His Mistletoe Proposal. Christy McKellenЧитать онлайн книгу.
She wasn’t going to rise to it. She had more important things to worry about—like gaining the trust and respect of her new boss. After transferring to the London-based office it was proving harder than she’d expected to do this.
Not for the first time, it had made her question whether she should set up her own business at some point, but she was keenly aware of what a big risk that would be.
She gave herself a mental shake. She really shouldn’t be allowing her thoughts to wander back to work right now.
‘Anyway, since I’m over here now I thought it might be nice for us to get to know each other a bit so we could support each other,’ she said, waving for the waiter, who appeared not to notice her. Biting back a sigh of frustration, she refocused on Alex, who was lounging back in his chair with his arms folded and his brow furrowed.
Was it her imagination or did he really not want to be here?
She cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t want to be one of those people who kept away for fear of not knowing what to say to someone who’s just lost someone close to them,’ she said, deciding just to plough on. ‘Sending flowers and cards is all very well, but sometimes you just need some human contact, you know?’
He cocked his head and gave her a slow grin. ‘Is that why you came back to England? For some human contact?’
She shifted in her seat, feeling heat rise up her neck. ‘I needed a change of scene,’ she said, straightening the cutlery on the table.
What she didn’t tell him was that he was the real reason for moving back here. She was determined to take Amy’s last wish seriously, and if that meant living in the same city as Alex for a while then so be it. London was too far removed from Bath to keep an eye on him easily, and she certainly couldn’t have done it from New York. So she’d jumped at an opportunity for a temporary transfer to the West London office, commuting in from Bath to oversee a UK-only product launch.
Alex appeared to be thinking about what she’d said, and after a short pause he leaned forwards in his chair to look her right in the eye, as if making the decision to finally engage with the conversation. ‘It’s good to meet you in the flesh,’ he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin. ‘Amy talked about you a lot over the years.’ He paused. ‘And during the last weeks of her life.’
At last there was a flash of emotion in his eyes, which he blinked away quickly.
Flora nodded, taking a moment to relax her throat, which had tightened with sorrow at the sound of her best friend’s name. ‘It’s good to meet you too. I—’ She took a breath. ‘I feel awful that I didn’t make it back in time to see her in the hospice. I tried to get back to England as fast as I could, but—’ She’d run out of words. The pathetic ring to her excuse made her cringe inside.
She’d thought she had more time. That Amy had more time. Her friend had told her during one of their regular video calls that she was doing better and not to worry about rushing back to see her. But then she’d taken a sudden, unexpected turn for the worse.
As if he’d read her mind, Alex leaned forwards and put his large, warm hand over hers where it lay on the table. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. None of us realised she’d go that soon. She did seem to have a reprieve at one point. You couldn’t have known. Amy knew you would have come sooner if you’d been able to. She told me that.’
Flora could do nothing but nod like one of those tacky toy dogs you saw in the back of cars sometimes. She was suddenly terrified she might start crying in the middle of the restaurant and have to sit there with her make-up running down her face and nowhere to hide.
Alex obviously read her distress because he gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Hey, let’s get out of here. This place is making my headache worse.’ He glanced around the magnificent room with a pained grimace. ‘There’s a really good pub round the corner that does amazing burgers.’
Wrestling her emotions back under control, Flora shot him a bewildered look. ‘But we’ve come here for afternoon tea.’ She gestured round at the magnificent eighteenth-century room with its cut-glass chandelier hanging from the ornate ceiling and the grand piano, which was being expertly played by a gentleman in a tuxedo.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘For a tiny plate of overpriced cucumber sandwiches? Sorry, but that’s not going to cut it for me today.’
‘Actually, this place is known for having one of the best—’ But he’d already stood up and was waving for the waiter to bring the bill.
Deciding not to fight him on this—she wanted to keep things as friendly and light-hearted as possible considering why they were meeting each other today—she gritted her teeth and stood up, taking her purse out of her bag ready to pay for her drink.
He spotted her pulling out a twenty-pound note and waved it away.
‘I’ll get this.’
‘You don’t have—’ But he’d already taken the bill from the waiter. He proceeded to rummage in his pockets to produce a handful of coins, which he emptied into his hand.
‘Thanks, man,’ he said. ‘Keep the change.’
The waiter gave him a tight smile, then walked away, no doubt cursing them both for being the most awkward customers of the day.
Outside the Pump Room crowds of shoppers were stopping and starting along the pavement, as every now and again someone would halt at one of the little German-style wooden huts belonging to the large Christmas market that had taken over the whole of the city centre.
‘Wow, it’s busy out here,’ Flora said as they waited for a break in the flow so they could join the slow-moving crowd.
‘Warm inside the throng though,’ Alex said with a smile. ‘Free heat.’
He was right. Despite the biting cold of the day, it felt cosy and comforting being encased in the large mob of people. There was an excited, almost magical, feeling in the air too, no doubt an eagerness for the upcoming festivities.
Flora had spent many years in her youth loving the excitement of the run-up to Christmas, but she felt nothing but numbness about it now. It was all too tangled up with the fallout from her last serious relationship.
Pushing away the wave of gut-churning despondency she always felt whenever she thought about that, she looked round and focused on a stall selling silk scarves in every colour of the rainbow, taking comfort in the beauty of the sight.
‘So you live in Bath but work in London?’ Alex asked as they walked away from the scarf stall, stopping at the next one along to peruse a tantalising display of mince pies and Christmas cakes. Alongside them an assortment of delicious-looking pastries covered in snow-white icing gleamed in the soft winter sunshine.
She nodded. ‘Yes. I commute into Paddington and the office is only a ten-minute walk from there. I felt like taking a break from living in the middle of a big city,’ she said, telling herself she wasn’t exactly lying by saying that. Recently she’d started to think that living outside the city where she worked would be better for her health. She’d be less inclined to pop into work at the weekends and less likely to stay as late in the evenings if she had to catch a train home.
Looking round at Alex, she realised that he wasn’t even listening to her, but smiling at the pretty young stallholder instead. ‘Nice buns,’ he said to the woman, giving her a wink and making her blush and giggle coquettishly.
Flora rolled her eyes at the stallholder’s reaction to Alex’s cheesy pickup line. Okay, he was a good-looking man, she supposed—he had the same smile as Amy, which could light up a room—but the guy was a rumpled mess.
He turned and caught her staring at him.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. It’s just—’
‘Yes?’
‘You don’t seem—’