The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(53)

She takes me in for a split second, giving me a once-over before a smile dances across her face. “Thank you. You’re here with Max?” she questions, flicking her eyes to the two men.

“Yes, I actually just moved here. I met Maxwell on the plane, and he kindly offered to show me around.”

She nods, then gives me a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’m Polly.”

“Lucy.”

“Where were you flying from?” she asks, her eyes growing a fraction sharper.

“London. I’m British.”

“I can hear that.” She smiles at me, and it feels real this time, a little warmer.

“Are you having a drink?” Just as the words leave my lips, Alec turns with a pint of beer and hands it to Polly. She thanks him, then looks back to me, popping a brow as she takes a sip.

“Alec, this is Lucy. She’s a friend of Maxwell’s. And, Lucy, this is my boyfriend, Alec.”

Maxwell stands and throws an arm over my shoulder. “Yes, I met Lucy last week on my flight home.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lucy,” Alec tells me, nodding his head at me as if he’s only now noticing me. “Apologies, I didn’t realise you were here with Max before.”

I raise my glass in his and Maxwell’s direction. “Just a thank-you drink for showing me around.”

“Will you come to Corkscrew with us?” Alec asks, looking at Maxwell even though the question was undoubtedly for me.

Maxwell looks to me for confirmation, but I don’t have it right away.

Do I want to go?

I was quite happy staying at Ginny’s.

“They have decent music.” Maxwell shrugs.

I look to Polly, feeling like all eyes are on me, and just as she goes to say something, her head shifting to the side, Maxwell butts in. “If you don’t like it, I’ll walk you back to the hotel. No pressure.”

I roll my lips, feeling like it would be rude not to go when Maxwell spent the whole of last Saturday showing me around. “Okay, I’ll come.”

“Perfect. Cheers, guys,” Alec toasts.





16





Lucy





I’m on the dance floor at Russo’s when Polly latches onto my arm and drags me to the entrance. She’s matched me drink for drink all night, yet she looks completely sober.

“Lucy, I have—”

“What?” I call out, pointing to my ear.

Stepping closer, she leans in and raises her voice. “I have to leave.”

My shoulders drop. “What? Why?”

I don’t want Polly to leave. Maxwell and Alec have spent the night chatting in techy slang, and I’ve been left to drink wine and dance with Polly. She seemed reluctant at first, but with the conversation stuck on work for the men, having a female to chat with probably came as a welcomed distraction for her.

“I’ll leave with you,” I tell her, turning on my heel to go and get my things. It’s been a long day, and I’ve drunk more than I should have. I know I’m at my limit.

Polly grasps my wrist to stop me. “No, you can’t. I’m sorry, Lucy, there’s someplace I need to be.” She stares at me intently. “Grab a taxi if you’re ready to leave. Maxwell will see you home safe.” She nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she checks her phone screen. She seems distracted, and I wonder what’s so important to pull her away.

“I’m fine.” I wave her off, swaying on my feet and feeling the full effects of the alcohol. “I hope everything’s okay.”

The last thing I need is anyone worrying about me.

I should go home.

Polly says goodbye, and leaves, telling me she hopes we can all meet again soon. It feels real and very normal, I guess. The guys may have been stuck in work mode all night, but isn’t that just men? I think of Ralph and his asses and elbows comment.

Men are just fucking idiots sometimes.

Or something like that.

I turn and walk back into the club. My eyes scan the bar area where Maxwell and Alec had been sitting before but are now nowhere to be seen. Suddenly everything seems foreign to me: the bar, the music, the people who I’ve been dancing around all night.

My heart starts to beat faster in my chest.

I spot my jacket on the back of the bar chair and walk towards it.

Where’s Maxwell gone?

Did he leave?

Pulling out my phone, I text him.

Lucy: Where are you?

The message delivers, but when it doesn’t mark as read after a few minutes and with my rising anxiety of being in the club alone with way over my sensible limit of alcohol coursing through me, I decide to leave.

Out on the street, I pull up Maps and find that my hotel is only a fifteen-minute walk. I close my eyes and pull in a deep inhale. I’m not that far from the hotel. I’m okay.

Needing the fresh air to sober me up a little, I turn right on the sidewalk and follow the pin.

Vendors filled with hot dogs and late-night windows selling pizza by the slice line my journey, making me feel safe as I stroll home. The night air feels thick and full, and instead of feeling the effects of the alcohol wear off, it seems to only heighten everything.

I pass a diner selling breakfast and come to a stop, a wide smile gracing my face when the smell of pancakes assaults me. Why don’t we have this at home?