“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.