Scandalized(7)

“Hey,” he says. “You’ve seen the suite. It’s huge. Let this go. We’re talking about a few hours of sleep in separate rooms.”

I reach up, rubbing my face. “It’s not weird?”

“You’re the one making a big deal out of it.” He blinks over my shoulder, surveying the room behind me. There are a handful of people at the bar, a few people at tables, but no one immediately next to us in this tiny, dark corner. Alec settles back into the sofa.

“Okay,” I say, “but I insist on splitting the cost with you.”

He gives me a delightful shot of both dimples. “And of course I will refuse. Besides, you’re a journalist. Isn’t this how a great story begins?”

“What kind of stories do you think I write?” I ask, grinning at him. “Stuck-in-a-strange-city, there’s-only-one-room-left-at-the-inn? I don’t write for Penthouse.”

He stares at me, expression straightening in surprise, and my words slowly reach my own ears.

“Oh my God.” I press my hands to my face. “I can’t believe I said that.”

Across from me, he bursts out laughing. “I mean, you wouldn’t tell me what you were writing, but I did not mean to imply that.”

“I know you didn’t,” I say through horrified laughter. “Now I really can’t sleep upstairs.”

He drags a hand down his face, pulling himself together. “No, come on, let’s start over.”

“Let’s.”

We stare at each other, eyes shining. Finally, we both break again, and oh my God, what is happening? My brain is too fried to successfully drag us out of this.

Thankfully, the waitress comes for our orders—Zinfandel for me, whiskey neat for him—and when she leaves, he leans back and stretches his arms out across the back of the couch. “That was fortunate timing.”

“We needed the reset,” I agree.

“Tell me more about your job,” he says. “Am I right that you and Sunny used to pretend to be detectives?”

I laugh. “How on earth do you remember that?”

“You two were always hunting around the neighborhood with notepads, looking for clues for mysteries.” He gazes at me with amusement. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you ended up working for the LA Times. But that’s a big deal.”

“Thank you.” Pride warms my chest.

“How did you end up there?”

“I only started about a year ago,” I say, “but I really love it so far. I went to USC for journalism and then hustled my ass off just trying to get any story anywhere I could. I did some crime reporting for OC Weekly for a while. Freelanced for every website that would take me. But when I wrote a pet project about a man in Simi Valley painting monthly portraits of his wife as she succumbed to Parkinson’s disease, and it got picked up by the New Yorker, I got a job offer from the Times.”

“The New Yorker?” He stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “How old are you?”

“I’m the same age as Sunny.”

Alec gives an amused flicker of an eyebrow. “That’s an impressive résumé for a twenty-seven-year-old.”

“I am,” I admit with a small smile, “occasionally a bit intense about work.”

A dimple makes only a brief appearance. “I’m getting that.”

“What kind of business are you in?” I ask, changing the subject. I’ve gone from feeling proud to feeling like I’m bragging.

The waitress returns with our drinks and he thanks her, raising his glass to toast mine. “I work in television.”

Ah, there it is. But also: Yawn. I look at his outfit, remember his sleek suitcase. “Let me guess: business development at a new streaming service?”

He laughs and lifts his glass to his lips. “Nope.”

“Contracts attorney?”

“God, no.”

I study him, eyes narrowed. “BBC exec coming here for meetings with American networks about a show?”

Alec pauses with his glass halfway back down to the table. “That’s shockingly close, actually.”

“Really? That’s wild. My roommate, Eden, lives and breathes BBC.”

A tiny grin as he sets his glass down. “Does she?”

“I realize how shameful it is in this day and age to not watch TV,” I admit, “but I’ve been so wrapped up in work that I’ve missed most of what everyone has been obsessed with the past couple years. Tell me what you’ve worked on so I can remedy this. Eden tells me this is where creativity lives and breathes these days and I’m missing out.”

He waves this off. “Television isn’t for everyone.”

“If you work for the BBC,” I say, “she’ll lose her mind.” Alec laughs. “Which show? I’m going to text her. I’m sure she’s seen it.”

He gives me a wry smile. “It’s called The West Midlands.”

I type a quick text. The old friend I ran into? Yeah he said he works on The West Midlands for BBC. You like that one right?

Eden replies immediately with a string of unintelligible all caps. I turn my phone around to show him. “See? She knows that one. How cool.” I tuck my phone back into my purse and sip my wine. “I bet that’s a fun job.”