Chapter Four
Richard would like to say he enjoyed his first-class flight – the champagne was nice and so were the staff, not to mention the cooked breakfast – but it was really far too early for champagne in his book, he sort of wished the staff would act like how they felt; instead of smiling the whole time, and the breakfast with a good chance of reappearing when a bumpy landing had his stomach doing somersaults. He never really liked flying.
But he tries to pull himself together all the same, avoiding the tired eyes of his reflection in the bathroom mirror – they’d only damage his confidence. At least Emma, his PA, is having the time of her life; she’s already eaten more packets of peanuts than he’d care to count and wolfed down the rest of his eggs when his stomach told him he’d had enough. He stopped her after the second glass of bubbly, though, hopefully preventing any embarrassment in front of their driver. Richard can do that part all by himself.
He hopes they look vaguely professional as they stagger through security, even if the guard stares at him for far longer than Richard is really comfortable with; he just flashes a smile and tries to look composed, hoping no-one saw the way he tripped over his feet on his way out.
Emma trots behind him as they fish their bags off the conveyor belt and head towards the exit, nattering about something or other and furiously texting at the same time. He doesn’t know how she does that – he can barely walk and talk simultaneously.
She manages to spot their driver first, though, taking Richard by the elbow and steering him towards a stern-looking woman holding a tablet with his name on it. She smiles as soon as she sees them both, but Richard notes that it doesn’t reach her eyes. He surges forward and holds out a hand in an attempt to look less like an ass, and she shakes it firmly. The recognition only strikes him when she looks him straight in the eye and says, “Lauren Tate. Pleasure to meet you.”
He knows her. Or at least, he knew her. She was his first girlfriend, the first girl he’d ever really liked and hadn’t been terrified of. He sure is terrified of her now, though.
She knows he knows her. Her eyes are waiting for it, for him to ask how she’s been or pull her into a hug or something. But while Richard’s always been good at reading people, he’s never really been good at knowing what to do with the information, so he flounders in front of her for a few awkward moments before stuttering, “Richard Shepherd. Obviously, because it’s on the – anyway. Nice to meet you.”
The smile she gives him is one hundred percent false, but he sees the little flash of annoyance across her face all the same, and it makes him hate himself a little. She’s not changed too much since college – her hair doesn’t seem so permanently scruffy, and her figure has filled out a little. Her brown eyes are just the same, though, stubborn and hardly blinking as they hover a step away from a glare. Fuck, she’s pretty. Richard tries not to stare.
“Are you ready to head out, sir?” she asks, politeness barely masking the sarcasm.
“Uh, yes, thank you,” he nods like he has any kind of authority, following behind her like a scorned child. I can’t say I know her, he tells himself, Emma might start asking awkward questions. And it’s not like they just knew each other; this girl has seen him naked, too. Emma would have a damn field day.
“Did you have a pleasant flight?” she asks as they step out into the chilly spring air.
“Yes, uh, great, thanks,” he lies, his stomach churning in disagreement. He should have cleaned his teeth before he left this morning; they’ve got that furry feel to them, and he really hopes his breath doesn’t smell of egg. He wishes he was the type of person to carry mints.
“It was amazing!” Emma pipes up, “first class and everything, they gave us champagne!”
“How nice,” Lauren says, but it sounds a little like she means it when she throws Emma a more genuine smile than Richard had managed to get out of her. “There’s more in the car, if you’d like.”
Emma beams, Richard winces. What he’d really like right now is a nice cup of chamomile tea and a nap. What he’s probably going to get is an awkward car journey and a tedious business meeting, and if he’s extra good, maybe even a call from his mother wanting a blow-by-blow account of the simple act of signing some pieces of paper and shaking a few slimy hands. They’re always so slimy.
His own are a little slime-covered as his ex-girlfriend opens the car door for him and flashes him a robotic smile that says she’d break him if she had the chance. He wonders how much she’s being paid for this and hopes it’s enough. It’s never enough with Kingswood, though, they’d haggle for a discount at a dollar store if they could. He tries to decide whether or not to leave a tip; would that be too patronizing? Her cold stare says yes, yes it would in the rear-view mirror. He’ll just keep his wallet as firmly shut as his mouth, then.
This is evidently one of the first good decisions he’s made today, because Emma and Lauren seem to get on like a house on fire. Emma raves about the Jaguar as Lauren explains the technical aspects in terminology that goes completely over Richard’s head. He almost interrupts when Emma starts to ramble about the various helicopters they’ve been carted around in, but Lauren doesn’t seem too fazed, nodding along and laughing in all the right places at Emma’s silly jokes.
In short, he feels utterly left out, and a little idiotic when he tries to laugh along with whatever they’re saying and Emma throws him a strange look. He decides to busy himself by checking out the mini-fridge, which turns out to be a little sparse. There’s bottled water, though, so he pretends to take an interest in unscrewing the lid so it doesn’t look like he’s simply staring into space. Not that either of them care, anyway; he could wear the bottle as a hat and do a dance and they probably wouldn’t notice.
It seems like a lot longer than the Satnav’s half an hour before they reach the hotel. Richard hides a grimace when Emma exclaims “Are we here already? That was quick!” and scrambles out of the car before Lauren can open the door for him. He doesn’t really want another dirty look.
The hotel is – well, amazing, to say the least. It towers above them, sunlight slanting across it and gleaming from the perfect rows of windows studding the building. It’s not as good as the one in Dubai, or the one in New York, or the one in LA, but it’s impressive enough, and the porter rushes to greet them, hauling their bags out of the trunk and giving them a nervous smile.
Richard stands awkwardly in the immaculately manicured driveway as Emma and Lauren say their goodbyes; they smile like old friends and shake hands with the promise of next time, which comes as a surprise to Richard. He wasn’t expecting to have to go through this again.
He waves half-heartedly at Lauren as Emma starts to walk away, heart fully set upon crashing out in his hotel room until someone wants him to sign something, but he changes his mind at the last second and wheels round towards the car. He can’t have someone hating him, he doesn’t want this to be her lasting memory of him.
“Lauren! Lauren – uh, Ms. Tate!” he calls, jacket flapping in the breeze as he jogs towards the car that she’s about to step into.
“Mr. Shepherd?” she says, the mask sliding flawlessly across her face, “Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” he breathes, wishing he hadn’t exerted quite so much energy, “I just – uh, I’m sorry. For – for not, like, saying something. I didn’t know if it’d be – I just, I do remember you, I didn’t know how to say it, I’m sorry.”
She takes a moment to process his tangled words, and it’s moment enough for Richard to begin to panic slightly; then her face breaks into a small smile, and he can finally breathe again.
“You know what? That’s okay. It would’ve been – unprofessional, maybe, I get that. But thanks for apologizing.” She doesn’t look entirely convinced by her own words, but Richard will take them over a glare any day.
“It’s just that Emma would’ve – you know, and I didn’t want her to –”
“It’s okay, I get it,” she nods, “you’re a big shot now, you don’t wanna associate with the little people, that’s alright.” Her tone is light enough, but the words are still meant to guilt and the ball of shame in Richard’s chest coils a little tighter.
“Look, uh – can – can I buy you lunch?” he stammers, shuffling closer to her. “Like, just as a – a sorry? And a thank you for putting up with Emma?”
“Hey, she’s the only reason I’m not referring you to one of my colleagues for the rest of your stay, be grateful for her,” Lauren almost snaps, but Richard detects an edge of humor in her voice and thinks perhaps she might not hate him as much anymore. “Oh, and give her a raise,” she adds, nodding at him.
He hazards a laugh and she smirks, pushing a stray length of hair behind her ear. “So – lunch? Or not,” he adds, not wanting to piss her off any more than he already has today.
“This time, I think not,” she frowns, “but thanks anyway. I guess I’ll see you – well, whenever you next need me.”
“Okay, fair enough,” he nods “Yeah, I’ll see you – whenever. Have a good day,” he finishes rather awkwardly, beginning to back away from her.
“You too, Mr. Shepherd,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with good-natured sarcasm, and he decides she doesn’t hate him anymore. He also decides that she’s as likable as she used to be. He only hopes the same is true of himself.
He gives her a final smile and then heads back towards the hotel, where Emma has surely located the bar and will be in need of rescue. He’s already trying to think of excuses to need a chauffeur.