The sound of my stilettos against the marble tiles echoes as we all follow him to the lift. Something about the whole situation makes me more mindful of my height in them, my body shape, and the rotation of my hips each time I plant my feet.
He greets Williams and Amanda in similar fashion and the mirror-panelled doors close. Catching a glimpse of my reflection, that confidence I felt momentarily dissolves into self-doubt.
‘Your eyes look fierce in that colour,’ Amanda whispers into my ear.
People have always commented on my green and hazel eyes, ever since I was a girl, but I’ll never understand it. They’re as ordinary as every other part of me.
The lift doors open onto another marble floor, leading to an equally fancy desk where we’re met by an immaculately presented woman with a high-gloss, blonde French roll, wearing a tight, black skirt and white shirt that show her perfect curves. Her piercingly blue eyes are alive and wild as she studies Gregory. I half-expect her to lick her lips, growl and start humping his leg. Yet he never pays her more than a cursory glance.
‘Good evening, Mr Ryans. Let me show you to your table,’ she says, fluttering her eyelids one too many times, in my opinion.
‘I bet she’d like to show Mr Ryans a lot more than that,’ I mutter to myself, all the while smiling graciously at her delayed acknowledgement that Mr Ryans has guests.
Amanda tugs my shoulder, pulling my head back toward her as we walk in line to our table. ‘Who is this man?’ she whispers. ‘I feel like I should have known him before I met him.’
A young male waiter is already standing to attention like a toy soldier next to our table.
‘Wow, the view of the city is stunning from here,’ I say, genuinely struck by the lights twinkling from each tower block and bridge of London. ‘How high up are we?’ I ask the waiter as he guides me towards the window seat on one side of the table.
‘We’re on the fortieth floor, Miss Heath. The highest restaurant in the city,’ he replies proudly, placing a black napkin across my lap before doing the same for Amanda. Once again, I’m left wondering how a complete stranger knows my name.
‘Would you like the usual to drink, Mr Ryans?’ the waiter asks.
‘Thank you, yes,’ Gregory instructs.
The waiter immediately scuttles away.
‘What’s the usual?’ I ask Gregory, who’s taken the seat opposite mine.
He looks me in the eye and I study the flecks and enigma of his irises as he responds. I’m forced to look away to the view beneath us for fear he’ll see right through my business façade to my racing heart. ‘A bottle of Pol Roger 2002 to start, followed by a bottle of Penfolds Grange 1998.’ His voice hosts an edge of superiority.
‘Oh good, I was worried you’d try to impress us by diving straight in for Cristal.’ I laugh sarcastically. ‘You’ve certainly gone up in my estimations, Mr Ryans.’
The table sits in stunned silence. Clearly, people don’t usually talk back to this billionaire.
He clears his throat and pauses, holding his closed fist to his mouth a second longer than necessary.
‘You intrigue me, Miss Heath. I wonder how low I was in your estimations.’
His face is humourless, his strong, square jaw tight. I’m studying his masculine angles as I realise that I’ve been relegated back to ‘Miss Heath.’ I can’t help but like the sound of it when it comes from him. I feel his words like hot breath on my clit, making my own hitch.
Him. He who is your client. Get a hold of yourself.
The silence at the table lasts for what seems like an age, broken only when our waiter pops the cork of the Pol Roger tableside. Gregory studies me intensely as the waiter pours four glasses of the champagne.
‘Cheers,’ Amanda says, thrusting her glass high.
I let the smooth effervescence cool my hot, dry throat.
‘So, you know good wine, Scarlett.’ Gregory’s first words in what seems like an eternity are music to my ears. His manner is friendly, or as light as I’ve heard it at least. I realise he was teasing me, teaching me not to undermine him. I offer my best playful pout and he flashes me a mischievous grin. My internal organs perform acrobatics, from my chest right down to the lowest point of my abdomen. I hardly know this man and I can’t comprehend the way he’s making me feel.
‘Her dad has an enormous wine cellar,’ Amanda offers in a bid to rescue me. ‘He and Scarlett used to holiday in chateaus in the South of France.’
‘Used to?’ Gregory asks.
‘My dad,’ I say, almost involuntarily. I check my watch and it’s nine-fifteen.
‘Sorry, Scarlett, I didn’t mean to re?—’
