“It solves a lot of problems for you. I mean you get to go to the wedding, pretend you’ve moved on—”
“Hey, I have moved on. I’m planning for my future. I didn’t even have a glass of wine last night.” It wasn’t that the fog had lifted, but since I’d been to Beck’s offices, I just had slightly better visibility.
A pause at the other end of the line made me think she didn’t believe me. But it wasn’t like I wanted Matt back. Okay maybe I missed him, or at least missed who I’d thought he was. But no one forgot a betrayal like that.
“Have you heard from Karen since you RSVP’d for you and Beck?” she asked.
“Nope. Just the automatic reply. Have you?”
I could almost hear the grin at the other end of the phone. “Yeah, she called me yesterday. Tell me you’re looking white-hot tonight. What are you wearing?”
I stared at myself in the mirror. Hot wasn’t how I’d describe myself, but I hadn’t had a breakout and my hair hadn’t done that thing where it went limp and stuck to my face—the body-building shampoo had done its job—so it could have been worse. “That black, sequined tuxedo jacket and the black trousers with a white cami.”
“Ditch the cami. Just wear the jacket.”
“You mean just wear my bra? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m doing my best not to look like a hooker despite my eyelashes’ desire to have me change profession.”
“No bra. That jacket has buttons. And if you go to the retailer’s website, they show it being worn without anything underneath it.”
I didn’t have much boobage, it was true, but what I had, I didn’t want the world to see.
“You have that tit tape, right? Get busy and get rid of the cami.”
My buzzer sounded and I jumped before the churning in my stomach returned. This was really happening. If I thought about it too much, I wouldn’t answer my door and I’d dive under my bed with a bottle of wine and Elle Decoration. “Gotta go. Beck’s here. And by the way—call him Beck when you see him, not Hot Suit.”
Henry wouldn’t be at the party tonight and Beck knew that, so he was only coming to the party for me—to fulfill his end of our agreement. Part of me had worried that he’d back out—find another way of getting what he wanted—and I’d be left with egg on my face. Again. Trying to explain why I hadn’t turned up to the wedding I’d said yes to.
I ran down the stairs barefoot to collect him. His silhouette filled the stained-glass panels in the door—I’d forgotten how tall he was.
“Hey,” I said as I swung open the door and smiled. He might be obligated to come tonight, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be nice about it, right?
“Miss London,” he said and handed me a small bunch of flowers.
“Sweet peas?” I wouldn’t have expected flowers from a real boyfriend, let alone blooms so unusual. “Come up,” I said as I started up the stairs.
“My mother’s favorite.”
“You didn’t have to bring flowers.” I turned left into the kitchen and pulled a vase down from the cupboard. “The fake boyfriend thing is for other people. I’m really not desperate for male company. But thank you.”
He stood in the doorway to the kitchen that Matt used to say was too small for two when I suggested we cook together. “I like to be good at things. And it pains me to say that I’m not a good boyfriend.”
I grinned. “It’s not a shock. I’ve yet to meet a man who is.” It was strange to see another guy in my flat. There’d been no one since Matt. But it wasn’t uncomfortable having Beck in my space. Perhaps because we weren’t dating—I wasn’t comparing him to Matt. I wasn’t worried if the lighting was flattering or whether he was going to see my flesh-colored control underwear. I didn’t care what he thought of me.
I took the vase of flowers and shooed him out of the room. “Have a seat, I’ll be out in a minute. Don’t touch anything.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, raising his palms and backing toward the sofa.
I studied him, trying to figure out if he was serious. “You think I come across as someone who tells everyone what to do?” Matt used to complain about me being bossy, but Florence and Karen used to tell me he was being a dick. Did Karen believe it when she said it, or was she trying to cover up her real feelings? Had she always loved Matt or was it something that had grown between them? A metallic taste burned in my mouth and I swallowed, trying to make it disappear.
Beck’s chuckle halted my anxiety’s momentum. His laugh was unexpected and warmed the tips of my fingers like a welcoming fire on a cold day. It was confident rather than cocky. He dipped his eyes down to his shoes and then back up to hold my gaze. “I think you come across as a woman who knows what she wants and won’t let anything stand in her way of getting it.”
If I had any chance at having another successful relationship, I probably needed to learn to be less bossy. Florence would disagree. But it was her job to build me up, so her opinion didn’t count.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he said, frowning. “You look pissed off. Don’t be. I like it. It’s hot. It’s like you’re my female equivalent.”
“And like the narcissist you are, you find yourself hot?” I laughed and my stomach shifted like the heavy, stone door of an Egyptian tomb that hadn’t been opened for a thousand years. How did this complete stranger make me feel so bloody comfortable?
“Nothing wrong with healthy self-confidence,” he replied.