, Hector, and Roger all on my own. Plus two trips to China since you left.”

“Fine, fine…Viiiiii,” she drawls out the
I
in an exaggerated, smug British accent.

Leslie and I have been working side by side for several years now. She was in charge of working directly with the Chinese factories that make our camera bag designs until her recent maternity leave. I’ve had to pick up the slack ever since. Leslie, Hector, and I are the three designers. We work on various satchels, wallets, clutches, and totes that are all technology and photography friendly. There are a handful of other clerical people we work alongside, as well as with our boss, Roger.

“Thank you for taking care of the fort while I am away. You know I love you.” She makes obnoxious kissy noises into the receiver. “Okay, stop distracting me. I don’t want to talk about work…I have a very serious question. Are you ready?”

“Ready,” I answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure.”

“Are you prepared?”

“Primed and poised,” I quip.

“Do you have a formal evening gown?” she rushes out in one breath.

My brow furrows at this query. Leslie excels at random, but this still surprises me. “This seems like an incredibly peculiar question.”

“Well, do you?”

Sighing heavily, I recall the white floor-length evening gown I bought last year for New Year’s Eve. Normally I despise wearing white with my blonde hair because I feel washed out. But this dress is a diamond white that has just enough glimmer to make my alabaster skin look positively luminous.

“I do happen to have a dress,” I reply sadly at the fact that I still have never worn it anywhere. It’s tragic, really. Pierce was a DJ who worked at a posh nightclub in Chigwell and they were hosting a huge formal party. Then the cheating rumours began and the whole Gareth blowout happened the day before New Year’s Eve. Leslie tried to strong arm me into going just to spite him. But instead, I had a cosy night in with my main man, Bruce.

“Perfect! I have a proposition for you.”

Leslie goes on to explain that Theo’s family hosts a formal charity gala every year in London and two of her former roommates, who were going to attend, had to back out last minute.

“Theo’s family is throwing the event you say?” I ask cautiously. “So they’ll
all
be there I would assume.”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” she replies dismissively. “You’ll be at a table with some of my old roommates. Frank, Finley, and Brody. Then Reyna and Liam will be at your table as well. You met them all at The White Swan Pub soft opening a couple of weeks ago.”

I exhale when I realise she hasn’t mentioned the one I’m most curious about. Recalling my less than stellar first impression I had with Theo’s brother, Hayden, I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed to hear he won’t be sitting at my table.

Hayden Clarke is…memorable…to say the least. He had that sexy soulful look about him that lured me right in. “That sounds quite fun,” I reply, clearing the frog in my throat.

“Do you think you can secure a plus one?” Leslie asks. “The plates are three hundred quid a piece and are already paid in full. Oooh, maybe one of your brothers?” Her voice rises with excitement.

I exhale sharply while rolling my eyes. My gaze happens to land on my coworker, Benji. I catch him picking dirt out from beneath his fingernails with an opened paperclip and my nose crinkles. “What would you say if I wanted to bring Benji instead?” I whisper quietly into the phone. “I really think the bloke needs a nice night out.”

Leslie groans, “Your brothers would be much more thrilling, but dammit, you’re probably right about Benji. Do you think you can keep him occupied, though? I can’t trust that Theo won’t get twitchy if he starts following me around all night.”

I purse my lips to conceal my giggle. Benji is our personal assistant and is hopelessly in love with Leslie. It’s quite cute, really. He’s twenty-three, small bodied with mousy brown hair, and has an awkward, nerdy way about him. He’s not unattractive, but he is the polar opposite of Theo. Theo is large and heavily muscled with trimmed dark blond hair. He’s brooding and intense with a confidence that you can’t fake. And the passion that radiates from him when he’s around Leslie…It gives me butterflies and I’m not even on the receiving end of those looks. Not to mention he pulls off smart glasses like no bloke I’ve ever seen.

“He’ll be fine,” I appease. “Maybe he’ll meet a nice girl?”

“Aw, I’d love that for Benji,” Leslie sings hopefully into the phone. “So you’ll do it then. Yay! Thank you, my love. It means a lot. I gotta run, though. Marisa is stirring and I still have to get in the shower. It takes hours to do anything when you have a colicky baby. I’ll email you the details.”

“Great,” I reply.

“Okay, bye-bye, Vi. Oh look, I made a rhyme! I’m a poet and I didn’t know it!” She snickers like a loon and I can’t help but laugh pathetically back. Her voice grows serious again, “I’m sorry…Mommyhood has murdered my brain cells. Talk later!”

I shake my head as I hang up thinking about just how much Leslie’s life has changed since she’s come to London. At twenty-seven, she’s only a couple of years older than me and I can’t even imagine being where she is currently in her life. I’m still getting dumped by douchey DJ’s for goodness sake.

“Hey, Benji,” I sing merrily as I saunter over to his desk, which is situated behind the designer cubbies.

He looks up, dropping his paperclip on the desk and clumsily tries to cover it up. “Hiya, Vi. What can I get for you?”

Shooting him a cheeky grin, I ask, “Have ya got plans tonight?”

He blinks in confusion and furrows his brows. “Not particularly.”

“Leslie just called and wondered if you and I would be keen to go to a fundraiser she’s a part of tonight. It’s a formal do, I’m afraid.”

Benji shoots up out of his chair. “Leslie called? Are you serious? Did she ask for me specifically?” His voice rises to a high-pitched squeal.

“Benji,” I chastise like a proper mum. “If you’re going to act this excited around her tonight then it’s probably not a good idea for you to go. She’s got a lot going right now with a new baby and all her wedding planning. She really needs a nice evening out.”

His face drops. “No, I just…Oh, bugger. I didn’t mean to…It wasn’t that—”

“I know you’re fond of her. Leslie’s a great mate. Just promise to be cool and we’ll go together and have a fab time, all right?” Benji adamantly promises to be calm and I know I can trust him. He’s harmless, really. Just overeager.

Since Roger is not in the office today, we both decide to scoot out early to prepare for our big night. Benji has to go rent a tux and I need extra time to do my hair. A formal affair requires a bit more effort than my daily long and straight.

“I’ll pick you up in a cab outside your building at seven then,” I say as we clamber out the large swing-open window of our building.

“Sounds lovely,” he replies, his voice rising at the end as we descend down the wrought iron fire escape stairs along the outside of our building. There’s a call centre located on the lower level of our two-floor warehouse, and we look at those employees like zombies who could infect us with a case of “dull and painfully boring.” It was Leslie’s idea we start using the fire escape steps to enter and exit so the drab lower level office doesn’t mess with our creative mojo.

Just as we reach the bottom of the large metal steps, my dad’s name pops up on my phone screen. I wave Benji off and answer as I make my way down the sidewalk. “Hiya, Dad!”

“Hiya, my new twenty-five-year-old daughter. You sound rather chipper.” His warm voice is always a welcome sound.

“Well, I just got invited to a formal do tonight. I was going to call you, actually. I’m afraid Bruce and I won’t be around for tea.”

“What’s the event for?”

“Oh…erm, crap.” I was so excited at the prospect of who might be in attendance that I completely forgot to ask Leslie what the charity was even for. “I suppose I don’t even know. It’s sort of a favour for a friend.”

“Well, have fun. I’ll try and ward off your brothers for ya.”

I let out a huff of laughter. “As if that were even possible.” Being footballers and over-protective alpha types as brothers makes them think they can call the plays in my life.

“They mean well, darling. It’s off-season, so they have too much time on their hands to worry about you.”

Rolling my eyes, I reply, “I know, I know.”

“But you will be by Sunday, right?” he asks.

“‘Course, Dad. You needn’t even ask.”

“All right, just making sure. Be safe and text me when you’re home tonight.”

“Will do! Bye, Dad.”

“Bye.”

I stride down the street with an extra bounce to my step at the prospect of a big night out. This is what I envisioned when I moved. Doing fun, spur of the moment things with friends that don’t involve going over match footage. And now that Leslie lives with Theo full-time, she’s only a ten minute walk from my flat. Maybe now that she lives closer we’ll see each other more often? I know she’s got a baby, but surely mummies need a break here and there.

I walk through the narrow alley between the two shops that my flat sits above, shaking my head at the image of my idiot brothers trying to make a three-man-tower of themselves. They demanded a key from me, but I refused. I love my flat too much to give those animals access to it.

I have the penthouse above a large period building that hosts a Hookah Lounge and a gift shop on the ground level. I didn’t especially need the penthouse, but my dad insisted and, damn, it is bloody perfect. As soon as you walk in, you’re greeted with an entire wall of exposed natural brick, which compliments the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a huge balcony. The balcony opens from the living room and the master suite is concealed by French doors on the left. On the right is a modern kitchen with glossy black cabinets and pale wooden countertops.

As if that all isn’t gorgeous enough, there’s a ladder up to a private rooftop terrace with a huge flowery oasis. My own personal secret garden. I wish I could say I tend to the flowers myself, but I do not have a green thumb. I pay someone to maintain it and it’s the best money I spend every single week. I spend hours up there reading and people watching down over my quaint neighbourhood. It’s dreamy.

I let myself into the side entrance where the private lift to my flat is located. I pop my key into the panel and push the only button labeled eleven. Just as the doors open into my flat, I’m socked right in the belly by none other than Bruce.

“Bruce! You vile monster. Get back,” I shout, grabbing him by the mouth and pushing him away from me. “Now just look at the state of me.” I glance down at my soaked jeans. The cheeky bastard has the nerve to drop down on his butt and cock his head at me in that cute puppy-dog way he still has about him.

“You think you’re cute, don’t ya?” I glare at him angrily. Bruce is an enormous Saint Bernard that I ended up with when one of my neighbours passed away six months ago. It was quite sad, really. Mrs. Renack lived one floor below me. Her children bought her Bruce as a puppy when she was diagnosed with cancer. She used to drop him off at my flat whenever she had to go for treatments and we always had the loveliest chats. But unfortunately, Bruce isn’t a miracle worker. When I showed up for the funeral, her kids spoke of sending him to a shelter and I couldn’t stomach the thought.

The horrid animal weighs nearly 140 pounds now, and his big head reaches all the way up to my waist. He’s got a half white face with a mahogany brindle covering his right eye. The rest of his body is spotted with various shades of black, brown, red, and tan amongst his white fur. “I’m going to get you into classes one of these days, Bruce. You mark my words.” His enormous tongue flicks out and licks his nose as he continues to stare at me expectantly. Two streams of drool hang from his chops as he awaits my command.

“All right, all right,” I groan. “Let’s go have a walkies.” He leaps up from his spot and rushes into the kitchen and grabs his lead, dragging it across the white slate flooring. He may not be well-trained for greetings, but he sure as shite knows how to get a walk. I clip the leash onto his collar and head out to let him relieve himself. It’s a lot like leading a small horse rather than walking a dog. The looks I get are rather comical considering the bugger weighs more than I do.