Page 56 of From LA to London, With Love

That image shattered, and the flame extinguished, as it hit me the hand was making its way up my right thigh. The side Cynthia was sitting on. Not Sophie.

I flinched as Cynthia leaned close to me. “I’m so sorry about you and Vanessa. I know how hard breakups can be.” She lowered her voice. “John and I are actually going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment. So, if you ever need someone to talk to or, you know, for anything else”—she gave my thigh a squeeze with a tipsy wink—“I’m here for you.”

I grimaced and shuffled my legs, hoping Cynthia would stop. She was tipsy and having a rough night, and I didn’t want to make a scene. But as much as I’d been teasing Sophie about pimping me out to Cynthia, I hadn’t signed up for this. I glanced at Sophie, deep in conversation with a man next to her and oblivious to Cynthia’s advances. I relaxed slightly as the waiters entered the room carrying the fourth course, venison in a red wine jus. Cynthia would need both hands to eat that. I breathed out deeply as she took her hand off my leg.

“You mentioned one of your interests was philanthropy. I’d love to hear more about it,” I said, in an attempt to change the subject.

“We’ve set up our own foundation, the Willards Foundation—Willards is our last name—to help disadvantaged children in Africa. We hold a black-tie gala each year to raise money for the orphanage we’ve set up.”

I inwardly groaned. The last thing the world needed was another family foundation or black-tie gala. Once I got my first massive paycheck, I’d spent a while researching how to most effectively donate money. Starting your own charity was not on the list. Donating to existing, experienced not-for-profits with proven track records was. And I didn’t understand people’s need to plaster their name all over their good deeds.

“We visited the orphanage last year. Look how cute the kids are.” Cynthia brought up her Instagram account, scrolling through photos of her smiling with Black children.

I regretted bringing up the topic now. I was getting distinct white savior vibes.

“And of course, we attend things like the Pride House fundraiser and make sure we give generously.”

I plastered a smile on my face. “Yes, thanks again so much for your contribution. That was very generous.”

I wished that man would stop talking to Sophie so she could save me from Cynthia. With two empty seats across from me and Sophie, and the man sitting opposite Cynthia arguing with his companion about football, there wasn’t anyone else but Cynthia to talk to. I surreptitiously glanced at my watch and swallowed a sigh. It was ten-thirty and, judging by the cutlery in front of me, there were at least two more courses to go.

Cynthia dug her manicured fingernails into my bicep in a claw-like grip, causing me to jump in my seat. Good lord.

“How often do you work out, Chris? These are some impressive biceps.”

“It depends on my filming schedule, but normally at least every other day. And I try to go walking on the Heath with my dog, Alfie, when I can.”

“Oh, what time do you usually go for your walks? Maybe I can join you sometimes.” She gave me another wink, and her hand started to make its way up my thigh again.

Oh god.

“Unfortunately, it’s very unpredictable because of filming. It’s usually a spur-of-the-moment type thing.”

Cynthia’s face fell. Maybe she’d finally gotten the message I wasn’t interested.

“Please excuse me for a minute while I go to the bathroom,” Cynthia said, wobbling as she got up.

I turned to Sophie, who was pushing food around on her plate and half listening to two men to her left speaking about floating rate notes and inflation. I felt for her. I didn’t know which was worse—talking about financial markets or being sexually harassed by Cynthia. I nudged Sophie. When she realized Cynthia wasn't beside me, she relaxed.

“I should probably try to network with these men. They work in exactly the industries that need to focus more on diversity and inclusion, but they are just so boring. How are you holding up?” Sophie murmured.

“Please put me out of my misery now. Do you know if Cynthia and her husband have an open relationship? Because she is being very friendly toward me. Like, hands on the thigh, flirty wink, sexual innuendo kind of friendly.”

Sophie choked on the mouthful of venison she had just taken. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I know I joked about it, but I didn’t think it would actually happen! Especially not sitting right next to her husband.”

“It’s making me pretty uncomfortable. Either she hasn’t worked out we’re dating, or she doesn’t care.”

“Either one wouldn’t surprise me, to be honest. While I’m not one for PDA, if you want me to drape my arm around you possessively or something to put Cynthia off, just let me know.”

I chuckled. “Thanks. If it gets really bad, I may take you up on your offer.” It certainly had some appeal.

The fifth course, Wagyu steak with black truffle potato gratin, arrived just as Cynthia returned to the table. Sophie and I continued talking, and to my relief, Cynthia turned to her husband and began speaking to him.

“The rub on this steak is great. I wonder what they put in it? We should try recreating it at home,” I said earnestly, examining the meat.

“Mmmmm, it is good. If only I hadn’t already eaten my bodyweight in food.” Sophie leaned in, bit her lip, and lowered her voice. “But I know another rub I’d like to recreate at home.” Her hand stroked my leg, sending an electric jolt straight to my crotch.

“Oh, you want to go down that path do you? Two can play at this game.” I murmured. The evening was suddenly looking up. “I’ve got some rump steak we could experiment on, but we’d have to tenderize it first.” I looked down at her butt and then back up at her and winked.