Page 10 of Easy
‘No need.’
Will picks up the invitation, glances at it, then presses it back into my hand. A car alarm beeps twice nearby, its lights briefly flashing. Low and dark and sleek, the car is very European looking with a branding so subtle, I couldn’t swear to the actual kind. Beyond expensive. Will stalks towards it, all confidence and swagger, so I guess it’s his?
Maybe I shouldn’t think of him by his name. Not that I want to depersonalise him, but I have to remember that my attraction to him is based on a lie. He provides a service built on fakery—his job is to make women feel attractive. The flirty smile, the opening of doors, and the things he says. His delivery is so flawless, it’s no wonder I have to remind myself not to be sucked in.
‘Shall we?’ He stands at the passenger door, opening it wide. As I lower myself onto the inky leather seating, he doesn’t let go of my hand until I’m fully seated.
‘This doesn’t seem right,’ I murmur. I lack charge, both in tone and in reality.
‘What was that?’
‘You driving. It doesn’t seem right.’
‘Who’s escorting who here?’ With a flirty wink, he closes the door with a discreetthunk, shutting out some of the daylight. Summer evenings in London are long. It’s eight p.m., and the sun is still out.
‘You’re pretty irritating,’ I complain as he gracefully slides into the driver’s seat, having taken off his suit jacket before climbing in. ‘You know, for someone in the service industry.’
The car engine turns over with a throaty hum.
‘I prefer to think of it as providing a full package deal,’ he says, hooking his arm over the back of my seat and easing out of the parking space in reverse. I don’t jump as he does so, nor do I notice the bulge of bicep in his tailored white shirt, or the triangle of tan skin at his throat. And I certainly don’t find the whole manly reverse manoeuvre sexy at all. ‘Maybe I’m just a little old fashioned.’
‘So you offer the boyfriend experience.’ I nod my head as though the notion has just dawned on me, but really, my tone is just plain sarcastic.
He laughs, somehow without an ounce of humour, before answering. ‘Not quite.’
‘Then you don’t intend to wine me, dine me, then at the end of the experience . . .’ I roll my lips inward. Some questions are best left unanswered.
‘I’m sure you know how the end of that rhyme goes.’ He shoots me a dark grin before returning to watch the ornate gates as they take approximately six years to open.
‘Oh, I know how it goes. I wonder if you provide an itemised bill.’
The sound of his deep laughter this time is genuine.
‘If I did, it would be a first time,’ he murmurs, navigating his way into the Friday evening traffic. ‘But I can see why you’d ask.’
‘You can?’ I ask, a little incredulous.
‘A souvenir or reminder, most likely.’
‘An evening with you isn’t memorable? Maybe you shouldn’t put that on your business card.’
‘Sweetheart, you’re more likely to black out from pleasure.’ He turns his head, his gaze flicking over my body, my nerve endings—and nipples—springing to life. ‘At a guess, I’d say at orgasm number four.’
‘You’re pretty full of yourself.’
‘I have the goods to back up the talk.’
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’d prefer younotto talk.’
How is it possible to be so irritated by someone yet, at the same time, so turned on?
‘I can do that. I’ll just drive, and you can continue to surreptitiously eye fuck me instead.’
I restrain my frustrated growl, but only just. Twisting my body in the direction of the passenger window, I find it’s not so easy in the low-slung sporty seats. Arms still folded, I resolutely ignore the cocky man sitting next to me and stare as the city passes by. People mill on sidewalks or sit at outdoor café seating, some dressed in the colours of summer, some still in office wear, but all appear to be enjoying the respite of the cool evening air. I might have only been in London a few days but many of my preconceptions have been dashed. The grey weather for one, as the sun has shone almost continually since I arrived. Truthfully, I’m finding the city heat almost oppressive.
In the absence of our sniping banter, anxiety begins to creep in. The prospect of seeing Julian again, while a little thrilling, is also a lot terrifying. What happens if he doesn’t remember our meeting the same way? What happens if he’s met someone since then? And then there’s the proximity of the man next to me, and my undoubtable attraction to him.Will.I have to remember that this is his job—thatI’mhis job. And his reaction to me is nothing but make-believe. Fake prettiness spun to make a woman feel good.
‘What’s the plan for this evening?’
