The Twin Switch

“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.