“No, sorry,” he says tersely, seeing the lift doors open ahead of us. “Things to do.”

“That’s me,” I whisper as I pass Patrick. “I’m the thing he has to do.”

I catch his frown and offer him a sweet smile before Zeb yanks me into the lift. The doors close behind us, and I watch him as he leans back against the lift wall. His face is closed but something is working over it. Is it rage? I squint to check, but I can’t be sure, so I launch into speech.

“I promised I’d behave if people were polite to you. And I kept my word,” I say loudly as he lowers his head into his hands and his shoulders start to shake. “She was fucking awful to you, and I won’t have it.” I pause and amend my sentence quickly. “In my position as your fake boyfriend, I wouldn’t have stood for someone talking to you like that.” I huff indignantly. “She’s the rudest person I’ve ever met. I am quite frankly astounded that nobody has murdered her. If this was an Agatha Christie mystery there’d be no bloody mystery because we’d all have done it.” I pause. “I think that’s been done,” I say slowly. “Although if it was Murder on the Orient Express someone would have just chucked her under the train as it set off.”

I pause as he makes a faint sound. Oh shit, is he crying? Have I broken him? Surely not. If anything was going to break him it would have been the time I crashed my old Fiat into his new Mercedes. Nevertheless, I move closer.

“Erm, Zeb,” I say consolingly, moving to him and patting one very wide shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. I’m sure it’s not you and I’m really positive it’s her and–”

I break off as he raises his face. His eyes are wet, but he’s laughing, almost silently heaving with the chuckles, and when he sees my face, he bursts into peals of laughter. “Oh shit,” he gasps. “I couldn’t have held that in a moment longer.”

I fall back against the wall. “Oh, thank God. I fucking thought you were upset.” I smack his arm. “Give me some sort of sign next time.” I watch him laughing, my own mouth tipping into a smile. It’s so rare to see him uncontrolled. He looks young and untroubled.

The lift dings and the door opens, and he tries to sober up, but chuckles burst out as we walk towards the door of our room. I take the card he offers me and insert it into the slot. “You okay now?” I ask. “I can’t believe you’re not mad at me.”

“How could I have been mad at you? I haven’t seen a takedown like that since Marquez and Pacquiao.”