‘I’d say that’s mission accomplished then.’ She lifts her hand for a celebratory high five.
We’re standing beneath a streetlamp, and the warm yellow glow from it softens her face, highlighting the curve of her cheekbones and the glint of pure mischief still sparkling in her eyes. It’s a shame I’ve had to spend the entirety of tonight focusing on the act we’re attempting to pull off instead of admiring the woman standing in front of me, because I’d much rather be doing the latter.
I smack my hand against hers and the clap rings out in the quiet street.
Her expression softens, just a fraction. ‘I hope I wasn’t too harsh in there. I don’t like talking like that. Especially not to you. Promise, if I ever take it too far, you’ll tell me, okay?’
‘Like throwing a drink at me too far, or…’
She pulls a face and I get the feeling that if I reached out to touch her cheeks right now, they’d be warm. ‘Exactly like that. I’m serious though – I don’t like being rude to you.’
‘Good,’ I say, and for some reason that makes her laugh again. It’s a small, quiet laugh this time, but it’s no less genuine.
We stand there for a beat, the noise of Mayfair nightlife drifting in from the main road a few streets behind us. I could let us part ways now and both of us could head right on back to our separate worlds, but that feels wrong.
Too abrupt. I remember that afternoon at the member’s club and how nice and easy it had been talking to her.
I glance sideways at her. ‘How about a walk? Just so we don’t end the night on a sour note.’
Imani tilts her head, considering. ‘A walk?’
‘Yes. That thing people do when they’ve just caused a minor social earthquake and don’t want to go straight back to their living rooms, obsessively refreshing an Instagram gossip page for the rest of the night.’
She snorts. ‘You know what? You’re right. Let’s do it.’ She gestures down the street, where the quiet Mayfair side road eventually turns into a busier thoroughfare. ‘Lead the way, Mr Vouvalis.’
I start walking and she falls into step easily beside me. For the first time all evening, we’re not performing.
And I like it.
CHAPTER TWELVEImani
I can still feel the warmth from his hand.
Which is ridiculous, really, given it was just a simple high five. But the echo of it lingers under my skin, pulsing through my palm like my body hasn’t quite got the memo that the contact is over. His hand was bigger, warmer, and mine just fitted against it perfectly, like it belonged there. Which is a thought I absolutely do not need to be entertaining right now.
I stuff both hands into the pockets of my coat as if that will help shake away the sensation, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes me more aware of the absence of his palm against mine.
Beside me, Asher walks in steady silence, his stride unhurried, hands tucked casually into his pockets like we’re just two perfectly normal people out for a perfectly normal late-night stroll instead of co-conspirators fresh off a verypublic, very messy, staged fight. Which, by the way, went wonderfully.
I have to admit, I’ve had my reservations about whether Asher could really pull our plan off but he’s pleasantly surprised me with his commitment to the role this evening.
I glance sideways at him. The look on his face is unreadable but the way his shoulders are set looks tighter than usual.
I clear my throat, because I hate the awkward silence almost as much as I hate the way my brain keeps replaying that brief brush of skin.
His gaze flickers over to me, one dark brow lifting, and I fumble for something to say now that I’ve got his attention. ‘Tell me something about yourself that most people wouldn’t know.’
I cringe inwardly at the dullness of the question. It feels like the kind of thing a HR rep might ask a group of employees during a team-building exercise. As basic as it is though, it seems to have done the trick because Asher looks moderately amused and the tension in his shoulders seems to have eased a little.
‘That’s a pretty broad scope,’ he says.
‘Good. Broad means you’ve got plenty of options. No rehearsed answers. And I don’t want some polished PR soundbite about your favourite charity or whatever either. I want something weird.’
‘Something weird?’
‘Yeah. Like…’ I search for an example. ‘Did you ever collect anything weird as a kid? Or have an imaginary friend fortoo long? Or, I don’t know, maybe you secretly love trashy reality TV?’
His mouth twitches. ‘You’re assuming I’d even admit to that last one.’
