ABBY
Callum caught me by surprise in more than the obvious way. I didn’t anticipate his honesty, and begrudgingly, I have to respect him for it. How many men make a bet about a woman and then go and tell her? Even if it is hopefully going to benefit both of us.
Pretend dating has got to be easier than the real thing; no feelings, no expectation and no disappointments. Because it is, after all, only pretend. Thank God his name’s Callum and not Patrick. God forbid I’d be daft enough to develop a stupid notion that we’re meant to be together. Esmerelda was right about the opportunity, though. I’m approaching the biggest one of my career.
I roll out of the hotel bed and pick up my phone. Startlingly, it rings as I reach for it. A number I don’t recognise. It can only be Callum.
‘Hello?’
‘Good morning, gorgeous.’ His smooth voice echoes down the line.
‘Cut the crap, Callum. We’re only pretending.’
‘I’m just practising, you know, roleplay…I suppose you could call it. Do you like roleplay, Abby?’
Why does he have to be so infuriatingly hot? I suppose if he wasn’t, it would do nothing for my ratings. I’ll have to take this one for the team – or not.
‘There’s really no need when it’s just the two of us,’ I insist.
‘So how are we going to play this?’ He cuts to the chase.
‘I was wondering the same thing in bed this morning.’ Did I deliberately refer to my bed to tease him?
‘Abby Queenan, were you lying in bed thinking about me?’ He latches on immediately. ‘Did I have any clothes on? More to the point, did you?’ His arrogance knows no bounds.
At least he isn’t present to witness my flaming face. In truth, he hadn’t been wearing a single stitch. Unless I count myself as clothing? Maybe I’d be described as more of an accessory, if anything. I’m sure that’s what most women amounted to, with a man of his reputation. And we all know Callum Connolly has never been spotted with the same accessory twice.
I forgot what it was like to want somebody, physically. Of all the men in the world to remind me, it has to be the man-whore. I’m in worse shape than anyone that has ever phoned into my show, because I, Ask Abby, should know better. I’m a challenge, and he’s only after one thing. I’d be a fool to think otherwise. I’m doing this for my career.
‘Don’t flatter yourself, big guy. I’m in it for the prize.’ It’s not a complete lie. The fact that he’s offensively appealing is a plus. Or negative, depending on how you perceive it.
‘You want Marcus’s Audi?’ Bellowing laughter erupts down the phone. ‘It’s yours, I don’t actually care for it, I’m just desperate to see Marcus part with the one thing that he loves as much as himself.’
‘Not the Audi. There’s a prize for the radio presenter with the highest show ratings. That’s why I need you.’ I tell him about the trip to New York.
‘That blows the Audi out of the window. When are we going?’
‘I’ll be bringing my assistant, Aoife. It’s only fair.’ Thank God, because I couldn’t handle four solid days in his proximity. He’d get the next notch on the bedpost, and it would be all over the front page of the tabloids when he discards me like yesterday’s trash.
‘I hope you’re decent.’ His goading tone indicates that he hopes for the exact opposite.
‘Why?’ I’ve got a feeling I know the answer already.
‘I’m outside your door.’ I swear, I hear him smirking through the phone. For someone I met less than twenty-four hours earlier, I already have a fair understanding of his personality.
‘Well, you’ll have to stay there. I wasn’t expecting company.’ I scramble around the room, looking unsuccessfully for something to throw on for now.
‘Come on, Abby. It’s not like I haven’t seen it already.’
‘I had a bikini on, that doesn’t count.’ His remark reminds me of the dressing gown on the back of the bathroom door. I hastily sling it around me and sweep up last night’s clothes from the floor. Callum doesn’t require an eyeful of my black lace thong.
I run a brush hastily through my hair and rinse my mouth with Listerine before opening the door. He looks effortlessly edible; a green Ireland rugby jersey clings tightly to his broad chest and a low riding pair of jeans hangs from his narrow waist.
‘Nothing like a bit of notice,’ I grumble.
‘You look just as sexy without the dress, in fact...’ He attempts to place a hand on my robe. ‘You’d look even better without this too.’
‘Quit it, Callum! Or the deal is off.’
