The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(8)

“Um.” I shrug, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “I’m Claire. I work for a company.”

“I’m running my own empire,” Ellie says as she widens her eyes in excitement.

“Empire,” I repeat, amused. “In what?” I ask.

“I’m an influencer.”

I stare at her as my brain tries to keep up. Oh God no . . . one of those twits who gets paid for posting fake crap. “Really? Great.”

“I travel the world and model bikinis.” She smiles. “If I post an image of myself, the world goes into meltdown.”

I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile. Is she for real? “I . . . bet they do.”

The dark-haired girl in front of her turns toward us and laughs. “Snap, girlfriend.”

“Oh my God . . . you too?” Ellie gasps.

They both burst into laughter. “I’m Angel,” the dark-haired girl introduces herself. “I’m going to be an influencer too.”

“You haven’t started yet?” Ellie asks in a condescending tone.

“Well.” Angel shrugs. “Not technically. I still have a few movies left on my contract, but as soon as I finish those, I’m totally into it—all systems go.”

“Movies?” Ellie gasps. “What kind of movies?”

“I’m a porn actress. You may have seen my latest, Anal Mistress with Johnny Rocket Cock.”

Ellie’s eyes widen, “Oh. My. God.” She gasps. “I totally recognize you.” They begin to laugh and bounce on the spot in excitement.

Oh hell.

I wonder what Johnny Rocket Cock does to her ass.

Or what anyone does to anyone’s ass, actually. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched that I’ve completely forgotten everything, and even when I was, it was never hard-and-fast porn-style sex. It was loving and tender. The kind of sex that married people have.

Safe and real, a world away from being an anal mistress.

What the actual fuck has Marley gotten me into here?

I turn toward the man behind me. Has he heard any of this?

“Hi.” He smiles.

“Hello.”

He’s blond and normal looking. He seems nice. “Are you here for the conference?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Me too.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Nelson Barrett.”

“I’m Claire Anderson.” I smile.

“I’m a computer scientist.” He looks around at our surroundings. “I’m so out of my comfort zone here it’s not even funny.”

“Me too.” Relief fills me. Someone normal. “I work in media.”

“Lovely to meet you, Claire.”

“You too.”

We both turn to the front and watch the antics of the girls. They are loud and animated and so excited to be here. I smile as I watch them; their enthusiasm is childlike and lovely to watch.

I make an idle observation that enthusiasm like that seems to dissipate around the age of twenty-eight. I predict they have five good years left before life begins to really fuck them up the ass. Relationship breakdowns and debt—that’s if they can find a decent person to fall in love with.

I shake my head in disgust.

Look at me being a downer . . . maybe I really do need to be here.

I’ve never been a negative person before. I hate this part of my personality that has surfaced in recent times.

I don’t even know myself anymore.

The line moves forward, and people begin to pile into the foyer behind us. Men and women, all excited entrepreneurs. Apart from Nelson, I think I’m the oldest here.

“Oh my God, we have to go out tonight,” Angel says.

“Yes,” Ellie says as she jumps up and down. “Oh my God, I’m so pumped.” She turns to me and Nelson. “Clara, you have to come out tonight.” I smile at her botching my name.

“I couldn’t keep up tonight.” I smile. “Next time, for sure.”

“Okay.” She turns back to Angel. “Where will we go?”

I turn and force a smile at Nelson.

“I wonder how many films they make tonight for free,” he whispers.

I giggle. “I know. Lucky boys. They might not survive it.”

“I know for certain that I wouldn’t,” Nelson mutters under his breath.

We both chuckle and shuffle up the line, and Ellie begins to check in.

Another four men walk in behind me, all older and quite distinguished looking.

Hmm, maybe this is okay after all.

We all chat in the line for a while. Turns out the guys behind us who just arrived are app developers. I don’t feel so silly now. Normal people seem to be here too.

A woman walks in, and all the men’s heads turn. She’s blonde and beautiful. Stylish and trendy and aged around late twenties, at a guess. “Hello, is this the line to check in?” she asks me.

“Yes.” I smile.

“Are you here for the conference?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Me too.” She holds her hand out to shake mine. “I’m Melissa.”

“Hi, Melissa. I’m Claire.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The line shuffles forward again, and then another two staff members come to reception, so we all veer into different lines.