Felice, my coworker and a fellow intern, nudged me toward the table in the dimly lit corner of the pub.
I grabbed a fruit platter and made my way over, eager to complete the order. High-spending customers meant better tips and I needed every penny. A competition in Manchester was coming up and I was barely scraping together the funds to get there. The thought of finally leaving London for a brief moment brought a small smile to my face.
But as I rounded the corner, my smile froze. That figure—tall and unmistakably familiar—stood in the shadows. Brian.
My stomach dropped and panic took over. In my haste, I tripped, falling hard onto the floor. My head slammed into the edge of the table and stars danced in my vision.
***
Sonny, the pub’s owner, shouted across the room, “Elise! What the hell are you doing?”
Ignoring the throbbing pain, I scrambled to my feet, pulling my hat lower over my face.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, deliberately masking my accent to sound less fluent in Chinese.
Before Sonny could say more, Brian’s cold voice rang out, “It’s fine. Just bring another fruit platter and three bottles of whiskey.”