Page 4 of One Week With You
Almost half-time and Chelsea were down 2–0 against Liverpool. A looming defeat never left Leo in the best mood. Me either, most of the time. Our football obsession was half the reason we’d become such good friends. Except tonight I was too distracted to care. My foot bounced a jittery beat on my knee, too irritated to stop.
I had a problem.
A major fucking problem.
My phone buzzed again. Case in point.I already knew what the text would say. Just another variation of what I’d been told multiple times in the last month, but I’d dragged my heels. Ignored it at every turn. Tuned it out at every meeting. Now it was about to bite me in the ass.
Henry: You have one week, Rafe. Please bring that girlfriend of yours this time. Loosen your tie. Also would it kill you to smile?
It might, Henry. It fucking might.
“Tell them how you really feel,” I said, shooting off a reply.
Rafe: I will deal with it. Go home to your wife already.
“If you stopped looking at your phone for one minute you’d see I was right,” Leo replied, not once taking his eyes off the screen as he reached for the last of the spring rolls.
I glanced at the coffee table strewn with leftovers and the six-pack of beer we usually would’ve demolished by now and, well, he had a point.
“Says the guy surgically attached to his phone. Who is it this time, huh? Anna? Lola? Or was it Grace?”
Leo stiffened. He rarely spoke about his love life and, to be fair, I rarely asked. But I knew enough. Grace was the one who got away.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he dismissed me. “Anyway, you know I never text during the game. It’s sacred time.”
Another point.
“Sorry, mate. It’s my CFO busting my balls over this Christmas party next week. He won’t shut up about me bringing my girlfriend.”
That snagged Leo’s attention. Not surprising. The last time I’d had anything resembling a committed relationship I’d been the younger side of thirty and now forty was around the corner. I’d once thought being CEO would give me more time to have a life, maybe settle down. The naivety…
“You have a girlfriend?” Leo asked, his expression and tone riddled with doubt.
“Do I look like I’ve had time for a girlfriend?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Fuck you!” I said with a laugh.
“Just calling it like I see it.” He threw me a shit-eating grin. “Dial it back though. Why do you need a girlfriend to go to a work party?”
“I don’t usually. But you know the hotel in Hertfordshire we’re trying to buy? The owner is reluctant to sell. Henry thinks inviting him will give an idea of our family-orientated brand, whatever that means. I don’t know. People want to relax and loosen up at a Christmas party. How can I sell a brand when Ted from Accounting gets so drunk, he gets his ass out?”
“He’s still doing that?”
“Every fucking year. It’s basically a Christmas tradition.” We laughed at the absurdity, but it was true. A few pints and the man was an ass-flashing menace. I probably should’ve fired him years ago, but I couldn’t deny I got a laugh out of it. Not much achieved that. “I don’t know. The whole thing is a bad idea.”
“Sounds like corporate bullshit if you ask me.”
“That’s what I said. And then he bought my dad into it.”
“Oh man.”
“Exactly.” I scowled at the memory and downed the rest of my drink. I resented the implication that my father did a better job, even though our profits at Regency-Scott hadn’t fallen once since I’d taken over the family business five years ago. If anything, they were increasing now we’d branched out into smaller boutique properties. Sometimes Henry liked to push me.
I hated to admit it worked.
“Where does the girlfriend come into it though?” Leo asked.
