Chapter Sixteen #2
Connor isn’t even looking at me, and he’s clanking glasses around so ferociously I’m afraid he might break one.
“Connor, look, I’m sorry I’m late—”
“That’s all right,” he says, and starts chopping a bundle of mint as though he wants to kill it. “So, did you have a nice time the other evening?”
That’s what this is all about.
“Yes, I did, thanks,” I say after a pause.
“With your new mystery man.”
“Er, yes,” I say, and scan the crowded lawn, searching for Jack.
“It’s someone at work, isn’t it?” Connor suddenly says, and I nearly drop a bottle of lemonade.
“Why do you say that?” I force myself to sound light.
“That’s why you won’t tell me who it is.”
“It’s not that! It’s just…Look, Connor, can’t you just respect my privacy?”
“I think I have a right to know who I’ve been dumped for!” He shoots me a reproachful look.
“You weren’t dumped for him—” I stop myself. It’s probably not a good idea to get into details. “I just…don’t think it’s very helpful to discuss it.”
“Emma, I’m not stupid.” He gives me an appraising look. “I know you a lot better than you think I do.”
I feel a sudden flicker of uncertainty. What if he guesses? Maybe I’ve underestimated Connor all this time. Maybe he does know me. Oh, God.
I start to slice up a lemon, constantly scanning the crowd. Where is Jack, anyway?
“I’ve got it,” says Connor triumphantly. “It’s Paul, isn’t it?”
“What?” I gape at him, wanting to laugh. “No, it’s not Paul! Why on earth would you think it was Paul!”
“You keep looking at him.” He gestures to where Paul is standing nearby, moodily swigging a bottle of beer. “Every two minutes!”
“I’m not looking at him! I was just looking for…” I take a sip of Pimm’s. “I’m just taking in the atmosphere.”
“So, why is he hanging around here?”
“He’s not! Honestly, Connor, take it from me—I’m not going out with Paul.”
“You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” says Connor.
“I don’t think you’re a fool! I just…I think this is a pointless exercise! You’re never going to—”
“Is it Nick?” His eyes narrow. “You and he have always had a bit of a spark going…”
“No! It’s not Nick!”
Honestly. Clandestine affairs are hard enough as it is, without your ex-boyfriend subjecting you to the third degree. I should never have agreed to do this stupid Pimm’s stall.
“Look,” Connor suddenly says in a lowered voice.
I raise my head, and feel as though someone’s squeezed the air out of my lungs. Jack is walking over the grass toward us, dressed in leather chaps and a checked shirt. He looks so completely and utterly sexy, I feel quite faint.
“He’s coming this way!” hisses Connor. “Quick! Tidy up that lemon peel. Hello, sir,” he says in a louder voice. “Would you like a glass of Pimm’s?”
“Thank you very much, Connor,” says Jack. Then he looks at me. “Hello, Emma. Enjoying the day?”
“Hello,” I say, my voice about six notches higher than usual. “Yes, it’s…lovely!” With trembling hands I pour out a glass of Pimm’s and give it to him.
“Emma! You forgot the mint!” says Connor.
“It doesn’t matter about the mint,” says Jack, his eyes fixed on mine.
“You can have some mint if you want it,” I say, gazing back.
“It looks fine just the way it is.” He takes a deep gulp.
This is so unreal. We can’t keep our eyes off each other. Surely it’s completely obvious to everyone else what’s going on. Surely Connor must realize. Quickly I look away and pretend to be busying myself with the ice.
“So, Emma,” says Jack casually. “Just to talk work briefly. That extra typing assignment I asked you about—the Leopold file.”
“Er, yes?” I’m so flustered I upend a cup of ice all over the counter.
“Perhaps we could have a quick word about it before I go? I have a suite of rooms up at the house.”
“Right,” I say, my heart pounding. “OK.”
“Say…one o’clock?”
“One o’clock it is.”
He saunters off, holding his glass, and I stand staring after him, dripping an ice cube onto the grass.
“I’ve been so stupid!” exclaims Connor, suddenly putting down his knife. “I’ve been so blind.” He turns to face me, his eyes burning blue. “Emma, I know who your new man is.”
My legs go wobbly.
“No, you don’t,” I say quickly. “Connor, you don’t know who it is. Actually…it’s not anyone from work. I just made that up. It’s this guy who lives over in west London. You’ve never met him. His name is, um, Gary. He works as a postman…”
“Don’t lie to me! I know exactly who it is.” He folds his arms. “It’s Tristan from Design, isn’t it?”
—
As soon as our stint on the stall is up, I escape from Connor and go sit under a tree with a glass of Pimm’s, checking my watch every two minutes. A suite of rooms. That can only mean one thing. Jack and I are going to have sex.
I can’t believe how nervous I am about this. Maybe Jack knows loads of tricks. Maybe he’ll expect me to be really sophisticated. Maybe he’ll expect all kinds of amazing maneuvers that I’ve never even heard of.
I mean…I don’t think I’m bad at sex. You know.
But what sort of standard are we talking about?
I feel like I’ve been competing in little local shows and suddenly I’m taking on the Olympics.
Jack Harper is an international multimillionaire.
He’s dated heads of companies, models, and…
and gymnasts, probably…women with enormous, perky breasts who do kinky stuff involving muscles I don’t even think I possess…
How am I ever going to match up? This was a bad, bad idea. I’m never going to be as good as the president of Origin Software, am I? I can just imagine her, with her long legs and four-hundred-dollar underwear and honed, tanned body….