Chapter 21 Out of Place
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
out of place
REY
I knew Robin seemed too good to be true, although I’d like to think he has a reason for standing me up today.
You don’t spend weeks on the phone with someone and then just ditch them.
Is he in a relationship after all? Did he see me and change his mind?
Maybe he doesn’t like my style. Should I have asked him to meet somewhere else?
A sad-faced version of me stares back from the cafe window’s reflection. Long wavy hair and hourglass figure (my best features by far), but maybe he’s not into the tattoos or my sequin shoes? The two things my mum always asks me not to show at our family gatherings.
I hoped Robin was different. He knows I’m not a VVIP. Not even an IP. But maybe he still expected more.
Turning from my reflection, I start down the street. I need to get out of here.
The market crowd is tight, and I struggle to squeeze my way through. I finally get past one tall back filling my view, and then knock straight into a hard chest. A familiar scent of a clean shirt and cedarwood hits me, and for a second, I’m flooded with a sense of relief.
But then I look up.
It’s Mark Becker.
What the fuck?
“Sorry,” he says, his mouth curving in a crooked apologetic smile. If he wasn’t the one person in the world who makes my blood curdle, currently competing with Mum, I’d think it was a ridiculously cute look on such a chiselled face. I push the thought away. Mark is anything but cute.
“Rosemary,” he says, his voice deep and rugged, and as always, the sound of my given name gives me a stomach ache. “Didn’t mean to block your way there,” he adds.
“That’s okay, I’m just trying to leave.”
“Can I take you somewhere? My driver is here.” He points to an out-of-place looking man in black with the ear-thingies people in movies have. It strikes me I’ve never seen one in real life before. So they actually have those?
“Is he your bodyguard too?”
“Sort of. Can’t be too careful.”
I look Mark up and down. I’ve only ever seen him in three-piece suits.
Today, he’s in a crisp white shirt, which makes all other white clothing at the market look dirty, and an elegant olive-green blazer that I’m certain could pay for someone’s car.
He stands out like a sore thumb among the band t-shirts, ripped jeans, and graffiti walls.
My thought is proven by the long glances of the people passing us, looking up at the shiny demigod in our midst.
“What are you doing here?” I ask before I can think. “Oh, sorry, that’s none of my business. I’ll leave you to it.”
Fuck, I can’t annoy him even more by questioning his presence. He probably owns this street for all I know.
“I’m investing,” he says, gesturing around. Okay, so he doesn’t own it yet.
“Oh? In a market street?”
He shrugs, and his mouth curves up into the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile on him.
“Do you know this area well?” he asks.
Why the fuck is he talking to me like we’re acquaintances? He yelled at me yesterday. I made him mad, and now he’s chit-chatting with me?
I catch myself staring at him with my mouth open, and I can’t help asking.
“Umm, sorry, but aren’t you mad at me?”
“I don’t get emotional about work; it’s not personal.”
“It felt rather emotional. You were angry. I was scared.”
His mouth twitches downwards.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” I blurt out and look down.
“I apologise for scaring you.” He shifts on his feet, and I feel his eyes on me.
I nod and swallow. Why is he being nice?
“So, do you know this place well?” he repeats.
“Yes, I live nearby. There’s excellent food here, so I come here a lot. I mean, not that you asked about that, I just—”
“I could eat.”
“Excuse me?”
What is happening?
“Would you mind showing me around? If you’re not meant to be somewhere else, that is?” he asks, adjusting his sleeve over his fancy watch. Why does he assume I don’t have plans? How rude.
I stare at him for a moment, blinking. He gives me another close-lipped smile and rubs his neck in a move that seems very unlike the CEO Mark in the office. Who is this man? Have I stepped into an alternate universe?
“Okay, I get it. You don’t want to, that’s okay.”
Does he sound … disappointed?
“Umm. No, I mean, sure, I can show you around? Are you sure you want me to?”
“It’ll save me time. You’re here, I’m here.” He shrugs.
I take in his appearance again, the way he shines and glistens like a gemstone. His massive watch catches the rays of the sun when he moves.
“You might want to put a few things away in your car first, or you might end up going home without them,” I say, pointing at his jacket and watch.
“Really?” he glances at his designer watch and back at me.
I shrug in an ‘it’s up to you’ kind of way.
I’m used to fighting my way through a marketplace, but walking behind Mark is like having my own human bulldozer. People move for him like the sea parting.
The attention he receives is extraordinary. He oozes money and power, and it draws people in. And he wants me to show him around Broadway Market?
Okay.
Leaning into it.
At least I’ll get to eat, and I don’t have to do it alone.
Although if you’d asked me ten minutes ago if I’d rather be alone or with my intimidating CEO that I piss off every time I open my mouth, I’d happily go into isolation immediately.
Yet here I am, trailing behind him, feeling special and chosen. And a bit confused.
I wait for him by his car, staring up at the blue sky and feeling the summer breeze caress my face. It’s a brief, welcome distraction from this bizarre turn of events.
Summers in London are the best.
“Ready, show me what this area is all about,” he says from behind me.
I turn and gasp so hard I almost swallow my tongue.
He’s opened a second button on the top of shirt and rolled up his sleeves, showing off suntanned forearms I could lick all day.
He rakes a hand through his hair, and my ovaries hum so loudly I’m surprised he doesn’t hear it. I hate that he’s so attractive.
“Are you okay?” he asks, chuckling. He’s chuckling. It makes my adrenaline rush, but in an excited way as opposed to the normal fear-induced rush he gives me in the office.
He must know the effect he has on people, but I refuse to ogle him like everyone else. Anymore, that is. It stops now. It feels wrong when I was just about to meet Robin. Is it wrong? Yes, it feels wrong. Like cheating.
“I’m starving,” I say. “There’s a fantastic duck burger I’d recommend, if you’d want to try it?” I have no idea how to behave around this man. Does he even eat burgers?
“Sounds perfect.”
I guide him through the market, and when I look back to check he’s still there, I’m certain that’s a smile playing on his lips. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s just a human after all (despite the godlike appearance).
“It’s easy to get lost in the noise here,” I say over my shoulder, “but I urge you to notice the little details.” I gesture to the stalls we walk past. “People often rush through and forget to enjoy it all.”
He stops and lifts his head, closing his eyes.
“What’s your favourite part?” he asks. “The sounds or the smells?”
I’m surprised he has time to stand here and do this. I thought billionaires were on a tightly managed schedule.
“Both?” I say and take in what’s going on around us. The sweet cinnamon scent of fresh churros, the sizzling and scraping of a stir-fry in the making, the laughter of a group of people, the husky voice of an old busker, and the comforting strum of an acoustic guitar. “It’s magical.”
“Something smells delicious,” he says. “I’m hungry.”
“The burger is up here. It’s far from health food, though. Is that okay? I promise it’s worth it.”
“I’ll make up for it in the gym tomorrow,” he says, rubbing his stomach, which looks as hard as a slab of concrete. The move reveals a sliver of skin and a hint of the happy trail into his chinos, and I have to tear my eyes away.
He kindly pretends not to see my struggle. Or maybe he doesn’t pretend. Maybe he’s so used to people gawking at him, another one doesn’t make a difference.
“So this is what you do on Saturdays?” he asks as we wait for our duck burgers.
“When I can,” I say, leaving out that I often work weekends.
He doesn’t need to know I have another job.
It’ll solidify his belief that I’m not serious about the Infinio role.
“I love to find great food and beautiful scenery, and I take my brother’s dog for walks in different parks,” I continue. “So you’ve not been here before?”
“No, never been to this part of London, actually.”
“To Hackney?”
“East London.”
“All of East London?”
“Never had a reason to.”
I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I’ve not been to all of London either, but this area is so full of life. It must be far from his regular cup of tea, though, with the lack of columned entrances but an abundance of graffiti.
The guy in the navy apron waves to get my attention and passes me my burger in a greasy white and yellow wrap.
“Why are you investing here, then?” I ask, looking up at Mark. That little smile is still there.
“Umm…” he murmurs, distracted by the moustached man handing him his burger. “There’s an important opportunity that needs to be explored,” he says. “Shall we sit down and eat these?”
We sit on a stone fence (another thing I couldn’t imagine a billionaire doing), biting into our chèvre, truffle oil, and confit duck burgers.
Is this seriously the same person who flares his nostrils at me at every opportunity in the office?
He’s so high-strung normally. Is this his regular self?
Mark out of office? I didn’t know he existed.
“Mmm,” he groans. “That’s delicious.” The words come out muffled, and he takes another bite before finishing his first.
I nod in agreement. “Told you so.”
A man of this size must put away a lot of food in a day. The burger looks like a slider in his large hands.
And then it’s gone.