Trust (London Love #5)

“You’re being fussy, right there, and mate? You can’t buy friendship, even if you are The Dieter.”

He was still laughing. I liked that.

“I’m not buying you. You like me. I like you. We’re mates. You even call me that. So you’re going to get up, get me food and bring it here.”

“Seriously?” I could hear him move around, huffing into the phone, a zipper being pulled up. “You’re a dick, Dieter or G, whatever your name is.”

“I am indeed. I don’t mean to be, but I’m kind of desperate. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You won’t. You don’t have any cash and I’m already out of pocket. You’re the millionaire. I’m on minimum wage here. This is total coercion and slavery.”

“God, we’re really acing this friendship then.” I laughed. “Seriously, I’m sorry. It’s…I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

“We’re a professional hotel. I can get people to bring you stuff. Nobody would spit in your coffee, man.”

“It’s just—”

“See you in a bit.” He hung up.

I sat there with a daft grin on my face, until my phone rang again and I answered, expecting it to be him ringing me back. It wasn’t. Shit.

“Graham.” Lauren. My manager slash handler slash enemy-of-everything hellish human being. I really disliked her, mostly because of the way she spat out my name like I was trash under her high-heeled boots. Lauren had one of those permanently pissed-off voices with a face like thunder, and her eyes were always cold, even when she put on one of those fake smiles, but she was hardcore. She got what she wanted, produced results. We were just casualties. Well, mostly me since I was usually the one who bore the brunt of her pissed-off-ness.

“Yup?” What could I say?

“You need to stop this ridiculous running off. You are contracted to be available, and once again, your security guards are on Red Alert because you’ve snuck out. You know the rules. We’re only hours away from a major contracted appearance. What the hell are you playing at? Where are you?”

“Photoshoot Sunday. Studio Monday. I’m not stupid, Lauren.”

I didn’t usually speak to her like that. To be fair, I didn’t usually answer my phone.

“We need you tomorrow as well. Did you not check your emails? Seriously, Graham! Meeting with your agent, and the publishing house want fresh headshots.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” I hissed through my teeth. Yes. It was true. I was every bit the diva, refusing to cooperate, but I’d cooperated for years. I could feel the stress rising through my veins. My neck stiff, I gritted my teeth as Lauren droned on. I had obligations. Meetings. My doctor wanted to see me and the insurance people needed reassurance and, and, and, and…

I kept my mouth shut, trying to swallow down the stress that came with every bloody word out of her mouth. I wanted to hang up but I didn’t dare.

“I’ll come get you. Just send me your coordinates, don’t be a child. I’ll have a driver with you within half an hour. Please don’t piss me off, Graham, you know what we’ve got at stake here.”

I did know, but I think I was starting to rebel. To not care. I knew I would give in. I always did. I tried to cut loose and ended up being roped back in. I had contractual obligations, and I knew full well that management would sue me for every single little cost incurred.

I sighed in defeat.

“I’ll be there on Sunday. Pick me up from home.”

“Graham!” Lauren shrieked in my ear. Just her voice was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up to attention.

“Sunday,” I repeated, hoping I sounded steadier than I felt. She hung up on me. As always. I wasn’t important enough to say goodbye to. Whatever.

I stared at the wall, my eyes too tired to even focus. I had to take control. Control. I laughed at the idea of ever getting that back and then almost wet myself when the now familiar bang on the door broke the silence.

“Mate,” Reuben gritted out, pushing the door open with his shoulder, balancing coffee cups and holding a bag between his teeth. I tried to help, but I still had my phone in my hand, and I was seriously rattled by Lauren’s call.

This wasn’t a job. This was my life. Being at everyone’s beck and call. All the time.

“What day is it?” I asked, tapping on my phone. Friday. Oh…fuck. That was a lot of messages.

“You’re a piece of work.” Reuben was pissed off with me too. I didn’t blame him.