Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
A while later, we’re in a café together, and we’ve fully embraced awkward after the hotel. The short walk over was mostly silent, each of us lost in careening thoughts. At least my thoughts are careening. Florian’s too orderly for chaos. Too controlled.
Meanwhile, I’ve got no roadmap on how to deal with a man after I spilled drinks on him, got us stuck in a lift, agreed to a fake art date, and, after some suit-related curves, got here.
Where we are exactly, I can’t tell you, other than off the Brighton seafront.
Which is beautiful through the café window.
We look at each other across the table after Florian returns with coffees. Apparently, both of us are too nervy to eat straight off. He sets the mugs down on the table and sits.
“I—”
“I’m sorry—”
We look at each other. I fidget with the cuff of my shirt.
“I didn’t mean to kiss you like that,” I blurt. “So publicly.”
“You would have kissed me like that privately?” Florian peers at me, lifting his eyebrows. And honestly, it’s so fucking hot, but I keep my chill.
Maybe.
I would like to think I’m capable of keeping calm in moments like this. But my face evidently has other plans and betrays me. Like it would be so impressive right now to be coy and witty and cool. Instead, I suck back air. I flush. “It’s… I was happy for the suit.”
“Yes, the suit.” Florian nods decisively. “It’s an important thing to have. Especially for a wedding. Or a business meeting.”
He’s clearly having the same problem with inane thoughts, a spreading problem. He’s curt and literal but not so much given to stating the obvious. Although his scenarios are very helpful when oxygen has left my brain.
“Yes.” I burn my tongue slightly on my coffee as I attempt to gulp it down.
We’re quiet. Conversation isn’t our strong suit this morning, even with Florian’s knack for efficiency. He looks a little bleary. The red-eye must be catching up with him.
“Some fake breakfast, huh,” I say to him into the silence. Which is becoming permanent.
“The fakest,” Florian assures me. “We aren’t even eating. It’s not a convincing effort. I think I left my stomach behind in New York last night. I feel a little ill.”
“Yeah. That’s a problem. I’m just too…” I wave a hand because my stomach’s been doing some sort of dance since Florian appeared at my hotel. It’s impossible to eat under these conditions. Oxygen must help digestion too. Which means: no oxygen, no breakfast. “Right. Where do we go from here?”
“Well…” Florian considers me, unreadable. “After this fake breakfast, I can leave you in peace. And let you enjoy your friends and the wedding.”
I nod slowly, holding the coffee between my hands. “You did say that earlier. Though… wanna know something?”
“What’s that?”
“Weddings aren’t so much fun when you’re single and everyone else around you is a couple. All my good friends except Johan are dating people. And I’m… not. Johan and I were meant to go together, but he’s still working. Some kind of work thing came up.”
Florian nods, looking sympathetic. “Yes, weddings are difficult,” he agrees. “Especially on your own.”
“Yeah. And, well. Where do we go from here?” I dare ask, looking at him, then my coffee, then back again. “I mean, I don’t know if we are even friends.”
“We’re fake partners,” Florian says simply.
I smooth a napkin. Fold it. Refold it. “Any chance you might feel like fake partnering today? For a couple hours, even? Like a token fake partner event? Though I totally get it if you’ve got places to be.”
“I’ve done the things I had to do today. In either time zone.”
Which reminds me that he’s come from New York because he promised to deliver my suit.
“I thought you had other people to deliver suits, by the way. Like Richard.”
“Well.” Florian’s expression changes slightly, his brow lightly furrowed. “There was evidently a small incident with Richard and a car, and he wasn’t able to leave London. And it was too late to send someone else. I said I would come and see that Richard was alright and I could take the suit.”
“Wait. What happened?”
“A minor car accident,” Florian tells me.
At my wide-eyed look, he continues quickly.
“Richard’s well, he assured me. But he wasn’t up for driving after the accident last night.
Took a toll on his nerves. He’s a little high-strung, swore off venturing beyond the M25 for a full twenty-four hours. If not the week.”
“Shit. Yeah. I get that.” I shake my head. “I don’t even know how the logistics worked out with all of your travel from New York to here and getting the suit.”
Florian gives me a wry smile. “In the end, Richard met me at Heathrow with my car and the suit early this morning. Technically still within the M25. And I drove to Brighton, and he took the train back to London.”
It’s my turn for my eyebrows to climb. “Right. Richard must really hate me.”
“On the contrary. He’s an excellent assistant and very well compensated for his efforts. And he assured me he wasn’t injured, just that his car had some damage. Therefore, he borrowed mine to meet me.”
“Right, okay.” I look at him. He’s still hot, but he’s obviously tired, shadows under his eyes. “I would’ve thought flying to Gatwick would have saved you time.”
“It’s beyond the M25 and Richard’s terms, as well as more difficult to change the flights.”
I look at him uncertainly, then nod. Florian could have any flight he wanted, I’m sure of it.
But it’s interesting to learn he’s made concessions to Richard’s wishes.
They obviously have a working relationship, and Florian must be a demanding man to work for, but it’s also a relief to know Florian isn’t a tyrant. “Okay.”
He gives me a cautious smile. “So I’m here should you actually want me to accompany you. At least for a couple of hours, like you said.”
“If you would… that’s really terrific. In return, I can offer you another fake date to some business thing or whatever it is you need. Art lessons,” I quip. “If you want.”
“Art lessons?” Florian sits up straight at that suggestion, as if I casually mentioned I planned to jettison him into the sun. There’s an air of alarm floating around him.
“Just something to consider. I’ll even give you the option of actual art techniques or history of art.” I can’t help but laugh at his expression. “Art’s hard to monetize, by the way.”
“I have evidence to the contrary. We were at Sotheby’s for the contemporary and modern art private view the other day, weren’t we?” There’s a hint of humor flickering in his eyes, a certain way his lips move into a ghost of a smile.
“Florian, that’s the most elite of the artists out there in the last century.
Most of us are either scrounging for bus fare between our sofa cushions or leading simple lives in order to follow our passion.
Or, I guess, otherwise born aristocrats and can dabble in art at will.
Otherwise, everyone else has got a lifetime of compromises and living in a humble way. ”
“I see.”
“It’s like a cultural exchange. You can see how the other side live. It’ll be, um, character building and great for hobnobbing with your clients and business partners. And it’ll give me, if you’re willing to give me a reference, some experience in privately tutoring art.”
“It would be useful to know more about art.” Obviously, wheels are turning in his head because he’s quiet for a long moment, looking far away. “At the very least, I do have another event where it might be useful to have a fake partner.”
“Oh?”
“A charity gala.”
“Shit, Florian, that sounds way out of my league. I definitely don’t have clothes for that.”
“Don’t worry about the clothes. Those can be arranged.” Florian’s dismissive. He doesn’t want for material things.
“Easy for you to say.”
Florian smiles.
I nod slowly. It’s daunting, but it would be worse to give him up. And if we’re into fake dating, let’s keep it going a little longer.
“And you’re sure you’re up for today?” I ask him. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a bit wrecked.”
“If it’s no bother, I might have a nap,” Florian concedes. “I couldn’t sleep on the flight.”
“Shit. Well. I know the hotel’s booked out. You could sleep in my room for a little while, if you want. I mean, you’d sleep without me there. In the room. As in—I’ll need to go meet up with my friends to check everything’s okay at the venue for later and help them set up for the wedding.”
“That would be very kind. Thank you.”
“Okay. You have a two-fake-date and one-nap business deal.” I offer my hand for him to shake, and he does. I shiver slightly at touching him again, his hand firm in mine, purposeful.
An agreement is an agreement, after all.