Chapter 2 #2
She almost added, I know you want me in your bed.
But while she was honest, she’d also learned the value of keeping certain truths to herself.
Yes, she was pretty sure he wanted her. The signs were too obvious.
But there was something else going on here.
Her gut, usually reliable, was clamouring to be heard.
It wasn’t as if she’d bumped into him at a party, or a bar, or the theatre. He was sitting in the wrong place — the gloomy hotel — at the wrong time, watching her. That wasn’t coincidence. Until she’d figured out what was going on, she’d keep some cards close to her chest.
The fact he didn’t answer immediately but turned his attention to the waitress as she brought his cutlery only confirmed her suspicions. This was not a man who gave his attention freely. Unless it suited him.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, after one last smile for the waitress, ‘you’d let me have your phone number?’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘If you have dinner with me, maybe you’ll find out what it is I’m interested in.’
She shrugged, as if it were nothing. She wasn’t in the habit of handing out her number. But this man tempted her, like no one had in a long time. ‘In that case, you may have my number.’
‘Is there any situation in which you wouldn’t have given it to me?’
‘Plenty. Like if you’d wanted to sell me something. Or use my influence for something—’
‘You have influence?’ he asked, mock-innocent. ‘Good to know.’
She held out her hand. He swiped through a couple of screens and passed her his phone. Top of the line. Pristine. Not a smear in sight. She wasn’t surprised.
She entered her work number and handed it back. ‘There you go, Oliver. You can now contact me if you need me to use my extensive influence to get you something you want.’
He smiled, the kind of innocent smile which was meant to deny he wanted anything. It didn’t look right on him. ‘Like what?’
‘No idea. What do people normally want? Money?’
He blinked once. She’d unsettled him; she was sure of it, even though he recovered with a dazzling smile just as his breakfast arrived. The eggs Benedict gleamed with hollandaise, butter and herbs perfuming the air between them.
‘Money?’
She shrugged. ‘You look like someone to whom money matters.’
‘Doesn’t money matter to everyone?’ He sounded genuinely puzzled. It made her smile.
‘To some more than others.’ She stood. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Bon appétit.’
‘Merci.’
She exhaled shakily as she walked back to the kitchen. Even her legs felt wobbly. Man, she had it bad.
‘Enjoy your coffee?’ Jen asked, amused.
‘Yes,’ said Lucy vaguely.
‘Looks like it,’ said Jen, tipping Lucy’s untouched coffee down the sink. ‘You like him?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She looked up at the security camera and watched him eat his breakfast. She liked the way he ate. Slowly, with attention and appreciation. He didn’t wolf it down. That boded well. ‘What I am sure of is that I’d like to wake up beside him.’
‘Lucy!’ said Jen.
‘What? Don’t look so shocked. I’m pretty sure the evidence of your son suggests you’ve had sex before.’
‘Yes, but that was with someone I liked… at the time anyway.’ Jen’s brow knitted up and Lucy saw the pain which was still raw in her eyes. Even though she’d been separated from her ex months before he’d died, the drama surrounding his death was still raw and painful.
Lucy winced. ‘Sorry.’ She hadn’t intended to bring up Jen’s ex. She still felt absurdly, superstitiously responsible for his death. She’d wished him dead, after what he’d done to Jen. And then — only weeks later… She cut the thought off. She refused to go there.
Jen waved a hand airily, but it didn’t fool Lucy. ‘No need.’ She gave her a quick hug. ‘It’s not your fault.’ Lucy grimaced. If Jen only knew. ‘I’ll go and lend Marcus a hand in the kitchen.’
‘Thanks for all the help you’re giving me,’ Lucy said.
‘Writing is a lonely occupation. This is far more social. And it’s entertaining watching you flirt. You never know, you might end up in one of my books.’
‘Only if it’s a thriller,’ said Lucy. ‘I can see myself as a gun-toting, kick-ass heroine.’
‘I don’t write those kinds of books.’
‘That’s probably why I haven’t read your others.’
Jen rolled her eyes. ‘You and all the rest of my family.’ She turned, as if remembering something. ‘Talking of family — Dan.’
‘What about him?’
‘He still hasn’t gone back to the US. I wonder if something happened. Something preventing him from going. Has he talked to you?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘No. I was going to ask you the same thing. I thought he’d stayed after Mum’s birthday because of everything going on with you, and then it was my birthday. But that was weeks ago, and he’s still here. And he looks kind of…’ She wrinkled her nose, searching for the word.
‘Lost,’ supplied Jen. ‘He looks lost. You need to talk to him. Find out what’s going on.’
Lucy snorted. ‘Like he’d talk to me. He never has.’
‘You’re closest to him. I used to be, but I’ve been away so long, of course there’s a distance now. I wish there weren’t, but it’s inevitable, I guess.’
Lucy smiled sympathetically. She knew how much it hurt Jen, and how she punished herself for staying away so long, desperately trying to save a marriage until she simply couldn’t.
‘You’ll grow closer,’ Lucy said. ‘Especially if he keeps hanging around MacLeod’s Cove.’
‘So you think he will?’
‘Don’t know. But he doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave. Has Mum said anything to him?’
‘She asked if I would. But…’ Jen winced. ‘It doesn’t feel right coming from me.’
‘So you want me to.’
Jen grinned. ‘Exactly.’
‘OK.’ Lucy fired off a quick text. ‘I’ve asked him to drop in for a drink next time he’s here.’
‘And that’s another thing. Why does he insist on staying in Wellington?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll put it on my list of things to ask him,’ Lucy said dryly.
Her phone buzzed again. She pulled it from her apron pocket, saw who it was and smiled.
Dinner Friday night? La Scala?
La Scala. Only the top restaurant in Wellington.
It was a yes. A definite yes. But she tapped the phone against her thigh ten times before she allowed herself to reply.
‘Is that Dan?’ asked Jen.
Lucy shook her head.
Jen’s eyes widened. ‘Not that… dude from earlier?’
‘Yep.’ Lucy decided she’d waited long enough and typed.
Yes. Thank you. Polite enough?
His reply came quickly.
It’s fierce I like, remember. Say 8pm?
She didn’t bother texting back words. Instead she hovered between a heart and a snorting bull emoji.
She chose the bull.