All Bets Are On. Charlotte PhillipsЧитать онлайн книгу.
the park?’
‘Back when I was living at home.’ Her mind treated her to an unwelcome flash of the graffiti-festooned park near her mother’s house in Dorset.
‘You’ve lived in London all this time and you haven’t been to the parks?’
She shook her head, bristling a little at the implication she was some kind of hermit.
‘You don’t seem a park kind of a person either,’ she said defensively. He didn’t.
‘Well, that just goes to show how wrong you can be when you judge someone on second-hand information.’
She managed not to laugh at that. If he thought a curved ball of a daytime date would be enough to cast doubt on his playboy reputation, he was deluded.
‘Sometimes a bit of open green space is just the thing. We can talk, get to know each other. Difficult to do that when you have to shout over music or elbow your way through crowds.’
Get to know each other. Her heart began to step up the beat, causing a rush of exasperation. Why couldn’t she just block out all this physical-reaction claptrap and concentrate on the task at hand? As if she were interviewing a candidate for a job or handling a business meeting maybe.
She concentrated hard on the surroundings as they carried on strolling. The sun dappled the path through the trees and warmed her back.
‘I can’t believe you’ve been single for so long,’ he was saying. ‘You’re smart, you’re gorgeous. Why would someone like you stay out of the field so long? It just doesn’t make sense.’
Her mind zeroed in. Flattery and compliments were obviously the order of the day on first dates with him, then. She wondered how long that would continue. Second date maybe? Or until he got you into his bed? She intended to abort her experiment way before it reached that point.
‘I never really meant for it to be that long,’ she said. ‘I just got wrapped up in my professional life. You make me sound like some kind of an alien because I haven’t done the London sights, but plenty of people put work first. There’s nothing wrong with that.’
Landing a job at Innova had been a huge achievement for her. As a teenager she’d thrown herself head first into her schoolwork while her parents focused on tearing strips off one another, enjoying the escape it offered. Her excellent results had almost been a side-effect rather than the main aim. Not that she hadn’t been delighted—it had enabled her to land the university place she’d wanted and then the job of her dreams.
‘I never said there was.’
She took a sideways glance at him, walking beside her. He looked like an off-duty actor in his laid-back jeans and shirt and dark glasses, drawing glances from every girl that passed them. She felt bland and insignificant next to him with her old clothes and messy hair when she was used to dealing with him on the professional level playing field that was the office.
‘You always get a good return on work,’ she said, sticking grimly to a subject where she felt she could have the upper hand. He had the most slapdash work ethic she’d ever come across, which was all the more annoying because he undeniably got the job done. ‘Doesn’t matter how much effort you put in, it won’t be wasted. It can only be beneficial.’
‘Unlike your private life?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘So you’re quite happy with your work-life balance, then?’
Her standard answer, a resounding yes rehearsed to the point of perfection, lurked in her mouth.
‘Not exactly,’ she said, knowing he was watching her. ‘I’ll admit things may have got a bit one-sided.’ She shrugged. ‘Let’s just say it’s very easy to get used to nights in all the time. No pressure. No need to think about pleasing anyone else.’
And no worries about being hurt by anyone.
‘And you get all the validation you want from achievements at work?’
‘Exactly!’ She looked up at him with a smile, pleased that he understood where she was coming from.
‘Being successful doesn’t have to come at the expense of a good time,’ he said.
Well, of course, he would think that, wouldn’t he?
‘Spoken like an expert,’ she said.
As they walked she began to find the city pace that was so ingrained being pushed back into a stroll by the surroundings. She took her jacket off and slung it over her arm. The lake came into view surrounded by trees and she could see pale blue wooden rowing boats out on the water along with ducks and geese. Only the occasional glimpse of buildings peeking through the trees belied the fact that this place was in the middle of the city. Tension in her shoulders, which was so perpetual she hadn’t known it was there, slipped an unexpected notch.
They passed the empty bandstand and headed for a café, the grey-green wooden boat house next to the lake. Sunshine sparkled off the water.
She stood behind him as he bought coffees, trying not to notice the way he turned female heads. It was his height and broad shoulders that drew your first glance but the darkly handsome face that made you look twice. She was acutely aware of the interested and envious glances thrown her way as he turned to her, a takeaway coffee in each hand.
‘Shall I grab a table?’ she asked, scanning the terrace for a space.
He took a sip of his coffee and grinned at her.
‘I’ve got a better idea.’
She looked up at him, squinting a little against the sunlight.
‘What?’
Trepidation spiked a little as she wondered what the hell he might be suggesting. Finding a quiet spot among the trees for al-fresco sex maybe? Nothing would surprise her. She deliberately avoided taking his proffered hand, and followed him across the terrace and down the decking to the edge of the lake. As he took out his wallet and approached the attendant the penny finally dropped.
Not al-fresco sex, thank goodness, but still well outside her comfort zone.
She stopped in her tracks.
‘You’re hiring a rowing boat?’
She could hear the incredulity in her own voice.
He turned back to her, grinning.
‘Yep.’
Despite her attempts to avoid him he grabbed her hand and tugged her gently along the decking towards the row of light blue wooden rowing boats.
She shook her head and tried to dig her heels into the decking, failing miserably in her ballet flats.
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