Chapter 5
Emma
What a joke. Can’t even get off the phone to greet us. Is this another one of his tactics? Chapter Five from the playbook: Treat ‘em Mean, Keep ’em Keen.
My blood is boiling. Who the hell does he think he is? Asking us here and then not being available to greet us. We were on time. I make a point of it. I’m never late, and I expect—in my business life anyway—that others treat me with the same respect.
“He knew what time we agreed. He should be prioritising us. But apparently not. And wafting. What the hell was that waft with his hands. ‘Hi, I can see you, but, oh no, you’re not important enough for me to end my call.’ Probably signed up some multimillion pound deal this morning and is finishing it off.
Whilst I was battling to sign up a contract that would save me for the next few months,” I hiss at Louise.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Is that him?” Louise is trying to look nonplussed, and failing miserably. “He looks even better in the flesh. Just remember to breathe,” she hisses out of the side of her mouth. She’s got her back to him now as the host takes our coats.
“Breathe? I’ll choke him. How dare he ignore us.” I’ve spun around so that he can’t read my lips, smiling at the man helping me disrobe.
“Em, we’ve been over this. Think of the company.
Get that mantra going in your head. Keep calm.
We got this. You are a company owner. A strong woman.
You eat muggles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Three courses a piece.” She’s pumping her fist at me as the bar man takes our drinks order.
Our appointment is still on the phone, but staring at us now. Bloody cheek.
“It’s mogul not muggle. Stop saying that. You’ll make me laugh, and I’m trying to be serious here.” I try to suppress the smirk.
“Muggle, muggle, muggle. Lunch, lunch, lunch.”
She’s chanting at me in a cheerleader style, and I almost think she’s going to break into a dance. I grin at her. She’s barking. But God, I need her morale boosting confidence.
She breaks her chant, staring wide-eyed in the direction of Jude Greystone. “Look at that suit. Whoa.”
I am looking at the suit, but trying not to. It probably cost the same as my monthly salary bill. How can a man look so good? It should be illegal.
“I know. But don’t get sidetracked by it. It’s just a load of material and a good sewing kit away,” I choke out at her. Her eyes have gone all dazed, and I give her a little prod. “Focus, Louise.”
As we walk sedately over to our booth, trailing behind the host, I’m aware of lots of business types all around us.
My peers. So why do I feel so off-kilter?
I’ve been in this sort of environment loads.
It’s just another meeting. Another proposal.
You don’t have to take it. He may not even make a proposal.
But the fact that he changed something around to meet us, well, it speaks volumes.
We settle into the booth, Louise squashing down into the incredibly comfortable navy blue leather seats first. I follow her in, preparing to present a unified front on this side.
Opposite are two comfy looking chairs, also in the same blue leather.
I notice this booth is slightly away from the others, with a large lush green plant selection behind us blocking the restaurant from view.
I know he’s picked this booth on purpose.
Given us a bit of privacy in a room full of London’s business community, all out socialising on a Friday evening.
I’ve never been here before, but I can see the attraction.
The wallpaper is incredible. It’s like a history lesson for the restaurant itself.
The blues, greys, and wood all complement each other.
The unusual origami lampshades hanging from the ceiling create a light and airy feel.
The staff are fast and efficient, but not rushed.
It all appears seamless, everyone seems to know each other. An exclusive club of sorts.
He must be moving towards us, as we hear his name being hailed from lots of different people. Louise is more strategically placed to watch the proceedings. If I turn, he’ll see me watching him.
“Holy cow, it’s like a rock star has arrived. We’ll be here till midnight at this rate. Better get another round in, he might be a while.” She grins at me, keeping her eyes on her target.
“Why? What’s going on?” I think about picking up my spoon to see in the reflection. But it may be obvious, so instead I take another gulp of my wine.
“Four blokes in suits just stopped him. Oh, now another one just sidled up. Whoa, down boy.” She laughs at her joke.
“They seem desperate. He’s got a really nice smile.
You can see his teeth. All white, perfectly straight.
Bet he’s been to Turkey.” She nods at me.
“My nephew is going for his teeth done there. A third of the price of here. Can you believe it?” She’s gone off piste again. I need her to focus.
“Never mind Turkey teeth. Is he coming over or not? Because to be honest, if he doesn’t get here by the time I’ve finished this wine, which will not be long at this rate, I’m off.
” I can feel the wine making me flushed.
I’ve gulped it down due to nerves, but my nerves have turned into a bit of aggression.
“It’s a disgrace. We were on time. How dare he disrespe—”
“Hi. Mr Greystone. Nice to meet you in person.” Louise cuts across my tirade as he lands finally at our table.
He puts up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m so sorry about that. When I changed my diary, I needed to just fix a few things.”
So it’s our fault he’s late? Nice job passing the buck onto Louise and me. His intention for our angst to dissipate hasn’t worked. If anything, it’s increased.
“My assistant talks a lot. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.” He actually looks contrite, like he believes it.
I open my mouth to refute his apology, when Louise jumps in.
“No problem. We were looked after, weren’t we, Emma.
” She half stands, leaning over the table to shake his hand, smiling like a fool at him.
“I’m Louise. Executive assistant,” she finishes with a flourish, shaking her hair out as if she’s preening.
For God's sake Louise, stop fawning over the ridiculously good looking man.
I get hit with his scent. What the hell is that?
Odour du rich muggle? Jesus, I mean mogul.
But jeez it smells so good. Bergamot—my favourite—sandalwood, and a bit of spice.
I’m inhaling like a truffle pig in full truffle-sniffing mode, edging towards him as I stand to shake his hand.
Louise’s eyes have opened wide to my crazy antics.
I stop dead, as they’re both looking at me with bewildered expressions.
“Emma. It’s good to finally meet you.”
His hand is in front of me now. I look down at it.
Well, at least I’m not being subjected to his square jaw and killer cheekbones.
My senses are still reeling from his scent.
I lift my eyes to find his. Fucking hell, they’re the darkest of browns, but I see the blue-green flecks I’d studied so closely.
They flash me. And I’m staring. Hypnosis probably feels like this.
I fully expect him to start counting back from ten.
I need to get a grip. How can I negotiate under this type of pressure?
I need to break the spell he’s trying to weave on me.
I suck in a breath, filling my lungs, and take his hand. This doesn’t make things better. His hands are warm and large, his grip firm. I get a flashback to that damned picture. His hands on that woman's waist. The warmth, all the messages they would be telegraphing.
Get a grip, Lincoln.
“And you, Mr Greystone. Emma Lincoln,” I say stiffly, trying to get myself in check.
“Please, call me Jude.” He doesn’t even acknowledge he’s been calling me Emma for weeks.
“Please sit. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a few dishes.
And had the wine paired with them. So we can talk and eat at the same time and not have to think about the food or drink order.
” He looks up towards some hovering waitstaff.
“It’s a specialty of Vinny’s. They may all come at different intervals.
Is that okay?” He’s moving his smooth voice between the both of us, smiling.
Does he think we’re some sort of country bumpkins? That we wouldn’t know what to order in a bloody Italian restaurant.
I take another deep breath in, just about to demand he cancel it so we can pick our own food, when some appetisers arrive with fresh glasses of wine.
The aroma of the dishes takes over from his scent, and I drift off to the Mediterranean.
Sun, the bluest of skies, and the noise of cicadas.
Sun loungers, Aperol spritz, gorgeous waiters… Heaven.
“This is gorgeous.” Louise has succumbed already, and he looks pleased that she seems appreciative of his high-handedness.
“Please try all the dishes. I know everyone knows what they usually like in an Italian restaurant, but sometimes you can find hidden gems from trying new things.”
His eyes are on me as he speaks. I can see the intensity in the darkening brown irises, and feel myself getting flushed again. I gulp my wine, too big a sip. I need to cool it, to be in control, not sloshed.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he continues. “And I apologise for my team’s overzealous activities. I didn’t realise they’d gone that far. You should have let me know sooner. I would have stopped them.” He’s so sincere, I think he believes that as well.
“Really? Would you though? You want to buy my building, you've made that obvious. It seems natural that we would be hassled and harassed until we give up and give in.”