“No, neither do I. Why would I think that, Flipp?”
One quick look in the abyss of menace that lay behind his eyes was enough for Flipp. Rocky was right. Cordwainer was dangerous. She really shouldn’t be here. He could make mincemeat of her, and she would have no defence at all. His comment made her wonder instantly if he knew something about her, but she thought on the whole that he was simply assuming she had secrets. Correctly, of course, but he couldn’t know that for sure.
“No idea. Are you unhappy with my work?”
“Not at all.” He picked up the phone from his desk. “So. What’s it to be? Pizza? Chinese?”
“Oh, we’re eating here.”
“Why not? Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Flipp. You wanted me to take you
to dinner, somewhere extravagant, did you? A date?”
“No. Of course not. Just thought…y’know, the Balti House or a pub or somewhere like that…” Somewhere public.
“You aren’t really dressed for a date,” he said contemplatively, looking at her teeny-tiny miniskirt and layers of faded vest tops. “Though I must say, just once, I’d like to see you properly dressed. I imagine you’d scrub up well.”
The cold, familiar knot of panic began to ravel in her stomach. This was bad, very bad. She had to keep her head. “I don’t do posh,” she said. “Not my style.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Chinese, then? What do you like? Chicken chow mein? Beef in black bean sauce?”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Of course you are. Vegetable stir-fry then?”
“I don’t really like vegetables, though.”
Cordwainer laughed. “Your skin is peachy now, but that won’t last if you don’t look after yourself.”
Wow, thanks, Nadine Baggott.
“I’ll have mushroom fried rice, if that’s okay.”
“Absolutely. Mushroom fried rice it is.” He dialled a number quickly and gave his order, watching Flipp like a hawk throughout the conversation.
“Champagne?” he asked, opening a small fridge at the back of the room.
“Oh, what are we celebrating?” asked Flipp, bemused, as he took fluted glasses from a low drawer and began to work on the cork.
“Life,” he said obliquely. “Life and fruitful working relationships.” The cork popped and the golden bubbles fizzed and frothed into the glasses. “Can you drink to that?”
“Yeah. Life and, um, fruitful working relationships.”
Cordwainer clinked her glass and returned to his chair on the other side of the desk.
“If you were mine,” said Cordwainer, suddenly and portentously, “I’d do something about your eating habits.”
Flipp was almost frozen with alarm at the first four words of this sentence, but she managed to reply with what she hoped was a distraction. “Do you have daughters, then?”
“Daughters?” he asked, as if not following her line of reasoning. “No.”
“No children?”
“None.”
“By choice?”
“Never mind my family, what about you? Do you have near and dear ones?”