Page 10 of In the Frame

I blink, trying to digest this latest round of information. “What, you mean like a personal assistant? What exactly do you do? I mean, you know what I do. Sort of. Partly, at least.”

“I’m a business investor and developer.”

“Right, okay. An investor,” I echo, letting the idea settle. Explains the assistant, maybe. Or maybe his assistant is like a zookeeper, keeping Florian’s feral antics contained. For the public good.

Truth be told, I know fuck all about investors, other than I’ve heard about investment bankers and hedge funds, and that London’s rife with them. All of that make think they’re all connected by piles of money from a world very much unlike mine. Like, the opposite. I bet he doesn’t have holes in his socks that he’s mended.

“What do you invest in, exactly?”

He shrugs. “Businesses and property. I buy them and sell them at a profit. Sometimes I fund startups. And I’m terribly busy doing this, which is why I have an assistant keep my schedule. Tonight was meant to be a rare night out with friends. Because, in fact, it’s Billy’s birthday. I promised I’d be there tonight.”

My eyes widen. “Shit. That’s even more awkward, then. Ditching him on his birthday.”

Florian gives a fierce scowl, made even more dramatic by the glow of his phone when he checks again for signal.

It occurs to me that maybe they’re technically broken up now, but what if one or the other wants to get back together? Big events like birthdays bring up all sorts of feelings, don’t they? Who broke up with whom? And who’s the lead on wanting to get back together? I hope Billy dumped his arse.

Another glance over confirms Florian’s not looking happy. Probably not a good breakup, then. As if there’s such a thing as a good breakup. But some are definitely worse breakups than others.

“I flew back into London early from my business trip so as not to miss it. Even though he has his new boyfriend with him and doesn’t need me there, of all people.”

There’s the unspoken: and now I’m missing it.

“He’s your friend, isn’t he, at least? Of course he’d want you there.” My voice is gentle. I get the distinct feeling that even though this man might be a success at business, he’s messy in his personal life. And all that snarl’s got to be covering something.

Chapter Five

Florian doesn’t say anything about Billy. There’s a brief struggle across his face. “Tell me. You said I only knew partly about what you do. And you said you’re a bartender, though you were serving tables. I take it this isn’t your usual scene because you’re terrible at your job.”

“Thanks,” I say breezily, “I know.” I give him a smile. “And it’s been a particularly rough night. First Saturday night working at Ivan’s. But anyway, you’re not asking about Ivan’s, are you?”

“You alluded to some other life, and I wouldn’t bother asking, but since we’re stuck here and I may as well ask: how else do you spend your time? Aside from kidnapping investors and ruining their suits?”

I can’t help it: I laugh. He’s so unashamedly rude. “You’re something else. Wow. Well, since you asked so nicely, let me tell you about myself⁠—”

“That’s what I was afraid of⁠—”

“Stop.” But I’m smiling despite it all, and I’m not sure what’s come over me. “Honestly, get over yourself. I don’t care who you are or how important you might be. At the end of the day, we’re two lads stuck in a lift, going nowhere to pass the time. And some conversation would be a decent way to spend our captivity, don’t you think?”

“If you talk about yourself, then you’ll expect me to talk about myself—and I hate that. I’m terribly dull. You already know what you need to about me. But fine. Let’s do this your way. You still haven’t explained what else you do.”

It really does make me wonder how he got together with Billy. Or Billy with him, because his charm is about negative ten thousand.

“‘Kay. Well, now it’s gonna sound stupid, but never mind. I like art. I mean, I’m an artist. It’s what I have my degree in, anyway.”

Florian looks startled, as if I’d told him I was a unicorn or raised pedigree rats in a utopian society somewhere on the outer fringes of Milton Keynes. And then he responds in a way like I’d just told him I had landed from another planet. “An artist?”

“Well, it’s what I’m meant to be, you see. Right now, I’m a bartender. It pays the bills. If I’m not sacked.”

“So you’re a failed artist.”

“Ouch.” I can’t help the wince, like he’s just sucker punched me. Which he has, in a way. “You really show no mercy, do you? Like you really don’t care about other people’s feelings.”

“Feelings are inefficient.”

“Fuck me, man.” Then my brain catches up with my mouth, and what the hell did I just say to him? I can’t wait to get out of this lift and never see Florian again. I’m sure he can’t wait either. “I didn’t mean it like that. Like, you know.”

He ignores my spiraling. “Feelings don’t help in business. You need a plan. Research. Consider costs and benefits. And risk. There’s a delicate combination, a beauty in the balance.” Florian studies his fingertips.