Perfect Strangers

‘Sorry, stud, you’ll have to wait.’

He frowned.

‘You don’t think last night was a mistake, do you?’

‘Far from it,’ she said. ‘It was incredible, and there’s nothing more I’d like than to stay and finish what you just started. But I’ve got an important meeting at eight thirty. I have to go home, prepare . . .’

‘Well how about later? I could come to your house at five.’

Sophie felt a rush of panic, but she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. If he really likes you, he won’t care you don’t own the house, she thought, not exactly convincing herself.

‘Okay. There’s something I need to talk to you about before you go back to Houston anyway.’

She hoped he could not detect the hesitancy in her voice.

Nick sat up on one elbow.

‘Say, why don’t you come?’ he said.

‘To . . . Houston?’

‘Sure, why not?’

She gaped at him. What was he suggesting? A new life? With him in Texas? Don’t be silly, she told herself. He’s not proposing; this is just a mini-break for him. She bent to give him a long, lingering kiss.

‘I’ll call you to make a plan later,’ she whispered, then, catching sight of the time on the bedside alarm clock, swore and ran for the shower.

Her luck was in: she jumped into the lift just as the doors were closing. She ran through the lobby and immediately found a cab waiting just outside the door. Maybe she wouldn’t be late for Olivia after all.

‘Where to, love?’ said the driver, rolling his window down.

‘Kensington High Street,’ she said breathlessly, quickly opening the door and jumping inside. She slumped in the back, letting out a long breath, and watching gratefully as the London streets slipped by.

‘Whereabouts you want exactly, darling?’ said the cabbie into his mirror as they passed the Royal Albert Hall. ‘Only there’s roadworks up by the hotel; if you want near the church, I’ll have to go round.’

It was only then that Sophie realised she didn’t know the actual address. She dug around in her bag for her mobile phone; Olivia had texted the details to her. Where the bloody hell was it?

‘My phone,’ she groaned, picturing it on the bedside table. ‘I must have left it at the hotel.’

She banged on the glass.

‘Sorry, can you turn around? I have to go back to the hotel.’

‘You sure? We’re almost there.’ He frowned, then glanced at her in his mirror and blew out his cheeks. ‘It’s your fare, love. But I’m leaving the meter on.’

He changed lanes, swinging the cab around the Wellington Arch roundabout and back towards the Riverton. The traffic was beginning to build up on the way to Hyde Park. Stop, start. Sophie looked at her watch, mentally calculating the likelihood of arriving at Olivia’s on time. Pretty bloody slim, she thought with a grimace. And these ladies didn’t like to be kept waiting. Even those that didn’t have high-flying jobs in finance always seemed to have a packed schedule and woe betide anyone who made them late for their appointment with their nail technician.

The cab swung across Park Lane and pulled up in the forecourt of the hotel.

‘I’ll be two minutes,’ said Sophie, opening the door.

The cabbie shrugged and tapped the meter. ‘Well you’d best hurry then, aincha?’

Sophie burst through the revolving doors, startling a woman in a mink, and ran for the elevators. Sod’s law, this time, there were none waiting. She pressed the button repeatedly. ‘Come on, come on . . .’ she said through gritted teeth.

Bugger it, she thought, yanking open the door to the stairs. It’s only three flights. She took them at a run, two steps at a time, swinging round the banisters, trying to ignore the pain in her legs and lungs. You’re supposed to be a personal trainer, remember? she scolded herself.

Finally there it was: the third floor. She pushed through the fire door and turned left, dodging a housekeeping cart and sprinting to Nick’s suite. The door, of course, was closed.