Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Beck
Figuring out women had never been a priority for me.
But this was business, and although I wasn’t good at relationships, I was good at business.
I’d done a little digging and found examples of Stella’s design work—she clearly had the training she said she did and although her clients were a little different to mine, it was still obvious she’d injected some individuality into each project.
But then her flat was stuffed to the brim with a hotchpotch of old stuff that didn’t seem to belong together.
“Are we heading over to your place now?” she asked. “So I can root through your stuff and make silent judgements?”
I laughed. She was irreverent and funny but somehow managed to hit the nail on the head. “We’re not going back to mine, but I’m happy for your judgement of me to be completely out in the open,” I said, clicking down on my key fob, the lights of the Lamborghini flashing as the doors unlocked.
She groaned. “Really? This is your car?”
“Is that a problem?” I asked, opening the door for her and then rounding the bonnet before getting in the drivers’ side.
“It’s just a little . . . obvious,” she said as I sat.
“And what you mean by obvious is new money.” I didn’t exactly snap but at the same time, I wished I hadn’t mentioned it. Joshua and Dexter were always ribbing me about this car. But I liked it. What was the point in having money unless you enjoyed yourself a little with it?
“I suppose—not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“Fast cars are fun. If that’s obvious, I’ll take it.” I pulled out into almost-stationary traffic. If we weren’t in central London, I could show her just how fun cars like this could be. My money might not have been given to me by my father, but it was as good as the inherited stuff.
“I never got the car thing, but each to their own. So where are we going if not back to your place?”
“I don’t know. What do you like to do at the weekend?”
She let out a breath, which I’d figured out she did to give herself more time to answer. “I usually end up working, or I’m so knackered from work that I lie in bed, waiting for death.” She grinned at me.
She was funny. Like one of the guys. “Level with me about the recruitment consultancy thing. Why are you in a job you clearly don’t like when you used to do something you’re obviously passionate about?”
She leaned forward and began to fiddle with the air-con.
“That’s not part of the introductory course.
It’s the advanced curriculum. And anyway, you’ve heard a lot about me, and you’ve been in my flat twice now.
I don’t know if you live in a tumble-down bedsit in Croydon or a Georgian townhouse in Belgravia. ”
I laughed, happy to move on from talk of her job, even though I was curious about how she’d ended up where she had. I was confident I’d get her to tell me sooner or later. “I live in Mayfair, of course.”
“Of course,” she mumbled. “Mr. Mayfair. How could I forget?”
“So, when you’re not lying in bed, waiting for death, what do you like to do in London?”
“Eat?” she offered as if it was more of a question than an answer. “Especially at the weekend. Take the papers, settle into lunch. With a strictly no-talking policy.”
“Well, we can do food but I’m banning papers. We need to talk or I’m going to have to deal with you having a meltdown because you don’t feel prepared enough.”
“It’s like you’ve known me a thousand years already. But seriously, maybe we should just accept that this situation is impossible, shake hands, and move on with our lives. If Karen figures out we’re not really dating . . . I think I’d have to emigrate to avoid the shame.”
“There will be no emigrating. And no giving up. We have a deal.” I didn’t understand why she needed to have a boyfriend for this wedding in the first place, but if it meant she’d take me then I was up for it.
“Do I have to remind you that you really want to be the designer on my new building—when are you going to get an opportunity like that again?” I didn’t mention the antique chest in her bedroom that didn’t seem to go with anything, or the weird Chesterfield sofa in her living room that looked like it belonged in some stuffy, men-only, private members lunch club.
Perhaps they were hand-me-downs and she couldn’t afford anything else.
I tried to focus on the work she’d previously done and ignore the fear that any talent she had for interior design was purely in her imagination.
I’d cross that particular bridge when I came to it.
“And another thing. You lie in bed at the weekends waiting for death.” I chuckled at the over-dramatic description of her mood. “This will shake things up a little, make life a little more interesting. Give you a new challenge.”
“And if I fail . . .” She trailed off. The hopelessness in her eyes suggested there was more to her story than what she’d told me.
“Do me a favor?” I asked. She had to stop thinking she was being forced to do this. It was her choice.
“Another one?”
“Funny,” I said, pulling out of the traffic and turning left off Marylebone Road.
“It’s not a favor if you’re getting something in return.
It’s a bargain. Give it these next two weeks.
We’ll hang out. Learn about each other and then if you don’t feel prepared, we won’t go to the wedding.
You can feign illness or something. Stay positive.
Keep your goal in mind. We’ve got this.”
I glanced over to find her staring out of the window, drawing a small circle with her fingertip on the glass. “You’re right. I’ve stopped believing that things can go right for me.”
The sadness in her voice sent a chill across the surface of my skin, as if I’d been blasted with cold air.
“I’ve been told before that I change women’s lives. So, get ready.”
She turned to me and grinned. “You’re so cheesy.”
Her smile chased away the chill. “So, do we have a deal?”
“Yes.” She nodded resolutely. “I’ll stop whining, and we’ll both do our best over the next few weeks.”
I was going to make sure the woman knew more about me than my mother and my five best friends put together. There was no way I was letting Stella London or Henry Dawnay slip through my fingers.
“Now where?” Stella asked as we got back to the car after a long, late lunch that had seemed to pass in a flash.
I checked my watch. It was after six. How had all those hours passed without me noticing?
What I really wanted to do was drop her off at her flat and head to the pub.
That was what I did on Sunday nights. “You don’t need to prepare for tomorrow?
” I asked over the roof of the car before getting in and starting the engine.
“Prepare for what?” Stella asked. “Another thrilling week in recruitment? No, it’s been a bit quieter recently.
No doubt I’ll walk into the office tomorrow and get hit with a tidal wave of phone calls and emails.
” We drove in silence for a few minutes.
“So, what do you normally do on a Sunday night?”
“Work. Hang out with friends.”
“And what about women? Even if Danielle saw the light, surely, for a man like you, sex is on the agenda?”
What did she mean, a man like me? I wasn’t a type. I didn’t fit in a box. “Not on a Sunday,” I replied.
“For religious reasons?” she asked. I turned to see if she was serious and found a wide, warm smile that she didn’t wear often enough.
I decided to double back on myself and head toward my flat. She wanted to be prepared? And she could banter like one of the guys? I was going to take her to the pub with me. “Yeah, I’m a regular Benedictine monk.”
“I didn’t get that vibe from you.”
“Weird that. Sunday nights are about chewing the fat and drinking beer with my oldest friends.”
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
“They drink. I nurse a pint of lemonade,” I replied.
“Well, you know what I’m going to suggest.”
“I’m way ahead of you. We’ll drop the car and we’ll be there to get the first round in.”
“Are jeans okay?” She looked down at what she was wearing. “And this shirt is old.”
“I swear, none of these guys will notice what you’re wearing.”
“Nice. No wonder women aren’t part of your Sunday nights if you’re full of compliments like that.”
“I’m not saying they won’t notice you. Just that your clothes aren’t what they’ll pick up on. First will be your smile. Then, no doubt they’ll check out your arse, boobs, legs. But they won’t focus on your shirt being so very last season.”
“I don’t know whether to laugh or punch you.” She giggled and playfully punched me in the arm, and I feigned injury.
“Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.” I chuckled at myself as Stella rolled her eyes. “What? You told me I was cheesy. I’m just proving you right. You should be happy.”
“You think men just break women down into body parts?” she asked as I pulled into my garage.
It was one of those questions that was impossible to answer.
I’d either come off looking like a total dick or a complete and total dick.
I had to reframe the question. “The first thing we notice is a woman’s physical appearance.
That’s just a fact. But that’s not the only thing we care about.
And you can’t tell me it’s not the same for a woman.
” I switched off the engine. “I like attention from women. I don’t mind if they see me and like what they’re looking at.
It’s human nature to be attracted to the physical. ”
We got out of the car and headed to the exit. Yes, we would be early, but there was no point in going up to my flat. I wasn’t sure I was ready for Stella to be in my space.
“So you’re saying I should prepare myself to be objectified by your friends.”
“No more than any other woman walking into the bar. At least they won’t be focused on your shirt.” I held my hand out as the lift opened at the lobby.