‘So that ludicrous message of his is basically saying you’re not cultured enough for him?’
‘To be fair, he has a point,’ she admitted. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I read literary novels, just not only literary novels. I always dress perfectly for any occasion, I know what cutlery to use, chew with my mouth closed, and can hold my own in just about any conversation—I work in PR and events and have a huge range of clients, so that’s kind of mandatory. But I certainly have what you might call unsophisticated tastes.’ She grimaced. ‘You should have seen Adam’s face when I asked him to add Coke to one of his precious single-malt whiskies.’
David’s eyes were heading into fascination territory again.
‘Anyway,’ she went on decisively, ‘it’s now your job to make me worldly.’
‘If you want to present yourself to the world as a foie gras-scoffing, single malt-swilling opera lover, then yes, I can help you pretend to be that. But there are plenty of pizza-loving Agatha Christie readers out there we can target instead.’
‘Have you ever read a book by Agatha Christie?’
‘No, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.’
‘Ha! You wouldn’t.’
‘Seriously, I would.’
‘Ha!’
‘Enough already with the “Ha!”’
‘So what do you like?’
‘I like pizza, same as you. I prefer wine over beer, cocktails and whisky, and blues over either opera or pop music. And most importantly, I do not wear a yukata and pretend to be Japanese. In fact, if you ever hear that I’ve been caught wearing a yukata outside of Japan, and a mini yukata anywhere on the planet, you’re to shoot me dead.’
‘Shoot you dead,’ she said, eyes brimming with laughter again. ‘Just don’t stab you.’
‘Brat! Still, knowing about the yukata and the foie gras makes the text reply easy.’ Ten seconds later, he was hitting ‘Send’.
‘That was quick!’ Sarah said. ‘What did you— No, what did I say?’
David held out the phone for her to take. The message was short.
Go fuck yourself
Sarah gazed at David in frank admiration. ‘I don’t swear—not when there are so many more fabulous words available—but I have to say, I like that.’ She looked down at her phone again. ‘That’s that bridge burned, then.’
‘Do you care, bluebell?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
‘Good. Now, before we go any further, just for future reference, in the normal run of things you shouldn’t denigrate one guy’s sexual performance to another guy. That’s one for the manifesto.’ He frowned. ‘You know what? I’ll bet Loser Liam would call something a “manifesto”, so we’re going to go for something simpler. What about the rulebook?’
‘The rulebook. Done.’
‘And I hope you appreciate that I’m batting above the average here when it comes to the rules. We haven’t even left the room and you’re up three lessons.’
‘Are we really?’
‘Don’t talk your head off; no dissing a guy’s bed performance to other conquests; be as mean as you like when responding to break-up text messages,’ he said, holding up a finger per point. ‘And on that note, I’m going to block Lousy Lustless Liam, so hand over your phone again. And then I’m going to put my number in there, et cetera, et cetera.’ He busied himself with her phone, then used it to call his own number. ‘There, now I have your number too.’
‘Okay, so now what?’ Sarah asked, taking her phone.
‘Now, let’s get out there,’ he said. ‘I’m going to shadow you—not obviously, but I’ll be close enough to see what you’re up to. I want to see how you flirt. I’ll give you a sign when we’ve found the right guy for you to pick up.’
‘Oh, we’re starting now?’ She looked at the exit. ‘Out there? Together?’
‘We’re on a tight deadline, bluebell. No time to lose.’ He looked curiously at her when she didn’t move. ‘A few minutes ago you couldn’t wait to absquatulate. What’s the sudden problem?’
‘It occurs to me that I may have got carried away in here. With just you and me, it seemed easy. You have a way of …’ She trailed off, not quite brave enough to suggest he was a master manipulator. ‘Of putting women at ease.’ Nice save, if she said so herself. ‘But Lane and Adam are out there and that … changes things.’
‘Changes things how?’
‘I have no idea how they’ll interpret what’s going on with us.’
‘It’s straightforward. There’s nothing to interpret.’
‘Think of the relationship intricacies. What if Lane doesn’t end up with Adam? What if she decides she wants to pick up with you where she left off?’
‘I told you—past tense.’
‘But Adam won’t want me anywhere near you, regardless, if she dumps him. And he’s not exactly the most forgiving guy on the planet, so he might not want me anywhere near you even if she doesn’t dump him, now she’s waved you in his face like a red flag at a tank.’
‘I think you mean red flag at a bull.’
‘Trust me, I mean tank. And I don’t want to have to watch him kill you over something to do with me.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘And I know I’ll end up hating you if you hurt my brother—if you hurt him emotionally, I mean, because he’d wipe the floor with you physically.’
‘Thank you for that vote of confidence.’
‘I might end up hating Lane, too. And even though I want to slap her right now, I love Lane.’
‘So just wait it out for six weeks and don’t hate either of us until our time’s up. You won’t have to see me again and you can mop up the rest any way you want. I’ll even help you do it.’
Her hands dropped, and she regarded him with disbelief. ‘It doesn’t work like that with feelings. You hate people, you like them, you love them, but you do it unconsciously. Even if you’re ambivalent, it’s not something you decide, it just happens.’
‘In my experience, feelings can be controlled.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘I’ve seen it, first hand. In fact, I’m adding that topic to the rulebook—controlling one’s emotions. Meanwhile, bluebell, the choice is yours: confess all, or keep me a deep dark secret. Won’t bother me either way.’
‘How can I keep you a deep dark secret when they’ll see us together out there?’
‘They won’t see us together. Adam dragged Lane off in highly dramatic caveman style ages ago.’
‘What? No!’
‘Why so surprised?’
‘It’s just not him, to go caveman over a woman.’
‘I promise you, he was Grade A Neanderthal. Now don’t make me get all caveman and drag you out to the party.’ Pause, while he searched her face. ‘Are we good, bluebell? All I’m doing is painting you with your clothes on. It’s probably the most innocent thing I’ve done for nine years. Not worth any angst.’
He sounded almost bored. And Sarah felt suddenly, painfully gauche, to be thinking there was anything untoward in