Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Matt gives a polite cough as he reaches the booth, and I look up.
“This is a nice place.”
“Yeah, it is.” A pause. “I was surprised how big it is inside.” Small talk, urgh. I’m not sure it makes it better or worse that we’ve seen each other’s genitals. Seen, touched. And the rest.
“Like a Tardis,” he adds. The reference goes over my head, but I don’t ask him to explain. We’re not friends. “Do you mind if I . . .” He gestures to the booth.
I give a careless flick of my wrist: Have at it.
“Have you been here before?” Putting his glass on the tabletop, he slots himself in at the end of the booth.
“Once. After work.” Last week with Martine, toasting the new year and our future success.
Here’s to being ambitchious! To being a better bitch.
Where did that Ryan go?
“Thanks for meeting me,” he says carefully before he brings his glass to his mouth. That lush, talented mouth.
“Thanks for being flexible.” So very flexible, as I recall. Urgh. Stupid brain, knock that off. “With your time,” I add coolly, glad he can’t read my thoughts. “I get that you’re busy.” Just not busy getting busy, my mind supplies, in all its inappropriateness.
“I’m sure we both are.” His fingers flex around his glass. “So, yesterday.” The words are expelled with a deep exhale, signaling a change of conversational gear. “I genuinely didn’t know you’d be there. That you work for Theta.”
“I get that.” At least, my brain registered his surprise, then laser engraved it inside my head. “What were you doing there, incidentally?” And as an aside, did you have anything to do with my humiliation today?
“We’re looking for a collaboration on an acquisition. I don’t know how that went,” he says, raking his hand through his hair. “I didn’t . . . Too much on my mind, I guess.”
For the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes. The pinch between his brows.
You think you have a lot on your mind now? Well, I’m about to blow it.
“Look, Ryan, let me just say that I’m so sorry for not telling you the truth in October. And for yesterday. I’m gutted that seeing me knocked you sideways.”
“It did, as you say, knock me sideways.” I glance down at my manicure, the pale tips against the dark wooden table. I’m not sure it was purely shock that took me to the bathroom.
“But here’s the thing. Cards on the table, and peelin’ back my skin. If I could go back and do it all again, I’m not at all sure I’d change a thing.”
My bun hits the back of the booth. What now?
“I don’t think I could risk the experience, because God knows I have thought of little else since.”
My stomach does a traitorous little flip, shock replaced by pleasure, those recollections fluttering to life inside me.
“Are you okay?” he asks tentatively when I don’t offer anything. “Feeling better, I mean?”
This isn’t a throwaway line but a genuine question. A real concern as he studies my face. But my impassivity is first class. A mask I have worn for years. Even if my internal world feels like it’s crumbling.
“Seeing you yesterday . . . I can only imagine how you must’ve felt.”
Goddammit! I screw my eyes tight as they begin to prickle. I will not cry.
“Ah, darlin’.” His hand moves to cover mine, but I snatch it away, using it to lift my cooling tea to my mouth. When in Rome, right? I’d rather be drinking wine. An inappropriate laugh bubbles inside me. Not for the next few months.
“I’m fine,” I say, mastering both my tears and my ridiculousness as I set the cup down again. “It’s just been a weird twenty-four hours.” Understatement of the century.
“Yeah,” he agrees in a low rumble. “It must’ve been an absolute head fuck, and then being ill, on top of everything.”
Sick, not ill. Like the two are unconnected. “It wasn’t the sight of you or anything.” My tone makes a mockery of my words. I don’t expect him to bite, but I also don’t expect the tiny hint of his smile.
“Like I say, I can only imagine, because it felt like my own heart was in my mouth when I saw you there. And I had the advantage. I already knew you were in London.”
“How?” I feel myself frown. That sounds stalkerish, right? “How could . . .”
“I saw you on Saturday. At the Palladium.”
“Oh, right.” In the office bathrooms he said as much, I guess. I just wasn’t taking anything in or even thinking straight.
“You had a conversation with my niece. She’s a dotey little thing,” he adds, holding out his hand in a height approximation that spells out little. “Yellow dress, red rose, duffle coat? Dressed as a princess?”
“Belle, I remember.” I smile despite the situation. My situation. “She’d dropped her rose.”