Chapter Six: A man about a dog

‘A prostitute?’ Troy asks in amazement.

‘Yep. A man about a dog is just Dylan’s polite way of saying that he’s…looking for company, shall we say. Don’t act like you’re surprised.’

‘It’s not the fact he sleeps with prostitutes that amazes me, it’s the fact that he literally got out of bed with a girl who just slept with him – for free,’ Troy rants, his voice jumping higher on those last two words. ‘He slept with a girl and instantly decided he wanted more sex, but this time he wanted to hand over money for it. And didn’t you say he slept with the girl who has his phone?’

‘Yep,’ I say casually. This may surprise Troy, but I’ve heard it all before. This is all standard Dylan King behaviour. He’ll be so drunk he won’t really know or care what or who he is doing, and he’ll carry on like this until someone stops him.

‘Right. So we need to find prostitutes,’ Troy says casually.

‘We do. So if I wanted to find a hooker, where would I go?’

‘The concierge,’ Troy suggests. ‘They help guests find whatever they want.’

‘Mr Reeves,’ I tease. ‘You’ve done this before.’

‘Nope,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’ve just watched a lot of Hotel Babylon – I told you, I have four sisters.’

‘Yeah, that and you love it.’ I’m rather enjoying teasing him.

He smiles that trademark smile of his and I swoon a little. Mentally pinching myself, I approach the concierge desk – don’t go getting your goals mixed up, Nicole.

‘Hello,’ I say brightly to the man sitting at the desk. ‘I’d like a prostitute, please.’

He stares at me for a moment before grabbing his phone and punching in a number.

‘Well they charge extra for couples,’ he says, looking us both up and down. ‘Male or female?’

Troy raises his hand as if he’s about to make a suggestion. I playfully slap it down.

‘Oh, no. Not like that, Roger,’ I say, spotting his name badge and sniggering slightly as I say his name out loud. ‘I think a friend of mine is looking for one, so I wondered if you could tell me where he might have gone.’

Roger scratches his head, clearly grappling with his conscience.

‘This friend, might he have dark hair?’ Roger asks.

‘Yes,’ I say softly, hoping he doesn’t freeze up on us.

‘And might he be a guest at the hotel?’

‘You’re getting warmer, Roger,’ Troy interrupts. I think he’s enjoying this Scooby Doo-esque investigating a little too much.

‘We’re guests here. What if we wanted to go out and find a bit of company, where would we go?’ I ask in an attempt to make it easier for Roger to help us out, he’s clearly breaking some kind of concierge code of conduct by dishing guests’ details to us.

‘Say you’d told me that you didn’t want one sent to your room, that you wanted to go out and handpick your own. I’d recommend a trip to Ash Street,’ he tells us.

I stare at the ground, embarrassed on Dylan’s behalf. He’s truly despicable sometimes.

‘Thanks, Roger.’ Troy shakes his hand. ‘You’re a diamond.’

Grabbing me by the hand, Troy drags me out to the taxi stand.

‘Ash Street, mate,’ he says to the driver, before turning to me. ‘This is fun, isn’t it?’