‘I have a horrible feeling I’ve forgotten to put those Chanel nail varnishes in the going home bags.’
‘You? Forget something? Impossible.’
‘Improbable but not impossible after only a couple of hours of sleep. I’d better go and check.’
Her friend shook her head and tutted. ‘Designer lipsticks, nail varnishes and face creams... Whatever happened to a piece of cake and a balloon?’
‘Happily for us they went the same way as jelly, crisps and pin the tail on the donkey,’ said Abby with a quick grin as she stood up and put her tea cup on the pristine granite work surface. ‘If you need a hand counting the carrot sticks or spooning out the hummus, just shout.’
* * *
For someone who’d almost managed to convince himself that he wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered by the fact that Abby had neither answered his call nor got back to him, Leo wasn’t doing a very good job of following through.
He’d left a message asking her to call him when she had a moment, and had then sat down at his desk with every intention of putting in a couple of hours of work on the financial details of a development project the company was undertaking in China.
Half an hour later, however, during which he’d achieved nothing but a full-blown rerun of the night before and consequently a hard-on that would not subside, he’d given up, stalked into the gym and run twenty miles on the treadmill. But that hadn’t done anything to restore the order he was so badly missing either.
Nor had the rugby match he’d watched on television or the drinks he’d just had with a couple of friends.
While his phone was rarely out of reach, Leo didn’t generally have too much trouble ignoring it. Yet this evening he hadn’t been able to stop looking at it, whether while sitting pointlessly at his desk, pounding out the miles or knocking back the beer.
A dozen times he’d checked the volume setting, the battery, the signal, all of which were, of course, perfectly fine, and earlier he
’d even tried calling himself from the land line, just in case there was a connection problem. There wasn’t, naturally, as proven by the calls and texts he’d received from practically everyone he knew but her, and his inability to move on and concentrate on something—anything—else was driving him insane.
It was absurd, he told himself, gritting his teeth as he once again found himself at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen while thoughts of Abby filled his head. Anyone would think he was desperate to hear from her. And he wasn’t. Much. It was just that he didn’t like things hanging, un-dealt-with. Didn’t like the feeling of not being in control and at the mercy of someone else’s whim.
But what choice did he have, short of calling her again, which he was absolutely not going to do? Besides, she’d told him she had to work, which was obviously what she was doing. He presumed the number he’d called her on was her work one, so, professional as she was, she’d get back to him when she could. He’d just have to be patient.
* * *
The call she had rejected earlier had been from Leo.
Back at home after a successful but exhausting evening, Abby tapped her phone against her mouth and wondered why a brief message asking her to ring him back would warrant such a quickening of her heart rate and the heat that was surging through her.
Hadn’t she decided that he wasn’t her type? Hadn’t she convinced herself that she wanted to have nothing more to do with him? She had, so why was she getting so hot and bothered about a ten-second voicemail message? Why did his deep voice in her ear seem so very intimate? Why was it so difficult to wipe last night from her memory? And what did he want?
There was only one way to find out, so, with her heart beating annoyingly fast, Abby silenced the episode of St Jude’s she’d pre-recorded and had been watching before she’d suddenly remembered the missed call and took a fortifying gulp of wine.
Was ten too late to ring? Should she send a message instead? No, better to get this over and done with. If it was too late, all that would happen was that he wouldn’t answer. She could leave a message and the ball would be back in his court.
Putting her glass down, Abby crossed her legs, sat back and hit the button to return his call. He answered practically before the phone had time to ring, robbing her of the second or two of mental reinforcement she could have done with.
‘Abby,’ he said, his deep voice making her stomach do that weird swooping thing once again.
She took a deep breath and swallowed hard in an effort to avoid the breathiness that seemed to invade her voice whenever she spoke to him. ‘Hi.’
‘How are you?’
‘Fine. You?’
‘Good.’
‘I hope it’s not too late to be calling.’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’m sorry for not getting back to you sooner. I was working.’