Millie's Game Plan (11 page)

Lex’s secretary, Bronwen, called me to arrange a meeting with him. The very prospect left my senses in a scramble of anticipation after our aborted clinch on Saturday.

‘Thursday,’ I sighed to Sacha on Monday night as I walked into the flat. ‘I have to wait until Thursday before I see Lex again.’

‘Well that’s good, isn’t it? Mid-week shenanigans. Excellent.’

I explained about the business meeting.

‘Then call him now. Invite him out for a drink,’ she said, turning down the volume on the telly to show she was seriously engaged in my task of snaring Mr Right. ‘Take the initiative.’

‘I can’t do that, it’s way too pushy,’ I said, flopping next to her on the sofa. ‘Although…’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I think he must be pretty charged up for further developments, judging by yesterday’s chat on the phone.’

‘So what are you waiting for?’

I shook my head and stood up.
‘Too pushy. I can wait till Thursday. Just.’

She rolled her eyes and turned the volume back up.

Maybe Lex would phone me and suggest a pre-meeting rendez-vous. He could hardly expect his secretary to manage his social calendar, could he? I poured myself a glass of Pinot Grigio, confident things were moving in absolutely the right direction.

I heard nothing, just an email from Bronwen giving me a map to their offices in Knightsbridge. Lex was clearly a very professional man and undoubtedly too busy for mid-week shenanigans, which all bode well for the kind of man I was looking for.

This is good, I told myself. I totally need to take this at a steady pace.

On Thursday, I scoured my wardrobe for the most suitable outfit. It was another hot day, so I chose a royal blue dress with matching peep-toe shoes. I rolled my hair into a blue butterfly clasp and slipped my favourite tear-drop silver earrings into place. Even though I’d done business meetings like this before, I was way too nervous to eat breakfast and only managed an apple for lunch.

The offices of Marshal & Crowe Vintners were on one floor of a beautiful Edwardian building. Bronwen, I’m pleased to report, was twice my age and very thick around the hips. She’d retained her Welsh accent but polished it slightly when answering the phone. She wore a rather elaborate suit in heavy plum, which wasn’t too flattering against her pale skin and overly-blonded hair. Her knuckles were adorned with a number of massive rings, which along with the white-tipped acrylic nails must have made typing a nightmare. I imagined it would sound like the Charge of the Light Brigade, once she got up to speed. She must have had the fittest fingers in Knigtsbridge.

‘Let me show you down y’ere to the boardroom,’ she said, making a dramatic sweeping gesture with her hand. I followed in the wake of her perfume, which was heavily scented with amber.

I scanned left and right for any sign of Lex, my heart clanging with anticipation and heat flooding my system. Any moment now he could appear. Would he be pleased to see me? Would I look as good as he remembered or would he be disappointed?

The boardroom had a mahogany table with eight chairs around it and a white-board on the wall. There were arty photographs of the sun setting over vineyards, with shafts of light lancing through the foliage. Through the window was a dismal view over another building. It wasn’t the plushest of boardrooms I’d ever been in but then, Marshal & Crowe weren’t in the realms of the major corporates.

I wondered if Bronwen cold see my hands trembling as I took out my laptop. Just as she offered me a glass of water, Lex strode in, looking powerful and sexy in a lilac and white striped shirt and grey trousers.

‘Hello,’ I beamed, pushing out my hand out to shake his – after all, this was a business meeting.

He looked amused, cocking an eyebrow as he said, ‘Hello.’ He took my hand and drew me in to kiss me on both cheeks, which was a nice touch and booted my hormones into circulation. He turned my hand over and looked down into my palm, where the scar was healing nicely. ‘How’s it feeling?’

‘Absolutely fine. I’d almost forgotten it,’

‘Good.’ He continued to hold my hand and smiled into my eyes. If I were a mind-reader I’d say he was definitely planning some kind of merger and it wasn’t a corporate one.

Behind him, another guy entered the room. He was older, with grey hair and a broad face. Lex dropped my hand and introduced me to his business partner, Charles Crowe, who had a familiar face. It turned out, he was also Bronwen’s husband. Despite his smart appearance, he had an accent more West Ham than West Kensington. Every time he spoke, I tried to work out which actor he reminded me of…Ray Winstone, maybe? He busied himself setting out some small bottles on the table while we sat down. Each had different coloured caps and labels. Lex picked one up and offered it to me. ‘Here you are, Millie, this is Spritzah!’

I took it. ‘So, tell me about Spritzah!
– target market, price point and so on.’ I asked, poised over my laptop to take notes.

Charles picked up another bottle and sat beside me. ‘Rightio, Millie, what you’ve got in these blue and green ones, is a blend of white wine with lemonade or soda, see – green’s lemonade, blue’s soda. The red and orange ones are red wine with lemonade,’ he held up a red one, ‘or soda,’ he held up an orange one. I felt like I was back at primary school.

I nodded, tapping notes into my laptop. ‘And the market?’

Lex answered. ‘We’re looking at nightclubs, pubs, railway buffets, licensed cafes and, of course, supermarkets. We’re looking at people who want a mixed drink but not a spirit. It’s good for the bars because they don’t have to dispense wine from a bottle and then add mixer and, in a busy club, time saved serving one customer means they can move quickly on to another.’

‘And have you defined your marketing strategy or is that what we’re here to discuss?’

‘We have a few ideas,’ Lex said. ‘But we need some professional help.’ He smiled. To anyone else, it would have been an innocent, professional smile but behind those wicked green eyes I could practically see his memory of my cocktail dress, hoisted over my hips. I nodded and took a sip of water.

‘Good. Then, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to run through some questions?’

‘Fire away.’

We were at it for over an hour; questions going back and forth, ideas aired and rejected. And I know Lex was impressed. Why wouldn’t he be? I’m bloody good at my job.

Finally, he wound the meeting up and offered to see me out. The minute we were free of the office, his hand slid round my waist. There was only one floor to walk down but he stopped by the lift. ‘You’re pretty sexy when you’re in work mode, Ms Carmichael,’ he said, trailing a finger over my arm. ‘I like a woman who takes control.’

‘Just wait till you see me deliver my proposal,’ I said, stepping inches closer.

He lowered his head to kiss me, and the lift doors opened. ‘Oh good,’ he said.
‘An empty lift.’

Pulling me in, he pressed a button and the doors closed. Instantly we were kissing like adolescents on a school trip. The lift moved and we were travelling upwards. I figured he wanted to take the long way down. Too soon, it stopped at the top and the doors opened. Lex took my hand and led me out. I must have looked puzzled because he grinned and took my briefcase. ‘I thought you might like to see where I live when I’m in town.’

My heart, stomach and knees all flipped – though not so you’d notice. There was a large door ahead and Lex was taking a key from his pocket. Unless I was mistaken, there was a high probability of some afternoon delight. ‘I had no idea you lived here,’ I said.

‘I like surprises, don’t you?’

I nodded, which was daft because I hated surprises. I’d much rather know what was happening – and when. That way you can be prepared. You can wear the right underwear, for a start. Today it was cool, cotton pants and old comfy bra.

His apartment was light and airy. He’d left the air-conditioning on too, so the oppressive heat of the recent week stayed on the landing. The floor was polished
beech, there were two sofas in chocolate brown leather and curtains in poppy-orange, brown and teal. ‘Wow. Smart place.’

‘It’s functional,’ he said, putting my bag down and leading me through to the kitchen – a feature in polished chrome and smoked glass. I guessed he didn’t use it much. There was a sophisticated, temperature controlled wine cabinet which was twice the width of the oven, and all that stood on the marble worktop were massive salt and pepper mills and a kettle.

He explained how the wine cabinet worked. It had different areas at different temperatures for different varieties of wine…

What is it with men and gadgets? I was cranking up for a bit of afternoon delight and he’s doing his Albert Einstein impersonation – only without the accent.

He did, however, pull out a bottle of Tattinger and corked it expertly with just a ‘pfft!’ and decanted it into two elegant flutes which were so fine they rang like bells when they touched.

Handing one to me, he said, ‘To you.’

I sipped the champagne and bubbles tickled my nose. ‘This is lovely,’ I said quietly, suddenly feeling awkward. You see, it doesn’t matter how much I want somebody, or how vividly I’ve fantasized about him, when it comes down to doing the deed, I’m never quite as gung-ho as my fantasies suggest. He must have sensed it, because he slipped his hand through mine and kissed me very gently. It was slow and easy. At one point, he fed me champagne from his own glass and then swooped in to taste it on me, till I got the hint and we began taking it in turns to feed each other.

By the second flute, we were on our way to the bedroom – also in shades of brown, cream and teal. The bed was wide and not particularly inviting, since it looked like he’d just got out of it, but the champagne, on my empty stomach, was doing its stuff so I overlooked it. I’d even stopped worrying about my cotton pants.

Lex put our glasses on the bed-side table and drew me up against him. He took the clasp from the back of my head and dragged my hair down. Not for the first time, I wished I had that heavy, satiny hair which flows perfectly like in a l’Oréal advert, instead of starched and kinky. Lex didn’t appear to notice, turning his attention to the hollow beneath my throat, where he began a trail of kisses across my collar bone and down the line of my dress between my breasts. His hands were beginning to inch my skirt up, just like they had the other night, except this time there was no need to stop him. There was no risk of an audience, and this really was the ideal place for a first…

‘Omigod!’
I shrieked.

‘Wurgh?’ he said from within my dress.

‘What time is it?’ I pulled my watch into focus. ‘Lex. I’ve got to go.’

All romance abandoned, I shoved him out of the way and yanked my skirt back down.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he demanded with an understandable lack of grace.

I held his face in my hands. ‘It’s Hamlets tonight. I’ve got to choreograph the finale.’ I lurched out of the bedroom, cannoning off the door jamb.

‘Millie!’ He followed, catching me up in his arms before I could reach my briefcase. ‘Call them and say you’re stuck in London, tell them the train’s been delayed, the taxi’s broken down, anything. You don’t have to go.’ He went to kiss me again but I cut it short.

‘Yes, I do. Next week it’s dress rehearsals and then the show. There won’t be time to choreograph it after tonight.’

‘Well, let someone else do it.’

I thought for a moment…

‘Millie, for God’s sake, it can’t be that difficult.’

‘It is. I’m the only one who can do it. In any case, I have to be there. I’m really sorry, Lex. I wish I’d known you were planning
this, I’d have come earlier or asked for a different date. Sorry.’ As he dropped his arms from round me, I planted a quick kiss on his cheek and turned to grab my briefcase. ‘I’ll call you,’ I said, yanking open the door and lunging for the lift button. I was going to be sooo late.

The apartment door was on a self closer. I could just see Lex turning away before it shut.

I was only twenty-minutes late, thanks to a freakishly hassle-free journey, but I was exuding guilt, which made me grumpy and terse. ‘Listen, all of you!’ I yelled at the rabble of teens and pre-teens on stage. ‘I’ve had a very busy day, I’ve rushed back from
London, I’ve had no dinner,’ not counting two packets of crisps on the train, ‘I’ve got a stinking headache and we’ve the whole of the finale to work out. Tonight. So stay awake and listen!’

‘PMT,’ someone grunted, before disguising it as a cough. There were sniggers, but either my tone or demented appearance got through to them, and after an hour of concentrated effort, the finale was taking shape.

We broke for fifteen minutes and I went outside to call Lex. I’d tried on the train but only reached voicemail. The humiliation and frustration of his two failed seductions would be enough to turn any guy off. He was sure to give me the heave-ho and, if he did, I’d have to kiss goodbye to the Marshal & Crowe account too. I took a deep breath and dialled his number.

After a couple of rings he picked up. ‘Hello, Millie. How are your little Hamlets?’

I gasped with relief. ‘Fine. I’m giving them a quick break. How are you?’