One Wicked Lick from the Drummer (The One 3)

Vera looked at her over the top edge of her enormous sunglasses. “I knew you’d gone to bone town with him when you thanked me for the makeup enthusiastically instead of sarcastically. Now I want what I deserve, so give it up, Philomena.”

Mena wanted to talk about it. She did. She needed to. Where to start? At the point that it was most fantastic. “He remembers me.”

Vera made a frantic peddling motion with her hands. “Back up.”

“Yes, we spent a night together.”

“Smug. It must’ve been good.”

“It was a disaster because it was amazing.” Mena clenched her hands together in her lap. “He is everything I thought he was fifteen years ago. And everything I hoped he might become. He’s the best lover I’ve ever had. And he remembers me. Well, not me, Philly. Said he regrets not staying in touch, that they clicked. That she’s the reason he didn’t quit the band when it was falling apart.”

Vera made a clucking sound. “Your concept of disaster could do with some finessing.”

Mena’d had zero finesse in this, just a driving need to fall into bed with Grip, as if that could reconcile her past self with her current one.

“I knew what I was doing. I knew this was wrong and I did it anyway. I cruised right past the point of ethical nightmare and straight into the trap of I’m now hopelessly compromised. I have no choice but to resign him as a client.”

“Which means what? You’ll go down on your knees and confess to the mighty Swire and Yallop that you fucked the client and so you can’t be Grip’s adviser anymore and bugger up your promotion.”

That would be the least of it. “I might lose my job.”

Vera took her glasses off and squinted at Mena. “Or?”

“There is no or.” If she lost her job, she’d have to find another one quickly or sell her renovator’s delight terrace.

“There’s always an or. Often there’s a both. Like do I go asymmetric on the hem or split it to the thigh, as well as bring back puce. Can’t you have your cake and eat it too?”

“You mean fuck the client and give him impartial independent financial advice that he pays for without there being any doubt that I’m acting in his and my firm’s best interest? Are you kidding me?”

Vera waved a hand. “I’m not seeing the problem, unless he didn’t have a good time, and you’ve still got moves, it’s like riding a bike, you don’t just forget how to be a sex goddess. Or he doesn’t like your advice, and you’re not going to give him bad advice, are you?”

He had a great time. Grip wasn’t someone who kept his feelings hidden. She knew when he was uncomfortable or impatient. He’d been annoyed with her on the beach and respectful of their boundaries at Gate Five, until she’d obliterated them. He’d been like a cat who got the cream the rest of the night. Unless he’d had regrets since. He would think it odd she’d not said goodbye and hadn’t made contact again.

“Imagine if we kept seeing each other secretly and then broke up and some investment I recommend goes bust. Grip can legitimately complain that I was distracted or working against him, or vengeful and gave him bad advice and sue Swire and Yallop. You can’t sleep with your clients in the finance industry for good reasons, Vera.”

“No wonder bankers are so boring. If you think Grip would sue you then he’s not who you think he is. He’s an arsehole.”

“He’s the furthest thing from an arsehole.” He was a honey. He was honest. He did everything with his whole heart. He was loveably enthusiastic, a little goofy, and much more intelligent than he liked to let on. She was lying to herself to think she didn’t know who he was.

“I’m not going to give him dud advice and he’s not going to sue because we’re not going to keep doing this.”

“God, when did you become such a stickler for the rules? You’re into each other and it’s no one’s business. What if you told him it had to stay a secret?”

“That would just make it worse because we’re not some star-crossed second-chance. We were never a first chance.” She shook her head. “We don’t belong in each other’s lives. I do suits and heels and building a secure future, he does band tees and collector’s edition sneakers and he could burn out tomorrow.”

“You did not just rule out a relationship over clothing choices.”

Oh, that was Vera’s best think about your life choices, you disgusting bag of blood voice.

Embarrassed, Mena tried to make eye contact with waitstaff. She needed something to chase the sweetness of the mango away and suck up that mistaken characterization. “It was a bad example. He bangs drums. I calculate risk. He’s a touring rock star. I’m not a groupie anymore. We don’t fit. We hardly know each other, and I’ve

been lying to him the whole time.”

Vera lifted a finger and two waiters almost collided on their way over. “You’ll trash your whole career over one night with a good guy you don’t know and don’t care about.”

That was a brilliant summation of her hypocrisy. “When you say it like that, I want to throw myself in the ocean and float away.”

Vera ordered their regular coffees while Mena brooded. She did care about Grip as a client, as a talented musician. As a lover. It didn’t feel like it was enough. What she wanted and what she needed to do were water and oil.