A Is for Apple by Kate Johnson

although there was a bloody fingerprint on the ice machine.
    I stomped past and hammered at the button for the lift. My eyes were stinging. I hated fighting with Luke. It always made me so frightened, although I don’t know what of. Maybe I thought he might hit me. Maybe I thought he might leave me. I don’t know. I hate confrontations. Why the hell am I a bloody spy?
    “I could have been a vet,” I muttered, sniffing, as I got into the lift and pressed the lobby button. “I could have been a lawyer or an architect. I could have stuck at the bloody airport, but no, I had to go and work for the sodding government .”
    The doors opened and a middle-aged couple got in. They eyed me curiously, but I rooted my eyes on the little CNN screen in the corner and tried to focus on a news item about a car chase in Florida.
    The lift doors opened and I stumbled out into the lobby, the marble floor cold under my aching feet. I made to go past the security desk, but I was beckoned over.
    “Hey, lady, you okay?”
    I nodded and tried not to sniff pathetically.
    “I’m fine. It was just a—just a misunderstanding.” I attempted a smile.
    “One of those guys your boyfriend?”
    “The blond one. The other one was just, er, he’s a friend.”
    The security guy raised his eyebrows. “You greet all your friends like that?”
    I blushed and shook my head. “It was a misunderstanding,” I repeated lamely, and backed away. “Thanks…”
    He nodded and waved me goodbye. I tripped through the lobby to the gimmicky bar by the front door and threw myself at a bar stool and whined miserably, “Can I have a—” wait, what did they drink over here? “—a Guinness, please?”
    Eyebrows were raised but my drink was fetched, and when I tried to pay I was gently told, “We’ll put it on a tab for you, ma’am.”
    I sniffed and nodded, and the bartender, who was quite cute, asked, “Are you okay?”
    I shrugged. “Fight with my boyfriend.”
    Even that phrase made me perk up a little bit. I’d been boyfriendless for so long before Luke that I thought I’d never be able to use the word again.
    “Were you the girl fighting by the elevators?”
    “I wasn’t fighting!” I turned to the couple next to me, who were earwagging. “I was not fighting.”
    “Sure, whatever.”
    The barman grinned. “Which one’s your boyfriend?”
    “The blond,” I said gloomily. “Not sure how long for though.”
    “Hey, cheer up. He ain’t gonna dump you.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Yeah, right. You’re gorgeous.”
    I sniffed. “You’re very sweet,” I told him, “but I think you’re lying.”
    He grinned. “If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t dump you.”
    Okay, going a bit too far now. “Even if you saw me kissing someone else?”
    He whistled. “That’s what the fight was about?”
    I nodded miserably.
    “Well, I can see why he might be mad.”
    I finished my pint, chatting to the barman as I went, and at the end of it felt a bit better. I checked my watch—Jesus, it was nearly midnight!
    “I should go,” I said, slipping off my stool and getting out my purse, but the bartender shook his head.
    “On the house,” he said, and I smiled with gratitude. “Thanks.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he grinned at me.
    “For that you can have another one—”
    “I really should go,” I said. “Make amends.”
    “Have fun.”
    Fun wasn’t what I was anticipating.
    I got back in the lift and checked my reflection. Blegh. Makeup all sweated off, eyes smudged all over from nearly crying, pretty summer dress creased, feet black with dirt and throbbing all over.
    Yep. Gorgeous.
    I hobbled back to my room and listened for a moment outside the door. Silence. I let myself in with a sigh and went straight into the bathroom, closing the door out of habit and going through my nightly toiletry ritual, ending with the new addition of peeling off the remaining plasters and bathing my feet.
    I clicked off the light and went back