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“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you in clothes,” he teased, subconsciously echoing her thoughts.
“And?” She purred. “Do you like?”
The dress was one of Cherie’s, a beautiful creation made of swirling black fabric, it clung to her slender frame, showing just a hint of cleavage, and ending inches above her knee.
“I like the idea of peeling it off you,” he amended. “But it’s certainly giving me a crash course in delayed gratification.”
“Excellent,” she murmured, sitting back in her chair and reaching for her drink. She sipped it through the small red straw, her eyes holding his so that she saw the moment his gaze dropped to her lips, chasing the action, watching the way she formed a perfect ‘o’ around the plastic.
“Tell me you don’t want dessert,” he said on a stifled groan, the intensity in his eyes giving her little doubt as to what he was suggesting.
“I don’t want dessert.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.” He stood, extending a hand to her. She placed hers in it and, as always, everything inside of her locked into place. Certainty, their future. She smiled as they walked towards the front of the restaurant, but her smile dropped the second she saw the woman behind the counter.
What in the world were the chances?
Lorraine?
“Adeline?” Lorraine’s cockney accent was somehow incongruous in the formality of the Michelin-starred restaurant. “What are you doing here?”
Addie squeezed her eyes shut for a second, her fingers curling into fists by her side, her nails digging into her palm.
“You not still on night shifts?”
Beside her, she was conscious of Guy’s every single reaction. His stiffening, his silence, his watchfulness. Bright heat flooded her face.
“Adeline, you look like you’ve seen a ghost! Did the other girls not tell you I was working ‘ere?”
Addie shook her head, finding speech almost impossible.
“Adeline? Are y’al’right?”
She nodded, clearing her throat and doing her best to find her voice. “Lorraine,” it came out as a weak croak. “No, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Yeah, been about two months now. Much better than Reynolds. Tips are amazing,” she said with a meaningful wink at Guy.
Addie’s stomach rolled.
“How do you two know each other?” Guy’s question was innocent enough, but Addie felt every single bump of undercurrent.
“We used to work together,” she rushed the explanation out, hoping he would be satisfied with it.
“Oh,” he prompted silkily. “At the theatre?”
“Theatre?” Lorraine laughed. “Since when have you been at a theatre?” She laughed. “We was cleaning offices together. You know, through Reynolds? The contractor? Been what, three years now?”
Addie’s stomach was in knots, her face pale. She nodded though, seeing no sense in lying now. There was no way to get out of the situation. “Four,” she corrected distractedly, her eyes beseeching as they lifted to Guy’s.
No, not Guy’s.
Guillem Rodriguez, Spanish billionaire, from the powerful, influential Spanish family – as highly-regarded and ancient as royalty. Her throat was thick. She reached for his hand instinctively, only to find it not there. He was busy reaching for his black Amex, lifting it from a slim leather wallet and brandishing it towards Lorraine.
“Don’t miss those night shifts, I’ll tell you what,” Lorraine continued, apparently blissfully unaware of the tension that had filled the small foyer of the restaurant.
“I’ll bet,” Addie needed to get out of there.
Lorraine smiled at Guy and handed his credit card back. “Oh, Addie,” Lorraine said, just when Addie thought she might have been on the brink of escape. “I’m having a housewarming next week. Saturday night. Come along – I’ll text you the address.”
