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The Wake-Up Call(104)

Author:Beth O'Leary

I stare at him. “What? No, she . . . But we haven’t been . . .”

I trail off. Because, well, we have, a bit.

“What are you going to do?” I ask. “Dob me in?”

I’m kind of joking, but Louis just looks at me appraisingly for a moment.

“Do you know how many women would kill to have me take them to the Angel’s Wing?”

“Excuse me?”

“You think you’re really special, Izzy, with your multicoloured hair and your cute ‘mission’ to save this hotel. But the truth is you’re just a mousey little nobody in a dead-end job. It’s kind of sad.”

My mouth drops open. Louis’s nastiness is so sudden and so unexpected that his words don’t really land at all—in fact, as he slicks back his hair and adjusts his expensive jacket, I find myself wanting to laugh at him.

“A mousey little nobody? Oh, Louis.” I shake my head, shoving the card into my back pocket. “You know what’s really sad? The fact that you seem to think you’re somebody.”

I spin towards the door, already moving. I don’t have time for this slimeball—I need to find Lucas. I need to explain. God, what’s he been thinking all this time? What was he thinking when we had that screaming match after the Christmas party last year? What was he thinking when I said I hated him, couldn’t trust him, never would?

I want to cry. It’s as if the last year has shifted like an optical illusion, and suddenly I’m seeing a completely different picture. I just—I just have to find Lucas.

* * *

? ? ? ? ?

Poor Mandy is settling in at the desk; Mr. Townsend is in his chair; the motley collection of builders are mostly on ladders; and three restaurant guests are making their way to the door. But no Lucas in sight.

It’s half four—I’ve never known him to leave early before. Typical. I hover in front of the desk for a moment, craning my neck to look for his car in the car park, but it’s not in his usual spot—he’ll have gone home, to the gym, or to Smooth Pedro’s. My money is on the gym, and I’m itching to get into Smartie and chase him down, but . . .

“Mandy,” I say, turning to look at her.

“Oh, God, Izzy, I’m so sorry!” she blurts instantly.

She covers her face with her hands. I stare at her.

“You know, don’t you?” she says, peeking out between her fingers. “I promise you, I only figured out what happened the other day when Lucas told me I’d misread Louis’s name on your handover notes. I swear it was an accident.”

“You knew this had happened and didn’t tell me?” I say, voice rising. I clutch the edge of the desk. “Mandy!”

“I’m so sorry! I just couldn’t—I couldn’t . . . What good would it do now?”

“A lot, actually,” I say, closing my eyes. All those times I worked so hard to keep my walls up . . . All those times I assumed Lucas was being an arsehole . . .

“If it helps, I’ve paid for the mistake every day, working with you and Lucas while you’re at each other’s throats, the two of you kicking me back and forth between you . . . Not that I’m complaining!” she says hurriedly.

I place my palms flat on the desk and look at her, hunched over the keyboard, her glasses trembling on their chain. I remember what Mrs. Hedgers said about Mandy, how she struggles to assert herself, and suddenly—despite all of the frustration coursing through me right now—I want to give her a hug.

Poor Mandy. It can’t be easy.

“Mandy,” I say, “you have every right to complain.”

“Oh, no, I . . .”

“No, listen to me. Speak up. If Lucas and I drive you nuts, tell us. If you prefer the online system to the booking book, say so. If you realise you’ve made a mistake handing out my Christmas cards and have given some bellend the card in which I declare my love for someone else entirely, tell me. This isn’t even your fault, Mandy, it’s my stupid handwriting, but you have made things so much worse by sitting on this!”

“Have I? Have I really?” She looks wretched. “I’ve thought about this nonstop, you know. That’ll be why he didn’t mind kissing that friend of yours under the mistletoe, won’t it?”

“Yes,” I say, my toes literally curling at the thought of all the times I’ve told Lucas he was a dickhead for kissing Drew. I scrunch up my eyes, wishing I could take back every time I tried to make Lucas feel small this year in an effort to make myself feel bigger.