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‘Sounds like a weekend away. What do you say, Sadie?’
Point to Will. Though we wouldn’t stay in that draughty old pile. Perish the thought.
‘Grouse season starts in a few weeks,’ he says. ‘Maybe Will could take you then?’ What the fuck is he up to? And for the first time since this pissing competition began, Sadie looks confused.
‘Do you shoot?’ he asks her in an amiable way.
‘No, I...’ Her eyes dart back and forth between us, her cheeks turning red.
‘Of course, she doesn’t shoot,’ I reply, taking her hand. If he’s trying to belittle her in front of me? Like I give a toss whether she can shoot bird chased from a fucking tree.
‘I don’t think Veronika does either. Maybe they’d make good companions. Strange that the Ivanoffs visited this month.’ See that steely look in his eyes? Pure calculation. ‘Maybe they were hunting something else. How old is Veronika now?’
‘No idea,’ I respond blandly. ‘You’d have to ask her.’
I’d like to punch the smug smile off his face. Pissing competitions are all well and good, so long as the innocent aren’t hurt, yet that seems to be his aim.
‘I thought you were sleeping?’ Sadie tugs on my hand, releasing it just a quickly. Her cheeks turn pink immediately, whether because she’s embarrassed for lying to me this morning, or imagining us there in bed, it’s hard to tell. ‘Y-you worked last night.’
‘Oh, yes. The eminent Dr Will,’ Julian says in a tone that could be taken for pleasantness. If you didn’t know him, that is. ‘I heard you took over your uncle’s practice on Harley Street.’
I ignore him. It’s that or punch him.
‘I did sleep, and when I woke, I went to the pet shop.’ See, I can ignore him. I don’t have to resort to violence.
‘Collar and lead?’ Julian asks pointedly.
‘I bought some training aids for Sir Lancelot,’ I say. ‘The bag’s in the car.’
‘The white knight and the hound,’ he says, nastier still for being ignored.
‘Yes, well, I’d like to say it’s been nice to see you again, Julian...’ But I won’t, as I take Sadie’s hand and lead her up to the front door. ‘See you around.’
I nod at the porter, hooking my arm under her elbow and steering Sadie in the direction of the stairs. Sure, we could take the elevator, but I’m a little too angry for small spaces. Small spaces with her.
‘Not that I owe you any explanation or anything,’ she begins, ‘but I didn’t blow off breakfast because I was going out with him.’
So long as you didn’t blow him, I manage not to snipe as my temper begins to slow to a simmer from a boil. What the fuck was she thinking?
‘You’re right. You don’t owe me anything.’
I can’t see her expression as she jogs up the stairs, though the view from below is pretty spectacular as her ballet flats pitter-pat. An arse made for squeezing. Hips made for gripping.
I contemplate her outfit. Pale coloured ballet flats, a tan coloured skirt, and a pink capped sleeved blouse, the tops of her arms slightly pink from having caught the sun. Her dark butterscotch hair is piled on top of her head. She looks good enough to eat—like Neapolitan ice cream. The good stuff. The kind you only get in speciality shops.
‘You look nice.’ She looks over her shoulder, murmuring her thanks. ‘Like a woman going out on a date, actually.’
‘I don’t think I like your tone.’
‘And I don’t like you companion.’
‘I’m sure women get that a lot when you’re with them,’ she says, searching in her purse for her keys as we reach the right floor. She slides said key into the lock, and I watch the delicate bones of her wrist as she turns it.
There’s no sound of the dog, so I guess he’s in day care today.Mo is a mercurial fuck, but he does love his mutt.
‘Cute.’ For a such sweet word, it weighs heavy with an awful lot of retort. And it seems I’m not done. ‘Come on, get your arse inside there, plum.’
‘Don’t you call me that,’ she says, stepping through the open door and spinning rapidly on her foot. Her pretty little skirt blows up like a tulip.
