25
Somethin’ Stupid
I slammed down my mug. ‘Are you serious? You arrive out of nowhere, land this dream job working for Marcie and you want to walk away?’
A flash of irritation passed across Nick’s features. ‘Dreamjob? The reason I was lumbered with Marcie is because no one else would go near her. They knew too well what the position would entail.’
I didn’t like hearing that Marcie was a nightmare. She was an icon.
‘Where would you go?’
He shrugged. ‘Somewhere new, I guess.’
Neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes. The muffled voice of the tannoy puncturing the silence.
Now that my initial shock had worn off, I could begrudgingly see Nick’s point. She was demanding – and unstable.
‘Do you want another tea?’ he asked.
‘No, thanks. I should probably head off.’
‘Let me give you a lift.’
‘You drove?’
‘I’ve borrowed my boss’s car and I’m looking for an excuse to drive it.’
I was intrigued. ‘Why’s that?’
The answer was obvious when we got to the station car park. Nick had a beeper in his hand, and when he pressed it, the lights of a racing-green Aston Martin blinked.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Is that aDB9?’
‘You like cars?’
‘My brother does. Some of it rubbed off on me.’ I walked round to the passenger door. ‘I’ve never been in an Aston before.’
‘Hop in.’
I didn’t need a second invitation. ‘Drop me off at a Central Line tube stop,’ I said. ‘Don’t go out of your way or anything.’
‘It’s no problem.’ He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. ‘I’ll go and pay for the ticket.’
I smiled as he jogged to the machine; only a non-Londoner would use a paid car park on a Sunday when you could park for free on a meter or yellow line. Then again, if you drove an Aston, maybe you were a bit more fussy about where you left your car.
The interior was as plush as I’d imagined. Soft leather seats hugged me as I sat; the display was edged in polished wood and even the dash was covered in leather with contrasting stitching.
Nick returned and slid into the driver’s seat.
When he pressed the start button the roar of the engine ricocheted against the concrete walls of the underground car park.
We turned to look at each other, guilty smiles on both our faces. ‘It’s like music,’ he said.
He put the car into reverse and swung out of the parking space.
The car smelt of him, I suddenly realised. Or maybe it was that we were sitting very close to each other.
When we came out into the daylight, the engine didn’t sound quite so brash. Above the snarl, Marvin Gaye was playing on the stereo.
