Lavender Haze

Chapter 18

I'm summoned at the St. James hotel in Soho first thing Tuesday morning, the day after my date with Wes. I'm not sure what the emergency is, as the text River sent me only ordered me to be at the hotel by 9:45.

I'm in dire need of my fix of coffee when I get there, and I'm relieved to find Wes at his usual spot behind the front desk. There are still no butterflies taking flight when he smiles warmly at me, but I do return his smile as I trudge to the desk.

"Hi. I'm in serious caffeine withdrawal," I say, shaking the rain off my hair with a hand.

"Your fix is already on its way."

I prop my elbows on the counter and rest my chin on my open palm. "I love you, Westley Henderson."

He chuckles as colour tinges his cheeks. "It's just coffee."

"Nuh-uh. It's the best coffee in town. And it's free. The only thing better than free coffee it's great free coffee."

"Does it take really that little to make you happy?"

"Are you throwing shade ono Gustavo's masterpiece?" I ask in mock horror.

Wes laughs. "I could never."

"Good. Because I would have to citizen's-arrest you in that case."

"Noted."

"Astrid." It's almost a bark. A chiding. The voice of a teacher reprimanding a student. It's a blade straight through my still hazy brain. I straighten up so quickly, I nearly headbutt Wes. I whip around to find River holding two to-go cups of coffee, his face a tapestry of annoyance and impatience.

"Tic toc," he says, jutting his chin at his wrist, where his Rolex glints.

"Okay, jeez," I mutter. I turn around and smile at Wes. "I'll see you later, Wes." I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. When I spin back around, River is even more pissed than before, if that's even possible. There's a black, raging aura around him that matches the black clouds I abandoned outside.

When he thrusts the cup of coffee in my hand, he does so so violently that a few scalding droplets splatter on my hand. "Do I pay you to flirt with Wes?" River demands, stomping towards the exit.

"Of course not. That would be prostitution. Or maybe soliciting. I'm not familiar with the terminology."

"Such a smartass," he mutters, but there isn't the usual gusto and humour behind it, but naked anger. I wonder what I did to upset him this time around. I barely even spoke to him. I follow him to the car and then fold myself inside, ducking out of the pelting rain.

"Why was I ordered here at 9:45?" I ask.

"We have an appointment at quarter past ten."

I scoop my phone out of my coat and check my calendar. "I have nothing in my calendar."

"I made the appointment."

"And by you, you mean your assistant." Thankfully, I interact very little with that little weaselly dickwad, but I must admit, considering River's mood this morning, I would rather sit in River's town car with Ambrose Primrose.

"Semantics," River says, staring out the window. "Freddie, let's go. I don't want to be late."

"Hi, Freddie," I say as a second thought, meeting his eyes in the rearview. He offers me a tight-lipped smile before turning the engine on and merging into traffic. I don't even think about asking for music, because if I had to judge by River's vibrating anger, his answer would be a smack across the face (not that he would actually beat me, but that's the energy he's emitting today).