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I sat down with my heart in my mouth and fingers trembling. I dragged off my jacket as if I was in a hot flush. Why was I feeling overwhelmed by emotions? I had not felt energised for some time, certainly not since I cruised the clubs or flaunted my body at a party looking for my next encounter, the perfect one - an approach that cost me dearly. After three years of my chosen lifestyle I had given it up and decided on a different job, a different approach and now it looked like it had paid off big time.
Chapter 3
Perhaps I should not have accepted the tickets. They were not an innocent gift by a furtive admirer. The presumption on my part that they came without any strings attached was due to my relative inexperience of the art of seduction. To see them as a lure or payment for services rendered would have not entered my thoughts. I simply saw Mr Lucas as being generous and kind. I knew he had a reputation for aloofness and distance from his employees, sat in his ivory tower penthouse floor and ruling from on high. To be summoned to his office appeared to be a rare event for most of his employees in his headquarters. I struggled to find anyone below senior management who had made it up there without being part of a larger group of attendees. Even with the knowledge of his reputation, I painted him as a munificent boss.
The more I tried to justify my strange meeting with Jason Lucas, the more I buried my head in my emotional sandpit. He had given me a ticket for an expensive box seat, not one in the balcony or the gods up high. I was going to mingle with society’s wealthy benefactors. Sitting on my worn out sofa in my tiny flat, I held the ticket in my hand and considered returning it to his Personal Assistant with a ‘thanks but no thanks’ note. His generosity was unnerving and I could not refuse it. A little part of me had seen an extravagant surreal future and wondered if it was feasible. The attentions of a rich handsome man who would have me on his arm as he took me to concerts, the best plays in the West End and the Michelin starred restaurants.
Could such a future be possible? I laughed and fanned my face with the ticket. A preposterous idea! Mr Lucas seeking me, wanting me as his companion or date! I was a nobody who had led a life of wantonness and steered clear of serious relationships. My history of liaisons could easily be portrayed as ignoble, debauched and lackadaisical. Only I knew the carefully considered limits by which I had led my life. Those same baser instincts tempered my silly fantasies and I decided I would take his ticket, doll myself up and go to the concert with my chin held up high. I was not going to be ashamed at the lack of a date or companionship. He gave me the ticket so I could enjoy my passion for music and I was going to do just that.
I had to buy a new posh frock to sit in the auditorium, as I could not go in my old tat. The elegant dress cost most of a month’s wages and shoes were extortionate too. I was glad I did because I did not consider myself too out of place when I took my seat on the red cushioned velvet that Sunday evening. Without sex, music had filled my life and had kept me from going crazy. The occasional trip to a concert, blasting songs out of my iPod at all hours and dancing in nightclubs had all helped me in my quest to be complete again. The downside to my frantic efforts to occupy my waking hours was I was practically broke by the time payday arrived.
I waited for the lights to dim and the orchestra to finish their tune-up. The ambience was so amazing and I was wrapped up in my own little world of personal delight. I did not hear him approach or take his seat on the other chair in the box. I had convinced myself I had the box to myself the whole evening, who would have had the other seat anyway? I almost fell off my seat with shock when I turned and found I was sitting next to Jason Lucas.
“Miss Marshall, I won’t say this was a pleasant surprise as I knew you would be here” He looked charming in black dress suit complete with black bowtie.
I looked around expecting other people to join us.
“You came alone?” I found myself blurting out with temerity.
“I’m not attached to anyone at the moment.” He looked nonplussed by his comment and then to injure my boldness further he crossed his legs and started to look amused by my discomfort.
“Enjoy yourself, Gemma. It’s going to be a good evening.”
Look away from him, I told myself, and focus on the music.
He was right. The music to start with was blissful and serene. I closed my eyes and swam in it. When I opened them for the interval, he was looking straight at me as if he had been throughout the performance with me thoroughly unaware.
“Let's get a drink,” he requested simply. Reaching forward he offered me his hand.
I took it and stood up. His grip was firm with strong slender fingers. His thumb caressed my knuckles gently, rubbing back and forth. I was strangely comforted by his digital embrace as I was not in my usual environment and surrounded by the well-to-do concert goers had upset my confidence.
“Did you want to hear the Handel or would you like to go for a proper drink?” he turned to face me.
I was absolutely befuddled by then. The request was not how I did things normally. I did not do dates, not like this. No, for me interviews, discussions, agreements, many conducted by email or in chat rooms, and then down to business. That was my starting point in any relationship, not charm, music, drinks and chats.
The door of the box opened before me as if it was a sign. I did not like making decisions impulsively. Occasionally they went wrong and I regretted them. I could make decisive choices, as I was not inept or an airhead. Nevertheless, sometimes I wanted to be led. His hand dropped out of mine and he pressed it against my back, nudging me through the doorway. Some women might have found him presumptuous or insolent; however, I did not find his gentle guidance unwanted. The touch was the reassurance I sought and it came just at the right moment. Feeling the pressure of his hand on me, I caught my breath before speaking.
“I don’t mind missing the Handel. I didn’t pay for the ticket,” I smirked gaining confidence.
He grinned back, those eyes bright in the dim light of the corridor.
“No you didn’t. I’m sure you can pay me back somehow.” He looked quite serious for a moment, unsettling me.
He led me down to the lobby and out of the front entrance to where there was an executive styled black Jaguar parked outside the concert hall and a driver waiting by the car door. I was ushered into the back seat and sitting on the leather upholstery, I stared out of blackened windows. I was enclosed in a confined space with a man I barely knew and my heart was racing away. I was glad there was an impersonal driver present and I was not quite alone with Mr Lucas.
“The usual bar, Martinson,” Jason Lucas instructed his driver with practised ease.
“Where?” I asked curious.
“You’ll see,” he said. “You like clubs?”
“With my friends,” I said pointedly. I wanted him to understand the trust I was putting in him and he gave a small nod in reply. The rest of the short journey he asked me where I liked to hang out with my friends. I listed a few locations, those I felt comfortable mentioning, and I could tell he was not familiar with any of them. I was about to find out where Jason Lucas sought his relaxation.
Arriving at the expensive West End n
ightclub, he sauntered past the door attendants and with ease, ensured we were seated in a secluded corner. Almost immediately we were served with his chosen drinks by the bar staff attending us at our table.
“Two glasses of Spottswoode, sir,” said the bartender unburdening his tray.
