A sudden burst of laughter from a table nearby caused Ronan to wince. “Hold on, let me move so I can hear you better.”
     On the other end of the phone connection, Ronan heard his wife speaking through clenched teeth. “You’re in a pub?!”
     “Babe, it’s not like that, I’m… I was meeting a client.”
     “You seem to like meeting your clients in pubs, don’t you Ronnie. Especially the pretty ones.”
     Ronan sighed. “It’s really not like that…”
     “It is like that, Ronnie! Where were you on your son’s birthday? In the pub. You made me a promise — you made him a promise…”
     Ronan sought inspiration from the faux-Georgian decoration around the room — and caught the television. “Wh— Babe, hold on.”
     “What? You can’t tell me to ‘hold on’ when…”
     The screen showed an image of the Bishop of London standing in a recording studio, seemingly in the middle of a tirade. Nearby sat the Home Secretary, staring at the bishop with slightly wider eyes than usual. The caption below read, “London Bishop wants death penalty for nephew’s murder by Stold.”
     Ronan tutted and sighed. “Ah, great.”
     His wife’s pitch rose. “Are you listening? What?”
     Ronan rubbed his forehead. “Listen, babe, I’m sorry. It’s work, it just follows me around, you know it does. It’s like it was my first disease.”
     “Ronnie, I wish I could believe you,  but you damaged my trust when you cheated. Now you’ve damaged your son’s trust as well.” There were clearly tears accompanying her words.
     “Babe, I… Look, it’s hard. This is important… If I don’t work this case, we could lose thousands.”
     “Bentley doesn’t care about that, Ronnie! What use is money against mental illness? Give him his father before—!”
     There was a beep, and the phone went silent. Ronan glared at the black, powerless screen, then scrunched his eyes. “Sorry babe.”
     He looked down at his empty whiskey tumbler. Oh, she was gonna be mad now. Trying to convince her he hadn’t hung up when she had so little faith in him? She wouldn’t listen to him now. She wouldn’t care about the fact that, those thousands he talked about? They were more like tens of thousands. And it wasn’t just about him — it was his firm, his client, his entire career at stake. What would cause their son more mental stress? His father missing one birthday because of work? Or suddenly getting chucked onto the streets because his father had lost his job?
     He sighed. “Stupid bitch.”
     His gaze was locked so tightly to the glass that, for a moment, he thought the soft female voice emanated from there.
     “Would you like a recharger?”
     After a couple of blinks, Ronan turned. She was probably half his age, or at least that’s what her clothes suggested. Her teeth gently curled her lower lip as she shifted on her feet, one hand tucked under her arm, the other offering a portable device charger.
     He blinked some more. “Ah… You sure?”
     She nodded, then smiled coyly. “I can’t afford a drink, so this is my way of buying one, y’know?”
     Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Are you old enough to be drinkin’?”
     She rolled her eyes deliciously, then smirked. “I go to GCU. You want some ID?”
     He smirked back. “No, you’re good. If you’re happy to admit you go there, I believe you.” Her expression of combined amusement and protestation caused his smile to broaden. “But you sure you want a drink here? You look like you’re going to a party…”
     “Was,” she said simply, and plonked herself down beside him on his bench. “Decided I’d have more luck meeting decent people at London Zoo.”
     “This isn’t London Zoo.”
     She flicked her hair and smirked again, this time with a wink. “Could have fooled me!”
     Ronan chuckled. She was beautiful. “Shyeah, you’re right.”
     The girl moved closer. “Tell you what. If you buy me a drink, I’ll let you use my recharger, and…”
     She paused, her mouth half open and her tongue tracing her upper lip.
     Ronan raised both his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
     She leaned towards him a little. “…I won’t judge you for buying yourself another shot, too.”
     As she winked again, Ronan shook his head and laughed. “Babe, I don’t even know your name.”
     Her hand shot out towards his. “I’m Chloe.”
     Ronan appraised her hand for a moment — so dainty and smooth. He was able to shake it with just his fingers. “Rona… Ronnie. Call me Ronnie.”
     Chloe’s eyebrows twitched, and she gave a half-smile. “So, Ronnie. How about it?”

Next Chapter: Salma