Barbara Dunlop - The Twin Switch

Max had said goodbye after lunch, and I’d left the table pretending I had somewhere to go. I didn’t, of course. But I’d found a comfortable seat at the opposite end of the lobby with a good view of the main entrances and exits.

The vibe of the lobby was beginning to change from daytime to evening. I knew if I wanted to continue blending with the crowd, I had to get out of my jeans.

There were shops dotted around the periphery of the lobby. The clothes were very high-end, but I managed to find a little black dress on a sales rack.

I wasn’t about to interrupt my surveillance by heading into the fitting room. Luckily, the dress had simple lines and enough stretch that I was confident it would fit. My black ankle boots weren’t exactly perfect for the occasion, but I was wearing a silver necklace and dangling earrings, and I could pull my hair up in a messy bun.

I’d do for the evening crowd.

I hated to interrupt my surveillance, but eventually, the need for a restroom break became urgent. In the ladies’ room, I changed in a flash and was back out in the lobby again with my jeans and blouse folded into the boutique shopping bag.

“I take it you don’t have a room?” It was Max’s voice beside me.

I was embarrassed, like I’d been caught freeloading.

I worked to erase my guilty expression before facing him. I wasn’t freeloading. I was genuinely waiting for a hotel guest. And, anyway, the lobby was a public space.

“My girlfriend has a—” I turned and my words dried up.

This afternoon Max had looked good in a dusty blue shirt under a steel-gray suit. Now he looked fantastic. His shirt was crisp white. His suit was black, and his tie was dark burgundy scattered with black flecks.

“A room?” he prompted.

“Are you going to a party?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a party.” He took in my dress. “What about you? Big plans?”

I didn’t have any plans at all beyond staking out the lobby until Brooklyn arrived. I refused to let myself think she and her faux soul mate were holed up in a hotel room together for the night, ordering room service and lounging in a whirlpool tub.

The image was too much for me to wrap my head around, so I shook it out of my mind.

“You haven’t found her,” Max stated. He didn’t give me time to answer. “What’s really going on, Layla?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you a private investigator?”

“No.”

As I denied it, I wondered if Max wanted me to be a private investigator. Private investigator sounded like an exciting job, better than math teacher. Maybe I should consider switching careers.

“A stalker?” he asked.

“I’m not a stalker.” I wasn’t—at least not usually. Today, well, I supposed it was debatable.

“Have you tried calling her?”

“What a great idea.” I wasn’t annoyed with Max. I was just generally annoyed, and that put the sarcasm in my voice. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

He didn’t seem to take offense. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“That’s a yes.”

He peered at my expression. “Did you have a fight?”

“No.”

“Is she with a guy?”

I was trying not to think about that. I wanted to deny it. But I didn’t feel like lying outright to Max. I didn’t even feel like omitting anymore.

Other patrons milled around us, dressed to the nines, talking and laughing, coming together in groups and lining up at the on-site restaurants.

“I think she might be,” I admitted.

“So she ditched you for a man.” Max’s words weren’t a question.

It wasn’t what he was thinking. But I couldn’t explain the situation without giving away private information, so I just stood there looking like a pathetic fifth wheel abandoned in the hotel lobby.

“Join me for dinner,” he said.

It was a mercy date if I’d ever heard of one. No thank you. “I have no intention of crashing your party.”

“There’s no party. There’s just me.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. “Then why are you dressed like the top of a wedding cake?”

“Because this is a nice hotel, and it’s after six.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me. Just join me for dinner.”

“So you’re saying you have nothing to do tonight.”

A man like that, in a suit like his, in a place like this? Not a chance.

“I’m saying there’s nothing I have to do tonight.”

“But you have options?”

“We all have options. All the time. Right now, you’re my first choice.”

“Why?”

“I swear, Layla, I have never had this much trouble getting a woman to have dinner with me.”

“I can’t,” I said, even though I wanted to say yes.

A guy like this didn’t come along every day—at least not in my life. In my life, a guy like this didn’t come along any day.

“Why not?”

“I can’t risk missing my girlfriend. She’ll be through here anytime.”

He gave me a look that said I was borderline delusional. “I’m no expert. But it seems like she doesn’t want to be found.”

Brooklyn might not want to be found, but for everyone’s sake, I needed to find her.

“Maybe you should leave it until tomorrow,” Max said.

“No.” That would be bad. It would be very bad to leave Brooklyn and her faux soul mate alone for the night. I had to find her as soon as possible.

“I’m assuming she’s over twenty-one.”

“She’s twenty-six.”

“There you go. She’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”

Technically that was true. But I knew Brooklyn wasn’t thinking straight. Something was wrong, and I had to get to the bottom of it before she made a life-altering mistake.

“We can eat in the Grill Room,” he said. “See that curved booth right there, the one facing the lobby? I’ll get the hostess to seat us in it.”

I gauged the view from the table. It was probably better than the view I had from here. And I was truly starving at this point.

“It’s probably reserved.” It looked like a prime spot.

“I’m sure they’ll fit us in.” He sounded confident in his ability to get preferential treatment.

“Do you come here often?” I asked. Then I laughed at myself. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“You weren’t going for a cheesy pickup line?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

I ignored the flirtatious lilt to his words, refusing to let myself meet his gaze. It would be all too easy to let my imagination run away with me. And the last thing I needed was a further distraction right now.

“I’m a fairly frequent guest,” he said.

“My lucky day.”

“I was going to say it was mine.”

This time I did look at him. I’m not made of stone. His smile was warm, and his eyes had an inner glow, and my heart fluttered again.

Before I could sigh or swoon or do anything else ridiculously humiliating, he started across the lobby to the restaurant entrance.

“Mr. Kendrick.” The hostess’s greeting was friendly as we approached.

“Hi, Samantha. Can you put us at the front booth?”

“Of course, sir.”

She extracted two leather-bound, gold-embossed menus from below the counter. “Bernard will seat you.”

“Hello, Mr. Kendrick,” Bernard said. “It’s great to have you with us tonight.”

Max waited while I slid in one side of the booth, going partway around. I set my purse and shopping bag beside me.

I felt outclassed by the surroundings, and I was grateful to have ditched the jeans.

Max slid in the other side of the booth and matched my position. It was cozy with the high-backed plush seats, a flickering candle, the two of us sitting only a couple of feet apart.