Worst Impressions

Bonus Chapter - The Confession

Getting out of the club was far easier than getting in. People were glad to see the back of the teenager who'd intruded on their night and parted like the sea to let me pass. I took the steps two at a time in pursuit of Beth, hoping that she hadn't made it too far into the night to put herself in further danger. Freddie, while an absolute scoundrel in all other regards, wasn't the sort to cause a woman bodily injury, nor to force himself upon them. I didn't fancy risking Beth's safety in a sea of strangers on the streets of a major city.

A large group of men barged their way down the pavement, all of them talking over one another, shouting into the night in their native tongue. They pushed through other pedestrians with little care for their safety, commenting on the women and jeering at the men. One such young woman on the receiving end of their lewd suggestions was Beth, who, thankfully, didn't appear fluent enough in French to catch what they were saying. Unsteady enough on her feet in her inebriated state, it didn't take much of a nudge from one man to upset her balance.

As she staggered and fell towards the ground, I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around her from behind before she hit the ground. I was astounded at my own speed and good fortune upon saving her and was quick to bring her back into an upright position.

I released her almost as soon as I was sure that she was safe, then turned her to face me. The utter contempt she wore on her face was clear as day, and I felt a stab to the heart as I read her expression. I had always known that Beth held some distaste for me. No one could ever accuse her of being two-faced; she was brash and honest about the people she had no regard for, but I'd always hoped that she might gain some respect or affection for me.

'You're drunk,' I said.

My disgust at Freddie's behaviour must have shown on my own face, as well as my frustration with her for allowing herself to become so vulnerable. It didn't bear thinking about what she may have consented to while in such a state.

'I resent that accusation,' Beth slurred.

'Why?'

'Because it's true.'

I sighed and grasped her arm in a bid to support her weight. 'I'm taking you back. Come on, I'll get us a cab.'

Beth wrenched her arm out of my grip. 'No! I'm here with Freddie, so you can – you know – scoot.'

'Scoot?'

'Yeah. Get lost. Go on, rich boy. Why don't you ask Chantelle on a date? She could get a helicopter to drop her off here, right?'

Now, I was getting annoyed. 'You're babbling.'

'I am not! You're just not listening right.'

This wasn't going the way that I wanted it to. I mean, if I'd had my way, she'd never have left the house with Freddie in the first place. She certainly wouldn't have gotten drunk, and we wouldn't be standing out on a freezing Parisian street arguing about who should be on a date with who in a helicopter. I propped my hands on my hips and tilted my head back, muttering a string of swears to the night sky above. It was cold, I was tired, and I didn't want to continue the argument further. If she wanted to hate me for my intervention then she could do it from the comfort of a warm mansion.

My patience wore thin. I moved deftly to lift her off her feet like a Princess; one hand at her back and the other beneath the bend of her knees. Beth wriggled pathetically, like a dying fish out of the water, slapping her limp hands onto my chest and mumbling drunken, unintelligible pleas to strangers for assistance. They ignored her which, granted, was worrying in of itself. A drunk woman in the arms of a man carrying her off to who-knew-where ought to have encouraged some concern in somebody, but they were all far too interested in their own problems to take on ours.