Sure Thing(66)

If they switched, everything she said to me was true. I recall asking her about the driver, if they were involved. The look of genuine surprise on her face followed by the denial. I recall her pointing at herself and saying no, she was not involved with him.

Her sister was though, wasn’t she? That’s it. It all falls into place. She didn’t tell George about the switch either. No wonder the guy looked confused every time they were in the same room.

I really am a special kind of arsehole.

“Where is she? Violet?” I ask Canon after telling Rhys to sod off. “Do you have an address for her?”

More typing.

“No,” he finally says. “One second. I’ll figure it out. If people realized how easy this was to do they’d shit themselves.” He says it gleefully, like it gets him off a little to cyber-stalk people. I make a note to be less of a dick to him in future.

I stand and pace while Canon searches. She can’t be that hard to find, I reassure myself. I know where her sister is—if nothing else, I can camp out on her doorstep and demand she tells me where Violet is.

“Does she have your address?” Canon asks, his forehead wrinkled as he stares at something on the screen.

“No, I don’t think so. I mentioned what street I live on, but nothing specific. Why?”

“She’s in London.”

Bloody hell.

I’m in the wrong place.

But I don’t think she’s in London for me.

“There was a job opening in the design group I mentioned to her. See if she applied.”

“On it.” Canon types as I pace. “She did. An offer to interview was extended and accepted. It’s scheduled for tomorrow at ten.”

Tomorrow at ten. Before I’m done doing the math Canon is already on it. “There’s a direct flight leaving in two hours and twenty minutes. It’ll get you into Heathrow at ten fifteen tomorrow morning. If there’s no delay you can catch her before her interview is over.”

“That should go over well,” Rhys comments. “Since she still doesn’t know who you are.”

“Tiny insignificant issue,” I tell him.

Rhys and Canon exchange a look.

“Okay. I’ll book your seat while you take a shower,” Canon announces. “Rhys, get the car from the garage. We’ll meet you downstairs.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


Violet

 London is glorious. Magical. It’s everything I ever imagined and though I’ve been here only a handful of hours, I already feel at home. There’s an instant connection between me and this city, no less than the kind of instant connection you get with some people. Like I had with Jennings.

No. I’m not going to let thinking about him ruin this. I’m not. I’ve only got one afternoon to explore. My interview is tomorrow at ten. I’ve no idea how long it will last, but surely they didn’t fly me across the ocean for a forty-five-minute meeting.

Daisy convinced me I’d be crazy to pass up this interview and she’s right. I still hate it when she’s right, but I’m starting to appreciate that sometimes in life throwing caution to the wind is the best choice.

I’ve got today. No matter what happens, I’ve got today in London. I’m going to enjoy every minute. I’ll take the Tube, I decide. Like a real Londoner. The St. James’ Park station is just across from my hotel. I’ve already walked to Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. I’ve stopped for a coffee at Costa, just next to my hotel. And I’ve thought about how Mayfair is likely only a Tube ride away. That’s where Jennings said he lived, wasn’t it? Mayfair. I only remember such a random detail because my birthday is in May.

I stand in front of my hotel and toe the sidewalk with my sneaker while I debate. Then I check both ways—twice, because the direction cars drive in here is confusing—and cross the street. I get an Oyster card and I figure out the Tube map just like a real Londoner. It’s only one stop to Green Park, which is on the edge of Mayfair, according to my map. I’ll just walk around a bit, no harm in that. Assuming Green Park is an actual park and not a garden for a castle, I’m sure it’s open to anyone to wander about.

That’s my story anyway. If I’m randomly questioned about why I’m walking around Mayfair. Which is unlikely, but it’s always good to have a plan when you’re lying.

I exit the Tube station at Green Park and jog up the steps to the street, a smile already on my face. When I get to the top I have to refrain from spinning around in a circle like some weirdo reenacting a scene from The Sound of Music.

The park is straight ahead. The street is brimming with red double-decker buses and those oddly-shaped black cabs they use here. All the cars have long skinny license plates, and how is this all so charming? How is it possible for a city to give me butterflies?