Rain on a Tin Roof – Preview Chapters

Chapter 1

“I have something I need to tell you,” Charlotte says, between small bites of her turkey sandwich. She seems apprehensive, so it must be something juicy. I take a sip of coffee and wait for her to share her news with me while I decide if my coffee needs more cream. What she says next sends me into a state of shock.

“I’m a kept woman.”

At first I think she’s joking, but she’s dead serious. As my eyes dart up to meet Charlotte’s eyes, my mind becomes fogged over by the concept. My brows pinch in a confused expression before I unceremoniously blurt out, “What on earth ever possessed you to agree to be a kept woman? Is it the money?”

I regret the words only after I realize I’ve spoken them aloud. Charlotte steals a sideways look at me from her position beside me in the café booth, and I know what that look says without her moving her lips to vocalize it: fuck you.

I’m shocked again, but not by the look she just stabbed me with. I may as well have just called my best friend a high-priced whore.

Lunch is over and so, perhaps, is our long-standing friendship. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was I thinking?

We part ways without another word or exchange of expressions. She’s going to need some time to forgive me for this one, and I’m going to need the same to wrap my narrow mind around Charlotte’s situation with Mr. Moneybags.

Fuck.

I race back to my office and ditch my purse behind my chair. Charlotte and I have been friends and confidants for close to eighteen years, but this is the first time she’s been so pissed at me that she was speechless. Flowers. I need to send her a bouquet of flowers and an apology card. Now.

I peer over my cubicle and quickly dial the number to the local florist my boss uses. If I’m lucky, the flowers will arrive at her office before the end of business today. Perhaps she can consider forgiving me faster if she’s got her favourite blooms from me on her desk. Now all I can do is wait for one of her smart-mouthed texts to tell me I’m not as big of an asshole as I know I am.

Two full weeks go by after my ridiculous comment to Charlotte and still no message or phone call from her. I text her yet again to remind her my mouth and my brain don’t always know what the other is doing. I can’t apologize enough for my outburst, and she knows this. I’ve done it to her many times, but never as scorchingly as this. It must be because I’ve hit a nerve I didn’t know she had. I thought I knew all her nerves. I’ve plucked each one of them over the years, but this time it wasn’t in jest. I’m angry with her, I realize. She’s better than this. A kept woman? I’d have never imagined her doing such a thing.

We had plans. We were going to find the hearts and flowers guys, buy houses, have kids, yadda, yadda. Suddenly Ethan comes to mind, and I can’t push the thought of him back to where it came from. Fuck I miss him. He was my hearts and flowers guy. I messed that up too. It seems the only person who has the balls to stick with me is Charlotte, and now I’m worried she’s bought me a one-way ticket to Siberia as well. Without warning, my office space has become incredibly cold.

Just as I stand to head to the lunchroom I overhear – OK, the entire office overhears – B3 getting an earful from upstairs about one of the contracts. I stand still and observe with caution as Katie in the cubicle next to me also pops up to her feet. We’re like a pair of meerkats checking for danger outside our den. “B3 doesn’t look pleased,” I murmur loud enough for Katie to hear.

“Who’s B3?” she says, offering me the kind of blank stare only a nineteen-year-old office intern can pull off.

“Robert Linden, or Bob, is the third boss I’ve had in this division named Robert, therefore B3,” I breathe into her ear. She gives me another look of confusion before her brain starts to function again and I see she’s figured it out. I blink hard at her because I don’t ever remember being quite so vacant at her age, but I probably was. “Watch and learn, Katie,” I whisper.

I head into the lunchroom and make B3’s favourite coffee, which is a double-double with a splash of Bailey’s mint cream I keep hidden in a nondescript bottle in the back of the fridge for these kinds of emergencies. Swiftly I mix it up and walk as confidently as possible to his office door and knock twice.

“Yes!” he barks.

“Robert, I made you a coffee. I’m heading out for lunch now. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?” My voice is soft and pleasant. Not my usual voice – the one I use outside of the office, which is crass and unapologetic – the real me.

“Is it a double-double?” he asks, eyeing me up slowly from my hips to my chest.

“Yes, with a splash.” I wink at him as he gestures to take the coffee from my hand. He takes a sip and softens his posture.

“When did you discover I like mint?” he asks with a bit of furrow in his brow.

“You always have mint chocolates on your desk, so it was an educated assumption on my part.”

“When was the last time I gave you a raise?” he utters as he blows gently on the steaming cup and unfurrows his brow.

“Two weeks ago, Robert. And again, thank you.”

“You know you deserve more than what the scale is for your position,” he points out, gesturing with his thumb in an up-and-down motion.

“Yes, but I like my job and so I’m willing to take a lower rate to keep it,” I nod regretfully and set a soft smile on my face. I’m being honest. I don’t love my job, but I like the people, and so far, B3 has been my best boss.

“I’m going to look into it. You’ve been here nine years, and I think you are more valuable than they give you credit for,” he adds quietly.

“I appreciate it, Robert. Anyway, I’m off for lunch. See you at one o’clock.” I turn on my heels and saunter out of B3’s office then wink at Katie. She’s staring at me again with a blank look on her face as I retrieve my purse from behind my cubicle chair.

“He looks so calm now. What did you do?” she asks, looking puzzled.

“I take the time to figure out things about my bosses that make them happy. Robert likes his coffee hot, sweet and milky. Instead of waiting for him to ask someone for one, I took the initiative to bring it to him.”

“But it isn’t your job to bring him coffee,” she says, attempting to reprimand me.

“No Katie, it isn’t. But that’s exactly why I did it.” I offer her a cheesy grin. I’m certain Katie isn’t getting the concept of reciprocal back-scratching, but then with looks like hers I’m sure she won’t need to resort to that tactic in her lifetime.

Lunch is uneventful. I eat the same ham sandwich I’ve ordered for the last three days at the café where I insinuated Charlotte was a whore, in the hopes she’ll waltz in and I can talk to her face to face. She hasn’t come in for lunch since I insulted her. I’ve gotten past being pissed at her, and now I’m really worried she’s never going to speak to me again.

That’s it! I madly scream internally at myself. I pull out my phone and call her cell. I get her voicemail, which doesn’t surprise me, and leave her the following words: “This is ridiculous, Charlotte. You have to forgive me. You know I had no intention of insulting you. I miss you, and if you don’t return my call, I’m going to hold a vigil outside of your apartment until you speak to me again. Got it?”

I’ve snapped now. I have to get my best friend back if it kills me.

Just as I’m getting up from my table to head back to the office, my phone pings with a text message.

“You’ll be wasting your time standing outside my apartment. I’ve moved into a house on Derbyshire Drive, courtesy of Mr. Moneybags. If you want forgiveness, you’ll have to bring wine and another dozen pink roses to 8532 Derbyshire tonight – 6:00 sharp.”

And just like that my tensions over the possibility of losing Charlotte forever are released. I stop into the florist shop, pick out the prettiest collection of thirteen pink roses and cart them gleefully back to my office. Twelve roses for forgiveness and one for my next failure to keep my insults to myself. I’ll grab the wine on my way home. Once I reach my desk, I type her address into Google Maps. I see Mr. Moneybags has gone all out to accommodate his concubine. Geez, I have to get that word out of my mind before it unfurls from my tongue at Charlotte when we talk tonight.

The contract B3 was working on that’s been giving him so much grief is on top of my keyboard at my desk, and I’m guessing it has some more revisions for me to type out. I plod away at the contract, making sure to triple-check my work so I don’t get B3 into another situation with upper management on the second floor. I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m done. I print it up, stuff it into a new navy-blue file folder and place it on B3’s desk. He’s not in his office, which is good because I’m sure he’d give me the once-over again from my hips to my tits. Not sure what he finds so interesting in that particular region of my body, but as far as I know I’m the only one he does this to. I should wear bulkier clothes, so he’s not distracted by my abdomen. His stare makes me nervous, and I have no intention of being the boss’s touchy-feely pet. Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

Ten minutes later I receive a call from B3 to come into his office. He’s pleased with the revisions and offers for me to take a seat in front of his desk.

“Thanks, Robert, but I sit all day so if this is a brief conversation I’d rather stand.”

“No, sit.” He gestures to the chair as he commands me to oblige.

“Sure,” I frown. I’m not a fan of being told when to sit or stand. This had better be a lengthy conversation, or I’m going to be pissed.

“I have to fly out to Phoenix next weekend for a conference. My wife’s sister is coming into town that week from New York, so she doesn’t want to attend the conference with me. Would you be interested in being my companion for the weekend? All expenses paid by the company. You’ll have your own hotel room. Your only obligation will be to attend the dinner on Saturday night. Other than that, you’re welcome to go shopping or dining or sightseeing as you please.”

I’m confused. Why me? Why does he have to take anyone? Can’t he go it alone? I want to answer no, but I’m now wondering if this is what it’s going to take for me to receive another little bump in salary. Am I that low I’d do this for a raise? Yes. As a matter of fact, I am. If B3 can find pleasure in scanning my midsection at every opportunity, then I can find pleasure in a free weekend in Phoenix. “Yes,” I blurt out.

“Fine,” he says. “Thank you. We board the plane at seven o’clock next Saturday morning. The flight’s only two and a half hours long, so we’ll be landing in Phoenix at eight-thirty Mountain Time. Do you need me to pick you up at your place or would you rather I meet you at SeaTac Airport?”

“I’ll meet you there,” I confirm.

“Perfect. That’s all, Virginia.”

As I head back to my desk, I can tell I’m sporting a pinched brow. A few of the other staff notice my expression and react noticeably. I always try to keep my feelings in check while at work.

My day is almost over, and now I have to get my act together, buy a bottle of expensive wine, and grovel for forgiveness to the only person who really understands me.

Chapter 2

Charlotte’s new digs are pretty damned fancy. Marble everywhere, and an unobstructed view of the ocean. I know Charlotte is very accommodating in the sack, so this guy must have the kind of itch only she can scratch. “Are you happy?” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

“Yes. Does it bother you?” Charlotte asks quietly.

“No! God no. I’m happy if you’re happy!” I say passionately. And I mean it. I’ve come to realize no matter what I think of the prospect of my best friend being a kept woman, it’s none of my business as long as she’s happy. “Do you like the roses? I picked out thirteen of them, knowing full well I’m going to pluck another one of your nerves at some point soon. A pre-emptive forgive-me bloom,” I smile.

“Always thinking ahead, are we?” she chuckles at me.

“I’m your favourite asshole, so hug me and forget I said anything demeaning, please?”

“You are forgiven. I didn’t plan on becoming somebody’s concubine, but here I am. Full glory. Kept like a bird in a gilded cage,” she sighs. “And in all honesty, I didn’t contact you after our lunch because I was mad at myself more than I was mad at you. I hated not telling you all this, and when I finally did, I knew you’d be shocked.”

“You aren’t selling it as hard as you should,” I mumble as I glance up at her from my seat at the marble kitchen island. And thank Christ she said the word concubine before I did. Funny word, concubine. It sounds like porcupine, so all I see is spikes and pain, which doesn’t sit well in my brain. “So, show me around your gilded cage, Charlotte,” I urge.

“Sure. Follow me,” she agrees, suddenly excited.

Not only has he given her this fantastic house all to herself, but it has a huge pool in the back yard and a steam room in the basement. Her walk-in closet is nearly as big as my apartment and filled to the rafters with clothes, shoes, hats, scarves, lingerie and jewelry. My mouth gapes open uncontrollably.

“My reaction exactly,” she nods wide-eyed. “I still can’t believe he bought all of this, but I really think he cares deeply for me. I’m not going to say he loves me because I’m not sure he’s there yet, but …” Her voice trails off.

“Do you want him to love you?” I ask in all sincerity.

“Yes,” she replies, not looking me in the eye. Instead, she’s gently touching some of the lingerie hanging by the door. It’s beautiful stuff. Pale pink – silk, likely – with Chantilly lace edges and a plunging neckline. I’m sure she looks like a million dollars in it, as she has the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen on a woman. And they are real, which I’m sure pleases the fuck out of Mr. Moneybags.

“Do you have a picture of Moneybags?” I ask curiously.

“No. He doesn’t like to have his picture taken, and certainly doesn’t want one taken with me, for obvious reasons.”

“So, he’s married?”

“No. He’s not. At least that’s what he tells me,” she smiles.

“What’s his real name? Should we do some research on him?”

“I trust him.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t trust him, Charlotte. I’m saying the more you know about this man, the better. It’s for your own safety. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to be put into this kind of situation and I worry you’re walking in blindly,” I say cautiously.

“I’ve actually known him for quite a while,” she admits. “I met him about five years ago at Jaxson’s place when his parents were having an anniversary party. He was married at the time, but he assures me he’s divorced now.”

“When did this start?” I ask while I drag my pointer finger around in the air randomly.

“At the anniversary party he and I had a nice conversation, and I knew he’d taken a liking to me but of course his wife was there, so I chalked it up to simple flirting. A few years later I bumped into him while shopping downtown, and he offered to take me to lunch. He’s kind, and I could see it in his eyes.” Charlotte paused and looked at me like she knew back then something was going to happen between them either way.

“So,” she sighs. “So, we exchanged phone numbers, and he said he was interested in helping me find the perfect job. He has tons of business connections, and I thought it would be fine for him to keep my number. Within six months I got a text message from him asking if I was interested in going out for lunch with him again. I accepted; under the guise he had a job offer for me.”

“What was the job offer?” I ask, duly interested.

“To be his eye candy at various functions he needed to attend. He said there were no strings attached. I could walk away at any time. He said he’d offer me a salary from his company – I’d be one of his employees with full benefits – but I’d never have to show up at the office. I was shocked at first, but then I realized I didn’t have to quit my real job to do what he was asking of me. Are you still with me here, Virginia?”

“Yes. Go on.” Charlotte waved her hand for me to come, and I followed her back down to the kitchen.

“Do you want some wine?”

“Yes, please,” I smile, but my face is still showing her I’m concerned. She pours me a full glass of white wine in the most exquisite crystal wine glass I’ve ever held as she continues her story.

“Obviously I agreed to his offer. That was two years ago,” she adds casually.

“What? You’ve been doing this for two years, and this is the first I hear of it, Charlotte?” Now I’m pissed off. How could she not have told me this for so long?

“Virginia! This is a very private matter, and I agreed to keep my position with him as discreet as possible. It’s been so hard to not tell you any of this for so long, but now that he’s broken down and bought this house for me, I thought he was more open to being public about us.”

“Is this house in your name or his?” I’m dying to know just how open Moneybags is willing to be.

“My name. I own this house outright.”

“Okay, well that is quite something.” I’m coming around to thinking perhaps this guy is willing to put his money where his concubine is. “Whatever happened to hearts and flowers and kids?”

“He told me if I wanted children, he’d be willing to discuss it with me.”

“How old is this dude?”

“Mr. Moneybags, AKA ‘Dude’ is forty-five,” she says, laughing at my crassness.

“Okay, so not ancient,” I nod, slightly shocked he’s not in his mid-seventies. “And does Mr. Moneybags have a real name, or is that a secret too?”

“Norman Gladwell,” she says with a glint in her eye and a smile as she sips her wine.

I try for a minute to register the name in my head, and then it hits me like a brick wall. He’s a major shareholder in the company I work for. “Holy fuck!” I blurt out, swallowing my last sip of wine hard. “What’s the connection to Jaxson’s family?”

“He’s Jaxson’s uncle on his mom’s side. Her youngest brother.”

“Does Jaxson know you’ve hooked up with his uncle?”

“No. I don’t think so. Nobody knows we’re seeing each other officially.”

“So, why the secrecy? He’s an adult, you’re an adult. What is he hiding?” I’m calling her out now as a good best friend would do.

“I don’t know, Virginia. Honestly. I’ve asked him why he won’t go public with us as a couple, but he avoids the question at every turn. I’m in love with him, no question about it. I think deep down he loves me, or he wouldn’t have bought me a two-million-dollar house and a brand-new SUV.”

“Of course! No point having a nice house if you have a shitty car,” I tease. “How often does he come to visit you?”

“He’s with me most nights. This weekend he’s in a golf tournament with some business partners. Then he’s going down to Phoenix for a meeting with a company he wants to buy and won’t be back until the following Sunday. He wanted me to get settled in here on my own while he’s away and then he’ll settle in when he returns.” Charlotte looked out towards the back yard and sighed heavily as the sun set behind the islands in the distance.

I have a mind to tell her I’m going to be in Phoenix at the same time as Moneybags, but I don’t know how well that information would sit with Charlotte at the moment. “Are you really okay? I’m worried about you. You seem fine on the surface, but I know you better than that. Something is bothering you, Char,” I prod. “Spit it out already.”

“To be honest Virginia, I don’t know what’s bothering me. Everything is perfect, you know? What more could a girl ask for? I have all the luxuries I could want and a man who clearly cares so much for me, but I don’t feel complete.” Charlotte places her glass down on the island’s marble countertop and pours herself a second glass of wine. She holds the bottle up and gestures with her chin if I want more wine, and I nod silently. I’ve never seen her like this. She is genuinely torn by something, and I wish to God I could help her figure it out.

“Do you want to spend the night here with me?”

“Yes, sure. Is there a room in your gilded cage for me already made up?”

“Would you mind sleeping with me in my bed? I’m feeling kind of lonely. This house is so bloody big, and I just don’t know what to do with myself in here yet. I need someone to be beside me tonight. Can you do that?” she asks softly, like she’s going to choke on her request – maybe even cry.

I walk myself around the massive island and reach to hug her. Whatever’s bugging her is significant, and I can only offer her my support until she somehow figures out what it is. We spend the rest of the night dancing in her family room to our favourite songs and polishing off two more bottles of wine before passing out in her bed at two AM.

Chapter 3

Come Monday morning I’m on a mission to find Mr. Moneybags in the company shareholder information. I’m hoping there’s a picture of him in one of the documents, and it doesn’t take me long to find one. Norman Gladwell has a forty-percent share of Draftmore & Perkins Holdings Inc.

My first thought is that Charlotte could have done way worse. Mr. Moneybags is quite handsome and has an air about him that says he’s proudly accomplished. How he makes his money is another question, but I’m unlikely to find that one out without prodding Charlotte. Or, I could ask B3 on our trip to Phoenix next weekend if he knows anything about Gladwell by way of general conversation about the shareholders in the company – so it sounds like I give a shit about that.

The rest of my week plods on like it usually does. Draftmore & Perkins runs like a well-oiled sewing machine and chaos is kept to a minimum. I review and draft eight new contracts for B3 in that time, and he seems pleased with my efficiency. He hasn’t said much about the upcoming weekend, other than to tell me that it’s sweltering hot in Arizona this time of year. No shit Sherlock. On late Friday afternoon, he reminds me I’m to be at Sea-Tac airport at six o’clock sharp to be sure we don’t miss our seven AM flight, and hands me my ticket and copy of his itinerary for the conference.

B3 is happy to see me arrive at Sea-Tac on time. Once we’ve been ushered through airport security, we sit beside each other in the boarding lounge. I pull out my magazine while he pulls out The New York Times. We quietly sit reading while others scurry around us amid garbled announcements from the airport staff. He’s decided to try the crossword puzzle, and I can hear him clicking his pen open and shut as he thinks.

“Boss’s nickname, two letters,” he says, and his brow pinches as he continues to stare at the puzzle grid. “Ah, yes. B3!” he announces, like he’s had an aha moment.

I chuckle, as I’m a little shocked and embarrassed he knows my secret. I can’t help but show him a little of my real personality. “Yes, I secretly bumped off B1 and B2 in their sleep. You, I actually like, so I think you’re safe…for now.” I follow up with a cheesy grin. B3 breaks out into a fit of laughter, making a few people tip their heads up from their own little worlds.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he muses.

Then, upon boarding the plane, the irony is not lost on either of us when he realizes his seat is in row 3 seat B – the strangest of coincidences. He points at it, and we both laugh heartily. This may not be too bad of a weekend after all.

The flight to Phoenix is pleasant. I’m listening to an audiobook on my iPhone while I watch the world below us with awe from my window seat at thirty-thousand feet. I don’t get the chance to fly very often, and I’m always so amazed at how cool the view is. I also realize B3 is a pretty smart cookie, as he’s managed to solve the NY Times crossword without much difficulty. Not my scene, but I’m impressed, nonetheless.

As my ears start to ache from my earbuds, I decide to stop my audiobook and talk to B3 about the shareholders. My feigned interest goes over well with him, and he happily chats about the three men who hold a financial interest in the company. When he starts to talk about Norman Gladwell my interest piques, but I hope B3 doesn’t recognize it in my face. It turns out Mr. Moneybags is a tech master, and the bulk of his fortune has been amassed in this sector. His interest in Draftmore & Perkins comes from having been roommates in college with Mr. Colin Draftmore. I’d like to know how B3 knows this, but I don’t press him on it. This all makes perfect sense now, considering our company isn’t in the tech business. B3 doesn’t have much else to say about Gladwell, so I let my inquisition rest.

The plane lands with a heavy bump, and the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom. “Sorry folks. It’s my first time landing an aircraft.” The passengers laugh gingerly and immediately start unclipping their seatbelts, anxious to disembark.

B3 has rented a basic sedan, and we head out towards our Howard Johnson hotel without issue. He’s not a talkative man, and I’m at a loss for ideas about what to discuss with him, since I know so little about his personal life. I let us remain in relative silence for the drive there.

We arrive at our rooms and discover it’s a tandem – the kind where there is a pass-through door between the suites. I feel a little anxious about it but surmise the hotel is booked solid and there isn’t anything I could do about regardless. B3 taps on the pass-through door and asks if I want to open it. “Um, sure.” I unlock it, and he looks at me with a shy smile.

“Not what I expected,” he says quietly.

“Nope. Me neither,” I quip sharply, then suddenly realize I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.

“It locks from both sides, so I think it will be fine,” he adds nervously. I don’t know why he feels nervous, unless he thinks I think he did this on purpose.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Robert,” I assure him. He smiles, and the tension is lifted between us.

“Can I take you to lunch, in say three hours, Virginia?” He checks his watch as if he doesn’t have any clue of the time.

“Sure. Just knock three times on this door, and I’ll know you’re ready to go,” I smile brightly.

Now that the uncomfortable door issue is resolved, I wave and close the door, flipping the lock. I hear the lock flip from the other side as well. As I’m pulling out my cosmetic bag and clothes from my suitcase, I hear B3 talking on the phone. At first, it’s kind of mumbled, but then he raises his voice; he’s clearly standing directly in front of the pass-through door. “Shirley, she’s my assistant. You decided not to come at the last minute, and the company had already paid for two airline tickets and the dinner tickets for the conference. I had to take someone. The logical solution was a staff member.”

Oh dear. Trouble in paradise.

At eleven-thirty I hear the telltale three knocks on the pass-through door. I unlock the door and try to open it but remember he has to unlock from the other side. In the next second his side unlocks, and I open the door. “Ready?” I ask.

“If you are, A1,” he replies with a silly grin on his lips.

“Ah. So we have reciprocated nicknames now, hey?” I laugh. “I’m not so sure your wife will be happy to know you’ve given me a pet name.”

“Hmm. So you heard that, did you?”

“Kind of hard not to when you were standing in front of this door when you spoke to her last.”

“I’ll remember to use my phone on the other side of the room,” he laughs. “Sorry you had to hear it. She’s a very jealous woman. I’ve never cheated on her, and I don’t plan to start now. She’ll get over it soon enough,” he mutters.

The restaurant in the hotel is filling up rapidly with patrons attending the conference. Had we waited until noon to go for a bite we’d have had to wait in line or go someplace else. B3 is treating me kindly, offering to hold my chair out for me before I’m seated at the table. Nobody has ever done that for me before, and I feel quite special. I also realize the more I get to know him outside of the office the more comfortable I am around him. He’s kind, professional and has a beautiful smile that I’ve not seen him display while in the office. I like casual B3, and I’m happy to have this opportunity to get to know him in this way. I still have a mind to ask him about the midriff stare thing, but I decide it doesn’t matter.

After we order our lunches from the menu, he asks me if I’ve always been called by my full name.

“Yes. Virginia. My mother calls me Gin sometimes, but she’s the only one I let do that. I’m an only child. Do you have siblings?”

“Just a sister. She’s a jewelry designer. Which reminds me, I should pick up something nice for Shirley while I’m here. She loves southwestern designs. Care to go shopping with me before we fly out home Sunday night?”

“Sure. How was the meeting this morning?”

“As expected. I’m due back in the conference room at one o’clock so we’ll have to eat fast,” B3 confirms. “The meetings end at five o’clock and dinner is set for seven. I’ll knock on the pass-through door when I’m ready to head down to the dinner. Oh, and take the car keys in case you want to go for a drive this afternoon.” I take the keys and smile politely. Not sure where I’ll go, but I guess I’ll find something worth seeing. I’m sure the hotel reception desk has a tourist flyer I can get an idea from. I’m not entirely sure, but I feel like someone is watching me. I shrug, knowing the restaurant is packed solid and it’s likely not me being watched but B3 because he’s been recognized by an associate.