CHAPTER 19
Leo
Of course, I was right. You don’t just suddenly stop being a dickhead. Everyone knows he’s a stuck-up arrogant arsehole. I knew that. So why was I surprised?
I decide that I really, really can’t be arsed to try to make conversation with him any longer.
I tried in the taxi, have been trying since we arrived at Aux Prés, one of my favourite restaurants.
I know it’s not a date, but there’s not much more I can take of this.
If it was a date, I’d have left already.
‘Are you going to bother saying anything other than yes or no tonight?’ He shrugs, flaming my annoyance further.
He looks up with those eyes, so handsome, but untouchable right now. Gone is the easy-going conversation of yesterday, the man who couldn’t do enough to make me comfortable on our arrival. It’s exhausting this switch in moods and, truthfully, I can’t be bothered to deal with him. I’m leaving.
‘I may work for you, but I don’t have to put up with an evening of this shit.’ I’ll pack myself up and go to the dump they booked for me instead for the night. Go home tomorrow and tell them it didn’t work out, find another MA. ‘Fuck this, fuck Cece, fucking done . . .’
I’m getting into a taxi, when George runs out.
‘Leo.’ He looks annoyed. ‘Wait. What are you doing?’ He’s annoyed! I slam the door and instruct the driver.
——
Thirty minutes later, I’m halfway through packing when I hear him enter the suite. Expecting him to retreat to his room, I jump when there’s a loud knock.
‘Leo, please. Can I come in and speak to you?’
‘No.’ I continue to shove my things into my suitcase, not bothering to fold anything. I move to the walk-in dressing room and start removing my clothes from the hangers.
‘Please.’ He pauses. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Leaving.’
‘Leo, please.’ His voice is deep, rough. ‘I’m sorry, OK?’ I hear him lean on the door. ‘Let me come in, please. I really am sorry. My behaviour is inexcusable, but at least let me explain? It’s been a difficult afternoon.’
He sounds so defeated. I pad over and slowly open the door. He’s leaning on the doorframe, arm against the top, head in his hand. He’s so tall, I have to look up to meet his eyes.
‘Gordon set up this awful interview with Paris Match; they kept asking about my personal life, about things they know nothing about . . .’
‘So? You’re a famous athlete. Surely you’re not above interviews where they ask you personal questions?’ I scoff. ‘Let me guess, they asked you if you preferred baguettes or croissants? If you sing in the shower? Your first pet? Get over yourself.’
‘They asked me if ending my relationship had helped my recent run of form . . .’ He shakes his head in annoyance and I stop then. ‘It seems silly, but I already broke up with Olivia out of the blue. I hurt her. I don’t need her seeing bullshit articles like this, blaming her for my lack of form.’
‘They can really twist stuff like that?’ That does sound pretty awful to be honest. I guess I’m quite naive about it all. But he has to deal with it regularly.
‘All the time. It’s why I hate all the press stuff. I’m trying not to play into their hands and they’re not all like that. But it’s hard when you get blindsided.’
I would be in a mood too, but it still doesn’t excuse his behaviour towards me. Saying that, some of the fog has cleared. And I notice his eyes are almost sad; it surprises me. Once again, I’m reminded that he’s a member and, once again, I’ve behaved horribly. Fuck.
‘I am sorry I stormed out, but you had no right to act like that.’ I look down at my feet. ‘You didn’t speak to me. The whole time, since we left the hotel. I didn’t know what I’d done to annoy you.’
‘Annoyed at you?’ He moves into the room, stepping across the threshold.
‘I’m furious. Furious at myself.’ He gently grips my chin, tipping my face to his.
His fingers stroke along my jaw and he cups my face, intensity burning in his eyes.
‘It has absolutely nothing to do with you or anything you have done. It’s me. I’m a mess.’
A mess? George Hampden is the least ‘messy’ person I know. Right?
My heartbeat speeds up as his fingers stroke the back of my neck, his touch so light. I can’t believe he’s actually touching me.
‘Please,’ he pleads softly. ‘Don’t go. Let me make it up to you.’ His eyes suddenly light up. ‘Tomorrow morning, please. You don’t have to do anything, Leo. I’m so sorry.’
I have to stop myself leaning into his palm, his fingers twisting into my hair as my body wakes up, responding to his touch. I feel on fire, but not from anger any more.
I shake my head, removing myself before I combust. His hands drop to his sides.
‘You’re a mess?’ I’m confused, still reeling from being so close.
‘Absolutely,’ he almost whispers, ‘but I’m working on it. I don’t want to be like I was tonight. Out of control. Especially not with you.’
‘You were a complete arse.’
He nods. ‘Indeed.’
‘I felt humiliated. Really fucking humiliated. Even the waitstaff noticed you weren’t speaking to me.’
He nods again, his eyes down.
‘And that was my favourite restaurant. Not that they’ll want you back . . .’ My anger has pretty much disappeared. I’m trying not to smile now. He seems to genuinely feel bad.
‘Serves me right.’ He offers me a small smile. ‘I’m sorry, Leo.’
‘I suppose I accept your apology.’ I shake his hand and he laughs, pulling me in for a hug. His body is warm, hard. He lingers longer than necessary, but I don’t pull away either.
‘So tomorrow?’ he asks, ducking his chin so his lips brush my ear.
I pull back and look up. ‘OK.’ His eyes are dancing with excitement. ‘I was pretty annoyed though. I really hope you make it up to me properly . . .’
‘Oh, I will. Don’t you worry, Leo, I know exactly what you’ll like.’ He winks.
Of course, I blush. My traitorous body betraying my nerves, as I ask, flustered, ‘Can I help?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He shakes his head as he lets me go gently, turning to leave.
Pausing at the door, he calls back, ‘And, Leo, hopefully our second date will be better than the first.’ He gives me a broad smile, then winks again. My second in quick succession. ‘Goodnight.’
I stare, mouth open, as he leaves, letting go a long exhale as I shut the door, my brain in overdrive. He apologized. The way he touched me. He knows what I like. It’s a date. And mostly, he winked. Twice. George Hampden winked at me. Twice!
My last thought before I eventually get to sleep: what do I wear to a surprise date?
——
I wake up in the morning to a note slipped under my door.
Have a good breakfast. Pick you up at 9. Bring your racket. G x
We’re playing tennis?!