A Heat of the Moment Thing Page 8

  He winked at me and I did a double-take. Duh. I was such a ditz. He’d been teasing me all along. Come on. He wasn’t a monster. What had I been thinking? I’d blown this whole sexy-boss situation way out of proportion. We were friends. Not even that: colleagues.

  I rotated my shoulders to release the tension and matched his grin. “Okay, I’m desperate. Name your price.”

  “Hmm.” He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back even further. “Will a week do it?”

  “Hey, three days will do it. A week would be luxury.”

  “Okay. A week it is. That gives you time to buy me that drink you now owe me.”

  “Thanks! I’ll buy you two.”

  I trotted back down the corridor with a lightness of step only partly due to my extension.

  * * *

  The phone rang and I looked up from my work. Really, I had so much to do I should just let it ring. But—I stretched my arms skyward—I needed a break. This was as good an excuse as any. I took the call.

  “Is it just me,” said Dani, “or are all the good men taken?”

  Matt swam across my vision. “It’s just you.”

  She sighed. It seemed to come all the way from her toes.

  I deleted the latest Charlie email unread, then pushed myself back from the computer, concentrating fully on Dani. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “O-kay.” I glanced at my work. She’d take it the wrong way if I said I was busy, but it was tempting. “Why are you ringing, then?”

  “Fred says I have to keep working with my Ex. The bastard.”

  “Who? Fred or the Ex?”

  “Both.”

  I gazed out the window at the hazy London skyline. I didn’t know about the Ex, but Fred had seemed nice enough on the few occasions I’d met him. Firm but fair.

  “Dan, maybe it’s just that you’re the best person to work with this client. I don’t think Fred’s the bastard here.”

  Silence; so heavy I could almost hear her loading the bullets.

  “What?” she finally spluttered. “You’re saying I’m the bastard? Thanks a lot.”

  “No! Of course not. I’m just saying Fred’s got to do his job. If he doesn’t keep his clients happy, they won’t pay.”

  “So now I have no rights, is that it?”

  I should never have taken this call. “Dani, you know I don’t mean that. But how bad can an occasional meeting be? Really?”

  “With an ass like him? Bad.”

  “Last week you loved that ass,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, well, this week I hate him. He can’t have it both ways, you know.”

  Both ways? She wasn’t making sense. “What do you—”

  “Either we’re together or we’re finished. If we’re together, he’d better ditch the wife.”

  “Wife?” I sat up straighter in my chair. “Are you saying this guy’s married?”

  “Yes. Married. Which makes me single.”

  Well, hell, I guess it did. “Did you know that when you got involved with him?”

  “Oh course I didn’t damn-well know that! Jeez, what is it with you?

  I blinked. Boy, she was fiery today.

  I tried another tack. “What do you mean, he can’t have it both ways?”

  Another sigh. “He’s being a jerk. Tried to kiss me in our meeting today.”

  “Come on, Dan. You’ve got a black belt in handling men. Why didn’t you just tell him to back off, it’s over and he needs to get used to it?”

  She was silent a moment. Then, “It’s not easy to say that sort of thing, Becs.”

  “Better to say it than have him bugging you forever.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Unless you want him bugging you, that is.”

  “Hello. He’s married, so we’re finished, okay? He needs to get that into his skull and so do you.”

  When had this become about me?

  “Sis,” I said, “are you okay?”

  She sniffled in my ear. “I’m fine.”

  “Aw, hon. First you had to ditch him and now you’re having to fend him off. He’s being a total jerk, Dan.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a silence. Then she added a soft, “He’s still a good kisser, though.”

  “What? Dani, just make your mind up.”

  “I have. It’s over. He’s married, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Then mean it.”

  “You have a nice day too,” she said, and hung up in my ear.

  I dropped the phone back on its cradle and wearily moved to the window. Leaned my forehead against the coolness of the glass and watched all the normal people on the street below. Their lives looked so uncomplicated. I craved uncomplicated.

  * * *

  Uncomplicated. That was what I wanted? Then why on earth was I back here at the Riviera?

  I stared down at the water, panic rampaging through my veins. So what if Liz had been putting the pressure on?

  But she was right: it had been weeks now, and the sooner I got back into it the easier it would be.

  Only—not yet. This was too soon.

  Okay, time for some logic. What did I think might happen? What was I scared of?

  Well, death, for starters. Or loose bowels, panic attacks, sudden onset of cramp, general embarrassment . . . So much could go wrong.

  O-kaaay. That hadn’t worked.

  Positive thinking, then. What good could come out of this? Um . . .

  . . .

  . . .

  Well, at least it would shut Liz up. That would be good.

  And if it didn’t kill me, maybe I’d get over this ridiculous fear of swimming I’d developed.

  “Come on, Becky, you can do this.” Liz held my hand, tugging me gently towards the pool.

  And if it did kill me, it would all be academic.

  Please let me be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  I took a shaky breath, then another. “I don’t know if I can, Liz. I think it’s too soon.”

  I raked the fingers of my Liz-free hand through my hair.

  “No,” I decided. “I can’t. Sorry.”

  She turned and looked directly into my eyes. “Becs, you had a fright.”

  I returned her gaze tremulously.

  “Yes, okay, a bad one. But you need to get back on that bike and ride it again.”

  “I’m scared,” I said. In case there was any doubt.

  “You’ll be fine. Truly.”

  “But look at me.” I pointed out my knocking knees. “I’m a wreck.”

  “I’ll be with you the whole way. I promise.”

  I closed my eyes, praying for divine intervention. A major quake should do it. As usual, nobody upstairs listened. I’d have to get myself out of this mess, dammit.

  When I opened my eyes, Liz gave me a reassuring smile. “Just follow me. Everything will be fine.”

  I shook my head. No. Everything would not be fine. Being here was a mistake. A big mistake.

  I extracted my hand from hers and backed away from the water’s edge.

  “Sorry.” Tears blurred my eyes and I angrily dashed them away. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  I turned and ran.

  Back in the changing room I slumped on a bench and let my tears fall. My knees continued to quake. What was wrong with me? It was only water, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t swim.

  I waited, blinking my tears away and deep-breathing until the shaking subsided. Then I dressed, dragged a comb through my hair, checked my eyes in the mirror. A bit red, but I’d get away with it. Mascara and lipstick, taking care not to let my hand shake, then I checked the result. It’d do.

  Six-thirty. It would be a very early start. But that wasn’t such a bad thing; I had plenty of work waiting at T&T.

  Huge black clouds gathered overhead. I scowled at them. Fantastic. I was going to get wet regardless. Today sucked.

  With a quick txt to Liz—sory xx gon 2 wk, t
alk l8r—I high-tailed it for the underground.

  Seconds later the phone rang. I sighed. If she made me cry I’d scream.

  “Liz, I—”

  “Finally,” said a very male, un-Liz-like voice. “Becky Jordan, how are you?”

  My words jammed in my throat, blocking the air. Charlie.

  I slowed.

  Hang up. Just hang up.

  My ears strained for his voice.

  A car horn blared at me as it whizzed past. I gasped. Realised I’d stopped in the middle of the road and scooted to the safety of the pavement, pulse pounding. He wasn’t worth getting killed over.

  He wasn’t worth anything.

  “I’m great, thanks for asking,” he said, laughter in his tone.

  I thought of all his quasi-stalker calls, and my jaw clenched. All the fear I’d been feeling minutes earlier transmuted into fresh, raw anger. How dare he? And how had he got my mobile number? My grip on the phone tightened. I dragged in some air, and it fuelled the fire in my belly.

  “Charlie bloody Hollingworth.”

  “Hi, Becky. It’s been a long time. How’s it going?”

  Obviously he thought I was up for a friendly chat. I’d give him a chat. “It was going just fine until ten seconds ago.”

  He hesitated. “Have I rung at a bad time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry. I’ll call back later.”

  What, and leave another stalker message? “Don’t bother.”

  “You’re right. Easier for you to call me. You’ve got my number, right?”

  Talk about presumptuous. “No, and I—”

  “Have you got a pen, then? I’ll give it to you again.”

  He just didn’t get it, did he? “Why would I want to ring you? You’re a stalker.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Becky, this is Ch—”

  “Jeez, Charlie, what’s going on here? You turn up after half a lifetime, bombard me with calls and messages, and you think I’m going to just drop everything for you?” I’d done that once, and look where that had got me. “I’m not, okay?”

  “Hey, I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Well, you have. So thanks for calling, have a nice life, and now you can piss off and leave me alone.”

  He said nothing, and I was about to end the call when his voice came through again, quiet this time. “Would it help if I said sorry? Because I am.”

  Man, what did he think I was—some paranoid delusional, still holding on to something from my childhood?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said through stiff lips. Liar.

  He sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. I thought we were old enough to get past all the bullshit, but maybe not.”

  “Oh, please. The only bullshit is the stuff coming out your mouth.” I gave up trying to be polite. “You know what? You make me sick. You’re exactly the way you always were. A worthless piece of shit.”

  . . . Who tells the whole school I have dog breath and breaks a girl’s heart.

  I could hear the anger in his voice. “Considering you don’t know a thing about me, that’s a bit fucking harsh.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits . . .”

  A pause, then a chuckle.

  “Oh, you think it’s funny, do it?”

  He cleared his throat. “Becky, you’re acting like I want to kill you, not call you.”

  “Go to hell.” I snapped my mobile closed and marched towards the station.

  Jerk.

  The naïve teenage Becky had thought him devastatingly attractive seventeen years ago. The older, more experienced Becky knew better.

  Chapter Ten

  I arrived at T&T, thoroughly grumpy and desperate for distraction. E-mails first, and so help me, if there was another freaking message from Charlie I’d take out a front-page ad. about his stalker tendencies.

  A punching bag. That might help.

  Men.

  I strode towards the lift, running the last few metres to catch the doors as they closed.

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing at the other occupant.

  My heart somersaulted.

  “Hi, Matt.”

  He smiled. “Morning. You’re here early.”

  Did he think I was trying to win brownie points? I forced the blush down before it reached my cheeks and returned his smile. “Yeah, it’s all those deadlines.”

  I turned to face the doors which, typically, were now closing so sluggishly the stairs would’ve been faster. My fingers twitched impatiently. Come on. If I had to share the lift with him, at least make it quick. I stabbed at the Close Doors button but Matt did, too, and our hands met in a fleeting touch.

  Tingles shot through my fingers.

  I jerked back with a muttered, “Sorry.” Wished Scottie—anyone—would beam me up.

  The doors shuddered shut.

  “Don’t kill yourself just to meet a deadline,” he said. “Do you need more time?”

  The lift began rising as if it had to fight for every inch.

  “No, no, I’m fine.” Why did he think me so incompetent? “I don’t usually come in this early,” I continued, “but I was awake so figured I may as well be working.” Not that I’d make that mistake again. I should’ve braved the swimming pool, after all.

  My nose twitched. Nice after-shave.

  Which I shouldn’t be noticing. Just like I shouldn’t be noticing his proximity. I inched surreptitiously to increase the distance between us, watching the lift’s interminable progress on the display. I risked a quick glance . . . bollocks! Our eyes met and his eyebrow twitched upwards. I bit my lip.

  He looked at the floor, smiling to himself. I followed his gaze down, past his strong square jawline, over his chest (look at those pecs) . . . oh boy. My mouth went dry, my face heated. Blood pounding, I looked further south. Forgot to breathe as I took in his chiselled abs—dammit, why did he have to wear such a tight t-shirt?—lower still . . .

  I looked abruptly away, furtively fanning my face. What the heck was I doing? Talk about cats on heat. In my peripheral vision I saw Matt glance my way and knew my cheeks were scarlet.

  He said, “Are you all ri—”, but at that moment the elevator jolted severely, once, twice, then jerked to a halt. His question remained unfinished.

  We both looked at the doors, waiting for them to open. Nothing.

  “Um . . .” I said.

  Matt pushed the Open Doors button. They didn’t.

  “What the . . . ?” He gave the Level 5 button a prod. Nothing.

  “Are we stuck?” I asked, not quite believing it.

  “Looks a bit like it.” He randomly pushed a whole series of buttons then gave the doors a kick for good measure.

  “What, stuck as in really stuck?” My heart thudded loudly in my chest.

  Hands on hips, he eyeballed the doors. “Yep.”

  I told myself everything was fine, but my body disagreed. I’d never classed my small-space nervousness as claustrophobia before, but I’d never been trapped in a lift before, either. This felt a whole lot different to jumping in at ground level and leaping out a few seconds later.

  Maybe I needed to re-think my claustrophobia status.

  “I could really do without this.” My voice warbled.

  He gave a wry smile. “I know how you feel.”

  Actually, he didn’t have a clue. Dry mouth, clammy hands, and my chest felt like it was shrink-wrapped in plastic. Just keeping each inhalation measured took concentrated effort.

  “I’ve got to get out of here.” Then, feeling his sharp glance, I pulled myself together and scrabbled for an excuse. “I need to prepare for my eight-thirty lecture.”

  He indicated the Phone—Emergency Use Only label on the wall.

  “No panic. We’ve got a phone,” he said, confident and not at all claustrophobic. “A quick call to the technicians should sort it.”

  He opened the flap. “Oh.” The bare wires stared out at us. “That’s a bit
inconvenient.”

  Inconvenient? It was a damn sight more than a bit bloody inconvenient. My chest constricted. I took several deep breaths, trying to stay calm.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll still make your lecture. We’ll find a way out.”

  “Super,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. This lift looked impossible to Houdini out of.

  “Hey!” I said, suddenly excited. “I’ve got my mobile.”

  “Excellent.” He patted my back as I ta-dah’d it out of my bag.

  Our enthusiasm was short-lived, though: no reception. I dropped my useless scrap of technology onto the floor, slumped against the wall, closed my eyes and tried to magic myself to the Greek islands. Or anywhere. Just get me out of here.

  No genies came to the rescue. I opened my eyes and we were still in a metal box, stuck in limbo I-don’t-know-how-many feet in the air.

  Matt reinspected the buttons. Nothing. I inspected the ceiling. No CCTV.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said through gritted teeth.

  How were we going to escape? Because we would, right? Cold fear trickled down my spine. We had to. I couldn’t take much more of this.

  A quick scan of the elevator’s fitness certificate confirmed it was serviced and good for another six months. Funny. I turned my attention to the roof, looking for the trapdoor you see in the movies. Not that I particularly fancied surfing on top as the lift went into free-fall, but if we were about to free-fall I didn’t fancy being in here, either. Surfer or cave-girl? I felt dizzy with the enormity of the choice.

  But there was no trapdoor, so no choice. Absurdly, I felt disappointed.

  I faced the doors again. This was it. Our one and only exit.

  Only not today.

  “Let’s try shouting,” I said. “Surely someone will hear us.”

  Like who? T&T wasn’t exactly heaving with people at seven o’clock in the morning.

  Matt nodded. “Worth a shot.”

  He drew a deep breath, then bellowed at the doors. “HELLO! WE’RE STUCK! HELP!”

  He kept at it for a couple of minutes, and I did my bit and hammered on the doors whenever he paused for breath. Eventually we stopped, listening for signs of help—or even life—on the outside.

  Silence.

  I ran my fingers up and down the door seals. “These doors are, like, vacuum-sealed. How on earth do we get them apart?”