Yes, I know you would. Ass!
“Anyway, I’ll email you the details and then you can arrange everything with my secretary Donna. She’ll get you set up with travel arrangements and a suite at the hotel so you can be on site as often as you need to.”
“Jeff, which hotel did Ben choose?”
“Oh, Ben didn’t choose, he let me,” he says with a hint of contempt in his voice. “I chose Vertigo, at the Warren Hotel in London, of course.”
Of course he did.
An hour later my laptop pings, letting me know I have a new email. After pacing around the suite since talking to Jeff, I race over to the desk in the living area to see if it’s from Donna. Finally! I sit down and click the envelope.
From: Donna Ferrero <
[email protected]>
To: Sydney Allen <
[email protected]>
Sydney,
Here’s your itinerary and ticket info for Vertigo, London. I hope you’re doing well.
Donna
Attached to the email is an airline ticket to Heathrow leaving in two days. Two days! Jeff didn’t say anything about leaving in two days! What about sketching ideas or browsing design books? I can’t leave that soon, can I?
I open up the attachment with the itinerary and gape at the screen. I’m booked into a one bedroom suite at the Warren Hotel, London for the next sixty days.
Holy crap!
I press my hands into my temples in an attempt to keep myself from coming apart at the seams. What the heck was I thinking? I should have known that Jeff Talley was bullying me into something awful.
I close the email and pace the room, my nerves fraying apart. Suddenly, I feel the overwhelming need to get out of the hotel. It feels like the walls are physically compressing my body. Drew is going to be gone for at least another few hours, and I need to do some serious thinking. My usual way of coping with stress has been stolen from me since the attack, and I need it right now, badly.
Hurrying into the bedroom, I throw on my running clothes and shoes. I add a baseball hat and twist my long hair into a bun, tucking it up under the back. I pull up the hood on my navy blue zip-front jacket and grab my iPod, strapping it to my arm. Moving quickly so I don’t lose my nerve, I throw my phone in my jacket pocket, slide on my sunglasses and head out for a nice long run.
Roughly four miles later I’m running along the English Bay at Sunset Beach Park, listening to Justin Timberlake bring his Sexy Back. The weather is beautiful for early May, mid-60’s and sunny without a cloud in sight. I regret not keeping up with music over the last decade. The playlist Drew made for me shows me just how much I missed out on during my self-imposed exile from the entertainment world.
I feel better than I have since before the attack. It’s my first outdoor run, and my first run over three miles. I’d been easing back into it while my body finished healing. Nobody has recognized me or bothered me. Checking behind me every once in a while, I’ve concluded that no one is following me either. For some reason I’ve always had a weird sixth sense and been able to tell when someone is trailing me and it’s telling me that there’s no one there.
I’ve also been able to clear my mind and think, erasing the anxieties that surround me so I can focus on the job offer in London. I want to go. Getting away from the chaos that’s been surrounding us would be good for me. I’m sick of the paparazzi, the fans, Kiera, whoever is spying on us…
Drew, however, is probably going to lose his shit when I tell him. But I figure that he only has about 3 or 4 more weeks of filming here in Canada and then he can join me. I can even take Evan with me for protection to make Drew happy. The best part is that Leah is in London for the next month or so and the thought of spending time away from the crap with my best friend has pretty much sealed the deal for me.
Grinning and feeling positive for the first time in two months, I head back toward the hotel.
Chapter 12
I turn the final corner, walking to cool down after my six mile run. The amazing high I had been feeling is erased when I see two police cars parked in front of my hotel. An icy tingle starts up my spine, giving me goose bumps all over even though I’m sweaty and panting.
Pulling my hat down and hood up, I duck my head and scurry across the lobby to the elevators. The sickening feeling grows exponentially the closer I get to the suite. When the doors open on my floor and I step out, my suspicions are confirmed.
Two officers are chatting outside the door to my room, Sal standing next to them, listening to every word. I catch snippets as I drift toward them.
“She was here this morning.”
“No one saw her leave.”
“She never called to say she was leaving.”