‘Yes, Teddy,’ I say dryly. ‘I’m well aware. I’m still working that one out.’ I finally tip back my glass of champagne and let the bubbles burn their way down my throat.
‘Poor girl,’ Andreas murmurs as the car rolls to a stop outside my building.
I agree wholeheartedly. Poor girl, indeed.
CHAPTER FIVEAsher
I’m quickly learning that Imani Davies is the kind of person who does everything with a sort of fiery intensity.
We meet, three days after our initial reintroduction at the Vouvalis offices, at a member’s club in Central London. I’ve never been here before, preferring the Vouvalis Hotel lounges if I ever need a space for entertaining clients, but Imani has me listed as her guest at the front door and I’m waved in after the host scrutinises my ID and then attempts (and fails) to corral me into a membership of my own.
I find Imani nestled in a comfy-looking armchair, a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses on her left, her laptop, covered in what look like passport stamp stickers from every country from Argentina to Zambia, open in front of her. On her right is what I can only describe as a dossier.
She looks up at me over the top of her laptop as I approach,and her lips split into a soft smile I most definitely don’t deserve. I have the sudden urge to commit this to memory, reasoning that this is probably going to be the last time I see that smile, given what I’m about to tell her.
‘Oh good,’ she says, shuffling her laptop and dossier aside as I drop into the seat opposite. ‘I was just starting to wonder if they were giving you any trouble at the door. Drink?’ She nudges the bottle and a tumbler glass in my direction, but I shake my head.
‘There are very few things in this world I hate more than sparkling water.’
She rolls her eyes and laughs. I try not to think about what a shame it is that I’ll never get to hear the sound again. ‘Sparkling water haters are always so dramatic. But, noted. I suppose that’s something your heartbroken ex should know about you, right?’ She wiggles her brows conspiratorially and guilt settles uncomfortably in my gut.
I need to get this over with.
I need to tell her that I can’t agree to her plan and that we just need to accept that our fathers are going to do what they want to do.
But then I remember the way she looked at me three days ago – the clear disappointment that flashed over her face when she assumed, correctly I suppose, that I was nothing more than a doormat – and I can’t do it. The words get stuck in my throat and I realise that I want to savour this moment, this pocket of time where Imani Davies doesn’t hate me, for just a little while longer.
‘Right,’ I say, forcing a grin onto my face that I hope looks natural.
Imani matches my attempt at nonchalance with an easy smile of her own. ‘Great. Okay, let’s talk strategy.’
Without waiting for my response – which is probably for the best, considering that the only thing that comes to mind is a strangledUhh? – Imani flips open the dossier with a flourish. The front cover hits the table with a THWACK and the pages inside spill out in an avalanche of sticky notes, printouts and lined paper with a semi-coherent looping scrawl over it.
‘So,’ Imani continues, apparently oblivious to the stunned look on my face as she flicks through the dossier, ‘I figured a good place to start would be our respective backgrounds. Childhood, hobbies, family, friends, stuff like that. Nothing too deep, just enough that if anyone asks any questions, it’ll be easy to keep up the façade that we actually know each other and used to date. How does that sound?’ She looks up at me, thumb and forefinger lifting up a page where I can spy the words:
ASHER [MIDDLE NAME????] VOUVALIS
AGE: 27/28 [probably]
BIRTHDAY: ???????
I clear my throat and let out the strangledUhhfrom earlier.
Imani isn’t deterred. She ploughs on as if I don’t look like a deer in headlights in front of her. ‘Don’t look so scared,’ she laughs. ‘I swear I’m not a stalker.’
I raise a brow and look pointedly at the dossier.
She lets out another bell-like peal of laughter and it takes me back to that party nearly ten years ago.
‘Okay,’ she concedes with a wry grin, ‘I’m not a verygoodstalker. You, Asher Middle-Name-Still-Unrevealed-Vouvalis, are a very hard guy to find out anything about. No defunct MySpace page from fifteen years ago, no Facebook profile with a hundred photo albums filled with every single photo you ever took with a digital camera, no cringy comments from the account you unfortunately made with your real name when you were twelve. Sadly, I’m speaking from experience.’ She flashes me an embarrassed smile. ‘But it’s fine, that’s what this meeting is for: filling in the blanks.’
She pulls out two sheets of paper, keeps the one with my name on it and slides the other one over to me.
IMANI MAYA DAVIES
AGE: 28
BIRTHDAY: August 12th 1997
