Chapter 4
Nora
Theo grins at me. ‘My mum will go bat shit crazy for you. Have you met her yet?’
‘No, but—’
I stare at him like he’s lost the plot. I’m genuinely fascinated by people like him. People who are so entitled and arrogant, who have such unshakable self-confidence, that they think they only have to speak and their words, or their thoughts, even, become law.
He just heard me say I want to get Jonathan back, and yet he’s asked me out.
Is he delusional?
The other problem with guys like Theo Montague, aside from the arrogance, is that they’re dangerous.
I suspected it the second I laid eyes on him, and I knew it for sure once he’d abandoned me against Plodge’s wall to go find someone who’d put out for him.
And it strikes me that, a decade on, he’s more dangerous than ever.
I can hardly look at him. Firstly, because he’s—and it kills me to say this—even more gorgeous than he used to be.
He’s grown into his bone structure. His cheekbones are sharper, and the square ridge of his jaw is accentuated by the perfectly clipped beard he now sports.
I mean, I think it’s a beard. Is it? It’s somewhere between long stubble and a beard, anyway, but whatever it is, it works.
However long he spends grooming it, it’s worth it.
He’s a bit like a solar eclipse. You know you’re not supposed to look, for God’s sake, but come on. Knowing you shouldn’t look is like being told not to press the big red button. Or open Pandora’s box. You can’t help yourself.
And when you do look, you remember why you shouldn’t stare straight into the sun.
Because it’s dazzling.
He’s dazzling.
I do what I shouldn’t, and I allow my gaze to rove over him under the pretence of glaring at him scathingly.
I drink in those massive, almost liquid brown eyes.
The black eyebrows that add gravitas to his face and shadows to his eyes.
His mouth, full and luscious and framed by the beard-thing.
His tongue, when it peeks out to lick his lower lip…
Sorry. Shit. I allowed myself to digress there for a second.
I was supposed to be telling you the second reason I can hardly look at him, and that is because last week, I sat alone in Elle’s gorgeous living room and shamelessly watched (by watched, I mean binged) all six episodes of Charmed in Chelsea back to back.
I ate my way through epic amounts of Dairy Milk and drank copious rosé, and I watched Theo and other over-privileged fuckwits cavort around Chelsea, trailed by cameras.
Let me tell you this. The show was bad. The lines were poorly scripted, the cast members definitely weren’t naturals at delivering said badly scripted lines (except for Theo, who has the gift of the gab), and the ‘storylines’ were thin. It was abysmal.
Let me also tell you this. I gobbled up every. Single. Second.
Sure, it was escapist waffle, but really, it was Theo. I know the extent of my dealings with him is a single kiss, a decade ago, but come on. It’s pretty fun watching someone you’ve kissed let rip on camera.
Until he did something super shocking, and that’s why I can hardly meet his gaze. He. Um. He hooked up with two girls. At the same time. As in, like a… you know what I’m getting at. And they were twins. And young. Like, early twenties.
And to make matters worse, horrified as I was, I could not. Look. Away.
Obviously, they didn’t air the, um, bedroom bit itself.
I don’t know whether Theo saw sense and kicked the cameras out, or whether the editors decided it would be in bad taste to show it (right decision, obviously).
But I definitely got an eyeful of Theo kissing them both in a club, and of them all over him in the back of a black cab, and of him taking them back to his flat.
The three of them started getting down to it on the sofa, and it was kind of like watching a car crash, because I didn’t want to watch it, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn it off.
I won’t fill you in on exactly what went down (no pun intended), but clothes were coming off before Theo got the girls into his bedroom, and then the footage stopped.
All I have to say about the matter is that his flat looked very nice.
And no, we didn’t get to see him naked with them. Though the Charmed producers did treat us (treat being the operative word) to a full-body rear view shot of Theo walking from his bedroom to the shower in another episode.
These reality TV shows are so salacious. They resort to the cheapest stunts to get their views up. Like gratuitous nudity and threesomes.
There.
I said it.
Having said that, the nude shot was exceptionally gratifying. Those bum dimples made me drool into my rosé, let me tell you.
But you understand why I can’t look at him. I’ve seen him naked (the world has). I’ve seen him take two girls off to bed. And here he is, sliding those long, tanned fingers of his under my dress and stroking my skin.
It’s just mortifying.
If I’m completely honest with myself, one reason I find him so dangerous is that I’m intimidated and bemused and fearful of his total lack of fear. In my mind, group sex is one of the scariest and most horrifying things someone could ever do. Which is why I don’t think about it. Ever. At all.
But Theo just went for it. I’m assuming he had two girls come onto him (from what I saw, they definitely made a beeline for him), and shrugged to himself, and thought what the hell, and just, like, went for it.
Which I find unfathomable.
I overthink everything, and it’s a character flaw I’ve been working on.
But then I see how people like Theo Montague act, and I observe the consequences of under thinking, and I feel pretty damn secure in my overthinking prison, let me tell you.
All of which is a long-winded way of saying I’d never, ever date someone like him.
No, thank you.
‘You need to meet her,’ Theo is saying about his mum. ‘You are so her type. If I dated someone like you, I’d earn enough brownie points to set me up for life.’
Wait. What?
Let’s quash this D-word on the head first.
‘Theo. I will never date you.’
‘Here me out—’
‘No. Listen to me. You’d have more of a chance with me if my surname was Capulet. Got it?’
I see the moment where he gets my nerdy attempt at humour.
‘See? You’re funny. I love funny women.’
‘No.’
‘I should explain.’
He moves closer and looks to check the coast is clear before lowering his face to my ear. The warmth of his breath on my neck gives me goosebumps.
‘Let me start again, because I didn’t know it was possible for someone to look so queasy at the mere prospect of dating me. Nora Wilder, I have a business proposition for you. Could you spare a few moments of your time for my elevator pitch?’
The corners of my mouth turn up a little, despite myself. He’s more emotionally intelligent than he looks.
I put on my iciest Dragon’s Den voice. ‘Proceed.’
‘Look.’ He straightens up, holding out his hands. There’s an optimistic little boy grin on his face.
Hold firm, Nora.
Don’t fall at the first hurdle.
This guy eats girls like you for breakfast.
‘What’s the thing you want most in the world?’
He’s good. He’s starting by identifying my problem. Business pitch one-oh-one.
I cross my arms. ‘To get Jonathan back.’
‘Great. And what if I told you I’m extremely confident we can win him back for you together?’
I narrow my eyes. ‘By dating you? No.’
‘By pretending to date me. You saw how livid he was just then when he saw my hands on you. I know he thinks I’m a dick.
The feeling’s mutual, by the way. But imagine how he’d react if he thought we were a real-life couple?
He’d go fucking mental, as Roy Kent would say.
The green-eyed monster would appear, and he’d want to claim you back, partially to save you from my debauched clutches, but mainly because he’d realise what he was missing. What he’d given up.’
My mind is reeling. First things first. ‘How on earth would we get him to think we were a couple?’
He grins. ‘Easy. If everyone else thinks we’re a couple, then he’ll get wind of it. Miles will inevitably mention it at work. So will Mum. And now that he’s fucking well working for my family firm, our paths are bound to cross more often. If not, we can engineer a few run-ins.’
‘So I’d have to spend time with you. Pretend to be your girlfriend.’ Dear Lord. The mere thought of it makes me feel dizzy.
‘Jesus Christ, sweetheart. It’s not that bad. It would just be a few staged appearances together. Maybe a little light cuddling. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m going to try to fuck you in front of everyone at a Montague Group work function.’
My inner thighs clench together. I swear a lot, but weirdly, I’m not a big fan of the word fuck as a verb. It’s too… graphic for my tastes. Too aggressive. Put it this way. It’s a very unromantic term for what has always been an act of love for me.
Besides, I’m pretty sure he said it specifically to wind me up.
I hold up my hand. ‘Okay, okay. I get the picture. But tell me this. Why the hell would you do this for me? I didn’t have you down as the altruistic type.’
He grins like the cat who got the cream, and I have the discomfiting sensation of having been played. Of Theo Montague getting me exactly where he wants me.
‘That’s the beauty of this business deal.
Let’s say I’m in the family bad books after my little Charmed in Chelsea stunt.
They don’t think I’ve got the maturity or the judgement to pull my weight within the business.
But I’m desperate to get my hands on our Manhattan portfolio.
The Managing Director over there is moving on, and I want in.
I know I need to clean up my act, in their eyes, and unfortunately, having a more mature relationship will help improve my perception in my family’s eyes. ’
I can’t help myself. ‘Trixie and Dixie aren’t your parents’ idea of a mature relationship?’
His grin widens. ‘Shocking, isn’t it? You can’t please everyone. They said my judgement was non-existent.’
‘You astound me.’
‘But you, with your occasion-appropriate outfit and your Michelle Obama-isms, are fucking perfect. And you’re best friends with Elle, who’s basically the daughter Mum never had.
And once Mum sees how well you whip Miles and Saoirse’s wedding into shape, I know she’ll be your biggest fan.
And then’—he pokes me playfully in the shoulder—‘she’ll be my biggest fan, too. ’
I stare at him. I hate to admit it, but there’s a kernel of sense behind this wacko plan. Although I had a go at Theo for groping me in front of Jonathan, I didn’t miss the heat in Jonathan’s eyes. I’ll take his jealousy over his indifference any day.
I could definitely whip Theo into shape while I’m pretending to date him and sorting out his brother’s wedding.
Maybe it can be my act of kindness for any future women he dates.
If I can instil even an ounce of common sense, judgement and decency into him in his dealings with the female species, it will be worthwhile.
I do love a project.
The only flaw in the plan—the aspect of it that makes me feel really weird in my tummy—is the idea of faking a romantic relationship with Theo.
Faking being in love, basically, with that.
That guy standing inches away from me, who’s so bloody gorgeous and dangerous and loose-cannon-ish and depraved (based on his on-screen exploits) that my insides are already in knots thinking about it.
‘It has its merits,’ I tell him now. ‘I mean, I get that it’s mutually beneficial. The timing is weird. Almost serendipitous.’
I really believe in serendipity. I believe the machinations of the universe are crazily intricate and on-point and deliberate, and that we’re oblivious pawns.
This interlude with Theo, right after I’ve just seen Jonathan with Lucy for the first time, seems too timely to be coincidental (although, technically coincidental means fitting together perfectly, so make of that what you will).
‘And…’ he prompts. The hopeful-little-boy look is still there, at odds with the devastating masculinity of his face. I mean, the guy looks like a Mafia boss and a puppy at the same time. How the fuck does he manage it?
‘But,’ I correct him, ‘I can’t help but feel awkward about pretending to date you. Like I’m prostituting myself.’
He snorts. Clearly we have very different standards for how far we’re willing to prostitute ourselves (three words: Charmed in Chelsea. Yep).
‘Believe me, we won’t be doing anything you’re not comfortable with. I’ll hold your hand, yeah. I’ll put my arm around you. But we don’t need to deliver a shit-tonne of PDA to convince people. If we say we’re dating, we’re dating.’
‘That’s the other thing. I’d be lying to people. Your brother, who I’m working for. And your parents. All these lovely, well-meaning people—I’d be lying to their faces.’
‘There’s nothing lovely about my brother. Believe me. And you don’t think he’s capable of dirty behaviour to get what he wants in business? If anything, he’d admire you going after what you want. Miles invented the concept of the end justifying the means.’
He leans forward, and I have a feeling he’s about to close the deal.
‘You don’t need to lie overtly if it makes you uncomfortable. Just let people draw their own conclusions. Besides,’—he whispers in my ear, and once again my body betrays me in its physical reaction to his proximity—‘who knows? You may even enjoy yourself.’