The Party Starts at Midnight

‘No, well, you caught me by surprise.’

‘Likewise. But you needn’t worry,’ he drawled, ‘because I didn’t actually mean it like that.’

‘Oh,’ said Abby, feeling herself sort of deflate, which didn’t make any sense because she ought to be glad he didn’t mean it ‘like that’. She wasn’t interested in him, was she? Which was just as well, because apparently, in spite of a night of hot sex—or maybe because of it—she still wasn’t dateable. ‘Then what did you mean?’ she said, reminding herself that Martin had been a prat and she absolutely didn’t care what he thought of her.

‘I’d like to see you to discuss some business.’

Business. Of course. ‘I see,’ she said, her voice mercifully reflecting none of the emotion that was churning through her. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday.’

‘Is that a problem?’

Apart from it being the first full day off she’d had in weeks? ‘No, no problem.’

‘Good,’ he said crisply, all business. ‘My office? Say four?’

‘See you then.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

AT THREE-THIRTY the following afternoon, Leo was pacing around his office in something of a panic. Which was an unusual state of affairs for him because he was generally way too cool-headed and in command of himself to panic, but then nothing about any of his dealings with Abby so far had been usual.

Up until he’d met her, for example, he

’d never wanted to extend a one-night stand. He’d never hung around waiting for the phone to ring like some poor pathetic idiot and then jumped on it the minute she had. He’d never gone into his office on a Sunday.

He’d certainly never invented ‘business’ that needed urgent discussion when there wasn’t any.

But what else was he to have done when she’d told him going out with him was not going to happen? Tell her he couldn’t stop thinking about her? About what they’d done? Humiliate himself even further than he already had by begging her for more? Hah. Not a bloody chance.

Grinding his teeth, Leo resumed his pacing and scowled down at the carpet. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t want a repeat of Friday night. If he was brutally honest he hadn’t given what she might want much thought at all. But if he had he’d have been confident she’d say yes, because why would she say no when they’d had such a good time?

Yet ‘no’ was exactly what she’d said.

So what had put her off him? Had he said something, done something? Since their call last night he’d racked his brains to work it out but had drawn a blank. He presumed she had her reasons and he ought to be fine with that because it wasn’t as if he’d never had great sex before and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have it again.

Annoyingly, though, he wasn’t fine with it. He hated rejection. And he wasn’t used to it. Ever since Lisa had jilted him at the altar and made him a laughing stock he’d taken great care to avoid it, never ever putting himself in a position where it could happen, which was why the women he slept with generally approached him first.

So that was another exception to the general pre-Abby state of affairs because she was the first woman in a very long time he’d firstly actively made the first move on and secondly had planned on asking out. And, boy, what a mistake that had been because nearly twenty-four hours on and her rejection was still stinging.

So what he’d been thinking creating a different excuse to see her when she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him he had no idea. He’d wanted to save face, but with hindsight he must have been out of his mind because he’d been racking his brains all day yet hadn’t been able to come up with a single bit of business he could possibly have to discuss with her.

Professionally there was nothing on the horizon that sprang to mind. No openings, no celebrations, nothing. And, anyway, if he did manage to drum something work-related up, it would no doubt be so spurious that his brother would be on it like a terrier, wondering at his sudden interest in the role that Jake usually played and undoubtedly coming to all kinds of—probably accurate—conclusions. All of which was about as appealing as a kick in the balls.

He couldn’t think of anything personal either. He generally loathed parties and now rarely threw any himself. After the hideously mortifying debacle that had been his wedding day, the mere thought of being centre of attention again brought him out in a cold sweat.

None of his friends was getting married so there were no stag nights to sort out. Jake’s birthday wasn’t until November, and, as he’d just turned thirty, the next one wasn’t significant enough to warrant a full-blown party the likes of which would need an organiser like Abby. His own birthday was months away, and, again, wasn’t a major one.

The obvious solution would have been to call Abby back and cancel, but for some reason something had stopped him from doing that. Every time he picked up the phone he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Somehow it seemed to smack of cowardice, weakness, indecision, and having told her he had business to discuss with her, what possible reason could he give for now not?

As a result, for the first time in years Leo was in one hell of a mess. Abby was about to pitch up any moment expecting to be asked to organise something, and he didn’t have a clue what.

Hell.

He shoved his hands through his hair and ran through the options all over again. Work? No. Friends? No. Jake? No. So what was left? His parents? Nope. They were in their early sixties and there was nothing significant going on there. Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Neighbours? Pets?