I roll my eyes. “OK, here I go.”
Sandra squeals, grabbing Lucy’s hand. “This is going to be epic. He’s not going to be able to refuse you.”
“Are you quite mad? This kind of grossly unsubtle behavior is guaranteed to scare off all but the most desperate men.”
“Nonsense. Men are quite sick of doing all the chasing,” she dismisses, and gives me a little nudge forward.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I swallow hard, push my shoulders back the way Sandra told me to do, and step out of the corridor and back into the bar.
Chapter Four
Pippa
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVzA0-QeGnI
-I will survive-
The second I step out from behind the bar, the very air in the room changes.
Or at least it seems like it does.
It’s as if someone pressed pause on the sound level, except for the bass that is still relentlessly thumping through the speakers. Heads turn. Conversations falter.
I feel like every pair of eyes has landed on me, and while I’m aware that’s not actually true, a fair number of people are openly staring at me. Some of them are gobsmacked, their jaws actually dropping. Others are grinning and amused. A group of lads at the bar elbow each other, pointing at me like I’m the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. A couple of women whisper behind their hands, their eyes darting up and down my dress and looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
I mutter silent curses under my breath, and every single one of them is directed at Sandra and Lucy. Those absolute witches.
The dress feels tighter with each step, the slit brushing against the top of my thigh in a way that makes me acutely aware of just how much of my skin is on show here. I hold my chin up high, though, trying to channel the slinky confidence of Jessica Rabbit instead of the overwhelming urge to sprint for the door.
The man they’ve chosen for me to ask out, my victim, is sitting at a corner table with a small group of people. From behind, all I can see are the broad shoulders of his tailored suit and the way he commands the space without even speaking. His companions are laughing at something, their glasses clinking as they sip their chosen poison.
As I approach the group, one by one, they notice me. A man with slicked-back fair hair elbows the guy next to him. Next, the sharply dressed woman beside him turns her head in my direction. Her eyes skim over me, slow and scornful, and she lets out the tiniest huff of amusement before leaking out a pitying smile. She is looking at me like I am some lunatic about to make a complete fool of myself. I mean, I am, but it’s still rude of her to assume it.
My heart pounds. I want to turn around. I want to run. But a forfeit is a forfeit. The other two always manage theirs. I can’t be the first one to fall on my face. Sandra’s threat about repeating this on Oxford Street flashes through my head. That would be a hundred times worse. I can’t back out now. I take a deep breath and do the unthinkable.
I can feel my hand fidgeting and twitching as I lift it up and tap my victim on the shoulder.
Someone, anyone, just kill me now.
Time slows down as he turns at my touch, and when his face comes into view, my stomach flips so violently I’m sure I’m going to faint. Those bright green eyes. Those sweeping eyelashes.Men shouldn’t be allowed to have eyes like that. They should be illegal, or at least come with some sort of a warning in bold letters.
BEWARE: MAY CAUSE TINGLING OR TEMPORARY PARALYSIS.
His dangerous eyes widen. For a split second, he looks stunned.
Good. At least I’m not the only one in shock.
Slowly, his eyes travel downwards and come to rest on my chest. Good God, I feel as if I’m going to melt into a puddle. I need to cool it. Then one side of his hard mouth curls into a sarcastic, lazy grin. It should be a crime to smile like that.
My mouth goes bone dry as I tilt my head down slightly and peer coquettishly up at him through my lashes. His jaw is square, his face clean shaven, and his hair dark and thick with just enough of a careless tousle to make it look unfairly perfect. Up this close, there’s something rakishly attractive about this man. Not in the way George is attractive. They are definitely opposites. George seems almost boyish compared to this man. This man radiates something else entirely, power maybe, danger definitely, and a kind of effortless charisma that makes my mouth go dry.
Remembering what Lucy said about making it real, I look up fully and bat my eyelashes like I’m in some ridiculous perfume advert. Something flashes in his eyes. God, this is so bone-crushingly embarrassing. I start to speak. My voice wobbles, but I force it out.
“Uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?” I croon, cringing internally at my voice and my choice of words. God, Pippa, could you be any lamer?
His companions are stunned into silence. The pitying woman gives a soft, scoffing laugh, tilting her head at me as though silently saying, oh, sweetie, you don’t stand a chance. But then,to everyone’s shock, my own more than anyone’s, he leans back in his chair, studies me for a beat too long, and says one single word.
“Yes.”
