17
Smooth Operator
Mike’s news gave me fresh resolve to do everything I could to make tonight go to plan. I stood in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide what sort of outfit a girlfriend of Nick’s would wear. A dress, for sure. Something slinky, paired with high heels.
Well, sod that. I’d wear whatever I wanted. I tried on a couple of outfits before deciding on some black, high-waisted jeans, a wrap-around white shirt and flats.
I was pretty happy with how I looked, but as I was applying eyeliner it dawned on me that Ididknow how Nick’s girlfriend dressed. Because, according to the rumours, Nick’s girlfriend was Marcie.
My hand slipped and I smudged black kohl on my brow bone.Christ. Talk about impossible shoes to fill.
I spent the next few minutes with a cotton bud and makeup remover, trying to erase the evidence of my shaky hand. I was being silly. They were just rumours. Nick was far too strait-laced to be shagging his employer. He wouldn’t be comparing me to Marcie all through our ‘date’.
At 7.30 I found myself people-watching from a bench by the river, waiting for Nick. The bar he’d suggested for our meet-up was a couple of minutes away. It was surprisingly middle-of-the-road. I thought he’d have chosen something a bit fancier, not one that advertised live rugby games.
Fifteen minutes passed and still no sign of Nick. Had something come up? I checked my phone, but I didn’t have any missed calls.
I was debating whether I should go straight to the bar, when I heard a voice in my ear.
‘Hello, gorgeous.’
I turned round to find Simon. ‘Hey, Si.’
He grinned and sat down next to me. ‘Not like you to be early.’
‘I’m supposed to be meeting Nick. Myboyfriend.’
His grin faded. ‘Remind me whose dumb-ass idea this was? Oh right, mine.’
He was wearing a charcoal suit rather than his more usual casual gear. ‘You dressed up for the occasion?’
Simon looked down at his shirt and tie. ‘Well, I figured I needed to keep up with Mr Savile Row.’
I tried to hide my smile.
He brushed invisible specks off one sleeve. ‘How well do you know this Nick guy?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know he’s Marcie Tyler’s publicist, but what’s he like as a person? He might be some creep who’ll use tonight as an excuse to get hands-y with you.’
I bit my cheek to hide a smile. Was Simon a teensy bit jealous?
‘He’s been with his company for years. Abroad mostly – most recently in South America. And I know he speaks eight languages.’
‘Eight?’
‘Okay, maybe just three or four.’
Simon didn’t speak for a while, and we both watched the world go by.
I stifled a sigh. If only we could blow off Jess and Nick and do our own private thing tonight.
Simon was breathing deeply. Was he thinking the same thing?
‘I guess it’s almost show time,’ he said.
He sounded wistful. But he was right – it was eight o’clock. Time for the main event.
