It didn't matter how late he was, he was still
late.Charlotte sat a table in a busy restaurant, tapping her fingers against the base of her half empty wine glass. If she was counting (she was), he was thirty minutes late. Alarm bells had been ringing ever since she set eyes on him but her best friend from Beaubatons had announced she was engaged and Lottie felt like screaming. It was suffocating. Charlotte knew her first reaction should have been joyful but all she could think about was
I can't turn up to this alone.She'd met Andrew in Brazil when they were both covering the World Cup; she for the Prophet and him for the Gazette. They'd been drinking and flirting pretty aggressively and one thing lead to another. A clandestine tryst on the beach when everyone else was busy celebrating Egypt's shock victory. It was her fault. She knew his type. City Boys, they talked big and they played hard in their well fitting suits and dazzling smiles and she, the stupid girl that she was, had dropped her underwear at the first signs of attention.
"Miss?" Charlotte looked up at the gentle voice of a handsome young waiter. He offered her a sympathetic smile which made her ball her hands into fists.
"When will your -- erm -- companion be joining you?" His tone was polite but Lottie wasn't dumb. The Loft was a swanky new restaurant on the docks of London. It was formerly a warehouse and one that she knew well. In her rebellious teenage years, she used to come here and climb the stairs to smoke cigarettes she'd filched from her mother during the school holidays. She couldn't blame Daniel - his name was engraved on a golden name badge, pinned to a freshly pressed white shirt - he needed a sale.
"He won't be long," Charlotte replied with a bright smile. "I'm early." It was clear Daniel thought it was bullshit but he was polite enough to smile, bow his head and leave her alone again. Looking around at the candlelit restaurant, her eyes were focused on two young women. They were staring right at her, giggling behind their hands as they sipped on their champagne. Charlotte's ire was rising, flashing hot and then cold as she sat stiffly. She checked her watch. He was forty minutes late. Fuck him. She was outta here.
Downing the last of her wine, Charlotte shoved the chair back nosily and got to her feet, snatching her clutch off the table and leaving. She didn't think she was sad but hot, fat tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as shame settled around her shoulders. She was more angry that she'd
dressed up. She'd put effort into tonight, with her figure hugging dress, her red lips and towering strappy heels. Her long dark hair was full and shiny, cascading over her bare shoulders that still held onto her Brazilian tan. Humiliated wasn't the right word but she was embarrassed, confused and properly angry.
What kind of man - nay, human being - decided to stand someone up anyway? It was cowardly and childish. What made things worse was that everyone looked good in the sunset. For all she knew, Andrew Price could look like a damned bridge troll. She'd only really seen him in the dark and she'd left before the sun rose. It was oddly comforting. Sniffling, she nodded as she tossed her curls back and made a beeline for the toilets.
Before she reached them, she took a right as she left the diners in peace. The place was heaving. The grand reopening was popular, full of people with money to burn and the place was doing a roaring trade. The tobacco warehouse it used to be had been rundown and crumbling but the eatery now was stunning. With big windows and low lighting, it awarded diners with a view of The Thames, stretching out in the darkness like an artery that ran through the city's heart. It was actually very beautiful. The chatter was louder than the music, a smooth jazz, heard just above the laughter and clinking of glasses.
Even in her heels, Charlotte moved quickly down the carpeted corridor, passing unmarked doors. A radio was blaring from the kitchen and she looked over her shoulder to see an army of young people in chef whites, chopping and dicing and barking orders.
This warehouse had become a sanctuary when her summers in London became too monotonous to handle. Derelict and dirty, no one but her used to frequent it. The roof had been perfect. Charlotte liked the solitude of sitting on the edge and dangling her legs off the side and she'd put some potted plants out in her youth but the roof now had been cordoned off. "For safety", they said. She reached her destination soon and she heaved a sigh of relief; the goods elevator.
She knew it was still here, she used to use it all the time. It was large and rickety, used only for transporting cargo and heavy machinery up to the kitchens. Lottie couldn't face catching the spruced up elevators, with its music and all the people watching her enter it all alone, so she was ducking out of the back door. She tucked her purse under her left arm and pulled back the shutters, grunting with effort as she stepped inside and pushed the big black button with her thumb. She shivered delicately. It was a far cry from the plush restaurant. Lottie took a step back and wiped her eyes, the mortification of being ditched still lingering but she mentally mapped out the nearest liquor store and Indian take away. It was only nine in the evening on a Friday night. She was such a loser. Heaving a heavy sigh, she pressed her back against the cold stone and closed her eyes as she waited for the elevator to judder into motion.
@Harlan Bellamy 
