Absolutely Famous(83)

“Cheers!”

“To Vertigo!”

I sip my champagne, waiting for Oliver to head my way. It doesn’t take long. He ends his conversation with the contracting foreman and walks over to where I’m standing by the bar.

“We did brilliant,” he says as he approaches, a giant smile on his handsome face.

“Yes, yes we did,” I reply, holding up my glass. He gently clinks his glass to mine and we sip our champagne.

Oliver’s animosity towards Drew disappeared when the news came out about the studio collaborating with Kiera Radcliff to tape our conversations and break us up. He actually apologized for his behavior and realized that he shouldn’t have believed what he read about us.

Not wanting work to be as awkward as it had been, I forgave him and pushed to move past the strained atmosphere that had been surrounding us whenever we had to work side-by-side.

“I’m sad to be leaving London though. It’s so beautiful here. And despite what may have happened, I still have a lot more anonymity here than I have back home,” I tell Oliver.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for the opening night party, Sydney? It would be a shame for you to miss it after all of the hard work you put into the club.”

I twist my lips into a pout. “I didn’t have such a great time at the launch party in New York.” I recall the disastrous night almost four months ago and shudder. “I think that nightclub parties are not really my scene. Plus, I have to be in Boston in five days to go to a charity fundraiser.”

“Nightclub parties aren’t your scene?” Oliver says laughing. “Then why have all the red-tops been spotting you and your friends at every hot club in the city over the last two months?”

“Oliver, I didn’t think you were reading those gossip rags anymore.”

He actually blushes when I bust him. “Well, right, you got me, though I don’t read the tabloids. Only the section of the newspaper on London life. They profile the local hotspots. I may have noticed your name a time or two… or five.”

“Well, what can I say? Maybe I am a party girl after all.” I laugh and finish my champagne. Placing my glass on the bar, I turn back to Oliver. “I have to go finish packing, you be good now.”

“Right, not a problem then since I’m always good.” His steel gray eyes dance with humor and he leans in, giving me a hug.

I return the brief hug, then step back and smile. “Bye Oliver.”

“Bye Sydney.”

I say goodbye to Violet and the other workers, giving out a few hugs and cheek kisses, then meet Evan at the stairway and head back to the room.

“Done?” Drew asks as I come into the kitchen.

“Yes, finally.” I walk over to Drew and let him wrap his arms around me. “I’m ready to go home. Eight weeks in London after a month in Vancouver … I miss my bed.”

“My bed is wherever you are,” Drew says sweetly, kissing me gently and threading his hands up into my hair. “We can’t go home yet, we still have to see my old home first.”

“I can’t wait, babe. Are you excited to go back to Boston?”

“More than you know, Syd. More than you know.”

After a quick snack I throw the rest of my stuff into my suitcase and snap it shut. I already mailed two huge boxes home. Richard or one of the concierges will put it in my loft for me so it will be there when I get back.

Drew comes into the bedroom and grabs the handle of my suitcase, tugging it off of the bed. “What the heck did you pack? Rocks?” His grin gives me a perfect view of his gorgeous dimple.

“Yes Drew, rocks. British rocks. Lots of them. I hope that’s okay with you? Should you be lifting that with your hand? You’ve only been out of the splint for two weeks.”

“It’s fine Syd, feels great.” He brings the suitcase over to the foyer while I walk to the living area. The tabloids were brutal when they saw that Drew broke his hand, calling him the “Hollywood Heavyweight”.

So stupid.

His mom called and gave him hell for punching a wall, telling him he should be able to express himself in a more mature fashion. Not likely.

I stand in front of the floor to ceiling windows and look out at the Thames River, winding through the heart of London and right past the Warren Hotel. The murky water reminds me of the Hudson back home, snaking past the piers and out to the Atlantic. Neither river the most beautiful in the world, but both flowing past two of the greatest cities ever built.

“You okay?” Drew asks from behind me.

I turn to face my future. “Yes, let’s get out of here.”

The Delta VIP lounge at Heathrow Airport is bright and open, everything you don’t want when you’re traveling with an internationally known movie star and three giant bodyguards covered in neck and arm tattoos. Drew and I grab a couch by the windows and I try to ignore Steve and Sal, who sit in a couch directly opposite us, and Evan, who sits on the couch behind us with his back to ours.