else. Two: he’s troubled, and even his grandfather warned him away from me. Three: he regretted kissing me, and I deserve better than Becker Hunt’s swaying mood. I’m not in London for this. I’m in control of my future.
Yes, I am. I pivot and make my way back to the club. I’m not at all surprised when I arrive in the VIP area to find Lucy on Mark’s lap. Both are laughing. Both have roaming hands. And both look at me with excited eyes when I arrive at the table, yet I know the excitement has nothing to do with my return and everything to do with those wandering hands.
‘What took you so long?’ Lucy asks, shuffling off Mark’s lap and stumbling towards me. ‘We have more champagne.’
I glance past her, seeing Mark waving the fresh bottle with a smile. I’m squiffy, but I’m perfectly lucid, whereas Lucy is too drunk to make wise decisions. ‘Hey.’ I move in and get close to her so Mark can’t hear or lip-read me. ‘Why don’t we move on?’ I ask, injecting some enthusiasm into my tone, like I’m trying to convince a child that an utterly boring plan is actually a super-exciting plan. It’s easy, especially since leaving this club is probably the best idea I’ve had. Becker Hunt is self-absorbed and clearly enjoying being surrounded by his harem. I don’t give a flying fuck who he spends his personal time with. But it doesn’t mean I want to hang around and watch him revel in the swooning attention.
‘Never,’ Lucy screeches, clearly disgusted by my suggestion. I shake my head. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle. She isn’t going anywhere, and I’m not about to leave her alone with Mark. The least I can do is make sure she finds her way home and not into Mark’s bed. So relenting to my fate – which is to stay longer in this club than I really want to – I slide on to my seat and claim my fresh glass of champagne.
By the time I’ve taken my first sip, Lucy is back on Mark’s lap and hands are wandering again. Fabulous. They’re giggling, whispering, and I have a front-row seat to the whole shebang. I could look away, take in the club and my surroundings, but then I risk getting an eyeful of the vultures stroking Becker. I mustn’t let my eyes stray. I need to keep my dignity, not to mention my temper.
With little else to do, I’m quickly working my way through another bottle of champagne.
Don’t do it. Don’t. Fucking. Look.
I blame the champagne, because I’m almost desperate to catch a glimpse of him. My brain, on the other hand, is telling me that no good will come of taking a peek. Remember who you are, Eleanor. Remember who he is. She was in his bed last night. He regretted your kiss today.
‘Bollocks,’ I breathe, my eyes winning and casting over to my left, spotting him lapping up the attention. Jealousy rears its ugly and unwanted head, and my blood begins to simmer dangerously. Here’s me, analysing every detail of what’s happened between us, chasing in circles, obsessing about that kiss, beating myself up. And there’s him. Clearly fine. I’m not costing him a thought while he laps up attention from other women.
I can’t take it. Shooting up from the table, I grab my purse as I down the rest of my drink. I won’t subject myself to this any more. ‘I’m going,’ I declare loudly over the pounding music, getting no acknowledgement from my friend. I lean in and knock Lucy’s arm, interrupting her sloppy snog. She looks at me all gone out, completely dazed, her lipstick smudged, and when I quickly peek at Mark, he’s sporting a nice red smear up his cheek. She’s going to regret this in the morning. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ I suggest, trying to be as diplomatic as I can. Her face takes on a serious edge and she shakes her head slowly, making my shoulders droop in defeat. I bend and get eye level with her, smiling fondly when her lips purse. I don’t care if Mark hears me this time. ‘I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.’
She smiles and falls towards me clumsily, prompting Mark to snake his arm around her waist so she doesn’t slide off his lap. She thinks hard for a few moments. ‘I really like him.’