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For Sue.
I couldn’t have wished for a better friend.
This is for those long summer days out on the horses, for the laughs, the fun and theeffortless communication. It’s for those crazy made-up field names and the stupid ideas which never quite worked out as planned.
But mainly it’s for the countless magical memories you’ve blessed me with. xx
The envelope icon continued flashing at the bottom of the screen, but I ignored it, along with the lingering glances in my direction. Rick was exceptionally talented in many areas, but subtlety wasn’t one of them.
He was twitchy, and it wasn’t from the copious amounts of coffee he’d been guzzling all evening, he was excited. Rick wasusuallyexcited, naturally wired with a high metabolism and the expressive kind of features you can read a mile off, but this was a special kind of excitement.
It was endearing. Although I’d never tell him so.
He pushed his chair away from his desk, spinning to face me, yet still I didn’t react.
I enjoyed the game far too much.
Our home office isintimate. The tension stretched until he broke, with a mock groan.
“Well?! Have you looked?!”
“No,” I said.
“Pissing hell, Carl, will you justlook? Please?”
I angled my laptop screen down and stared at him, long and sternly, trying my best not to break a smile.
“I’m busy. Foster proposal. Tender deadline tomorrow.”
“Piss off. There’salwaysa deadline tomorrow. Five minutes, just check it out. I only need a yes. One little yes. She’ll get a yes, I promise.”
I sighed for effect. “Who is it this time? Another Penelope Pout?I want a boob job, and an Audi TT and world peace? No, wait… Another broke but talented artistic genius, seeking true love onSugar Daddy Match-up? You like those…”
He coasted his chair across the floor, propped his elbows on my desk and jabbed a finger at my laptop. “Justlook. She’s nothing like the others.”
“You always say that.”
He smiled. “Yeah, but I don’t always mean it.”
I minimised my document and called up his email.Sugar Daddy Match-up! You have mail!
I hovered over the link, then folded my arms. “So, give me the elevator pitch. Why this one?”
He rolled his shoulders, tipped his head from side to side. “Elevator pitch, you got it.” He held up a finger. “She’s hot, like really hot. Not a Penelope Pout, no fake tan, no epic contouring, not even false lashes. She’s just hot. Cute, too.”
“Blonde? Brunette?”
“Blonde. Wavy. Natural. Blue eyes.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“She’s local. Much Arlock.”
“Local?” I conceded a point to him in the name of convenience. Much Arlock was only a thirty-minute drive from Cheltenham. Hardly anything. “Ok, I’m listening.”
“She’s a little bit quirky, in a good way. Not all-out boho, just… she has personality.”
“I’d hope so, Rick. We want a companion, not a whore. Although a whore would be a whole lot cheaper.”
