“The same, actually.” It was James who spoke this time. “Well, not exactly the same. We were in Soho too, and some drunken arsehole kicked off in one of the pubs. It turned ugly and a bunch of people started fighting. We weren’t involved, of course, but we witnessed the whole thing. As soon as we could leave, we did. Didn’t feel like going anywhere else after that, so we thought we’d have a couple more quiet ones in here before heading to our suite.”
Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, yeah, I can understand why you wanted to get out of there. Not good. You certainly wouldn’t see that kind of behavior in here. No wonder you guys like staying here so much, especially if you have a suite.” As she said the words, their implication sank in. If they had a suite, then they weren’t just successful, just well off. They were filthy rich. Again, she asked herself why the hell they were talking to her. And—if she hadn’t gotten it totally wrong—flirting with her a little, too.
“Oh yeah,” Logan said. “We always have a suite. We take up quite a lot of room.” It was then she noticed that he’d almost finished the Jack Daniel’s and Coke he’d bought. “And it certainly helps that the suites are soundproofed.” He let out a bark of laughter and grinned over the table at James, who returned the smile, but his looked forced—more like a grimace.
Clearing his throat, James returned his attention to a confused Fiona. “So, where are we currently on the interesting scale? Do I need to start dancing on the table?”
Tutting, she replied, “That sort of behavior wouldn’t be allowed in here, either. I dunno… You’re somewhere between ‘quite’ and ‘very’, I guess.” Then her curiosity got the better of her. Dead cats be damned. The hotel was enough off the beaten track that traffic noise wasn’t an issue. “How about this? If you tell me why having a soundproofed suite is such a good thing, I’ll let you buy me another drink.”
The men glanced at each other, and James glared at Logan momentarily, before altering his expression to a charming smile. “Oh.” He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s nothing interesting, I’m afraid. He snores.”
Logan’s resultant indignation and spluttering told Fiona everything she needed to know. “No way! If that were true, why would Logan have mentioned it with a big grin on his face? People don’t publicize the fact that they snore—much less to the extent that soundproofing is necessary. Come on. What is it? Wild parties? Loud music?” She lowered her voice. “Crazy monkey sex with supermodels? Swinging from the chandeliers?”