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‘Foxy lady?’
‘No! There’s no need to address me as anything, because this is the last time we’re ever going to meet.’
James leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind the back of his neck. His pose was at ease, but he had the alertness of a tiger preparing to pounce.
‘You know that’s not true.’
‘But—’
‘We need to have a conversation about the festival,’ he interrupted. ‘And in private. If you won’t have it here, then we’ll go outside.’
She strode out of the office, running down the stairs as fast as her skirt would allow.
James caught up to her at the front door and leaned forward to hold it open.
Pushing past him into the street, Estelle welcomed the drop in temperature, but wished she was in jeans and riding boots so she could run away.
‘Where are you parked?’ he asked.
She didn’t reply, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she navigated the meandering crowds.
‘Estelle, please can we have a civilised conversation about this?’
Civilised? The word felt like a punch to the guts. Her whole life she’d endured the media describing her family as the polar opposite. She walked faster.
‘Can you afford to put the festival on without the financial backing of BDE Entertainment?’ James continued.
Of course we fucking can’t! She pressed her lips together as if to permanently seal them shut.
‘Do you have the money to pay the penalty clauses if you cancel?’
No! she internally howled.
‘Do you believe you can find another events company this late in the day to invest and pay BDE Entertainment for breaking the contract?’
Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. What am I going to do?
There was a pause, then he sighed. What was he going to say next? Tell her she was a star? That he wanted to flirt with her?
‘Want a hot sausage? Some roast nuts?’
She glanced at him in shock.
He gestured to a Christmas market stall. ‘Bratwurst? Chestnuts? Glühwein?’
‘Are you trying to be funny?’
‘Not particularly, but we need to have a proper conversation, so I’m trying to lighten your mood.’
Stumbling to a halt, she pointed at him, her finger stopping a centimetre from his chest.
‘My mood?’
James was far too close for comfort and now she could also smell him. The scent was irresistible, like a love potion crossed with a superconducting magnet.
‘Yes. You’re all thunderbolts and lightning.’
‘Very, very frightening?’ she added sarcastically.
